Episode 46
“My lord…”
The knight lay there, his body charred and on the brink of death.
“Neither I nor the House of Saxon will ever forget your sacrifice.”
Dale knelt quietly, taking the knight’s hand in his own.
“Please… even in death, let me fulfill the duty of a Night Raven Knight…”
“I understand your wish.”
Dale nodded solemnly as the knight’s words trailed off, his breath growing fainter with each passing moment. Another life flickered out, and Dale rose to his feet, his lips pressed tightly together until they bled.
Crackle, crackle.
Embers scattered all around, mingling with the unrecognizable remains of fallen comrades. It was a scene all too familiar to Dale—a battlefield.
“A hundred and ninety-three knights were caught in the explosion and perished.”
Beside Dale, Sir Bale of Baskerville reported the casualties with a calm detachment.
“The Aura Knights suffered only minor burns and are otherwise unharmed.”
”…”
Dale listened in silence, turning his head away.
”…Dale.”
Sepia stood there, her eyes filled with concern. Dale turned away again.
His father, the Black Duke, was also present, the continent’s greatest dark sorcerer who had effortlessly dispatched the remaining Purifiers with a mere gesture.
“Gather the bodies of the knights and the debris.”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
With a cold, analytical gaze, the Black Duke issued his orders to the assembled dark sorcerers.
“Eris.”
“Yes, Tower Master.”
“Take ‘that’ to the Necropolis Tower.”
He gestured toward the writhing mass of flesh, continuing his instructions.
“Uncover everything they know.”
Eris, the Black Tower’s emissary, nodded silently in acknowledgment.
After issuing the necessary commands, the Black Duke turned to leave.
“Dale.”
“Father.”
Dale replied, striving to maintain his composure.
“The losses are significant.”
Though the Red Tower’s Purifiers failed to achieve their goal, this was Dale’s first taste of bitter defeat and loss.
“Are you blaming yourself as a commander?”
“I led the Saxon knights to their deaths.”
Dale responded, his voice heavy with regret.
“I should have withdrawn them from the start.”
He bit his lip again, as if their deaths were solely his burden to bear.
“Did you and Lady Sepia intend to face hundreds of orc riders and twelve Purifiers alone?”
The Black Duke questioned.
No matter how skilled Dale and Sepia were as sorcerers, the world of magic was no different from that of knights. Unless one was an extraordinary being like the Black Duke or a hero from another realm, sheer numbers held an undeniable advantage. The Red Tower’s knights existed solely for battle.
Dale had not yet reached the strength needed to protect the Saxon knights, a powerlessness he felt for the first time as the heir of the Saxon family.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
The Black Duke spoke gently.
“This isn’t your fault.”
A father’s comforting words to his son.
”…”
Dale remained silent, his heart entwined with tendrils of darkness as he rotated the three circles within him.
He channeled his black magic into the fallen Night Raven Knight.
“The Saxon knights…”
The dark energy coursed through the knight’s body, and the once-dead warrior rose again.
“They wished to fulfill their duty even in death.”
Alive or dead, the Night Raven Knights were bound by their duty to the House of Saxon.
“And the battle isn’t over yet.”
Dale spoke with unwavering resolve, commanding the Death Knights clad in shadowy aura blades.
“Allow the Saxon knights to fulfill their duty.”
He directed his emotionless voice toward the ongoing battle beyond.
To the people of the North, the rising of the dead was not a source of fear. In fact, it was a reassuring promise of victory.
So when the dead began to rise amidst the endless waves of orcs, the morale of the Northern army soared to unprecedented heights.
It was proof that the God of Death was wielding his power for them.
The tide of battle was turning swiftly.
Most crossing points were successfully defended, and the Northern forces began their counterattack, pushing across the ford to annihilate the enemy.
Yet the orcs fought on, resisting until the last one fell.
“Graaaah!”
An orc warboss swung his massive double-headed axe, crumpling steel armor like paper. A true berserker in every sense.
Whoosh!
Soldiers were sent flying by the sweeping strikes, none daring to approach.
The warboss’s monstrous strength matched his towering frame, his axe cleaving through the air, leaving behind unrecognizable remains.
Men were swept away like autumn leaves.
Drenched in blood and entrails, the orc warboss roared again, his elite guards echoing his battle cry.
The battle was nearing its end, yet defeating the fiercely determined orcs proved more challenging than expected.
“Stand back.”
A knight in black armor stepped forward through the hesitant soldiers forming a perimeter.
“I will handle them.”
It was Sir Helmut Blackbear, the Mad Sword.
Just as Sir Helmut reached for his beloved sword, Madness, an unexpected voice called out.
“──Sir Helmut.”
“Lord Dale?”
Sir Helmut turned, swallowing hard. Dale stood there.
Accompanied by the Death Knights wielding the Saxon black swords.
“Stand down.”
Dale commanded.
“Defeating them is the duty of my knights and me.”
His shadowy cloak billowed at his feet, his expression unwavering.
“My lord!”
Sir Helmut gasped, then sheathed his sword.
”…Understood.”
Such was the trust placed in Dale of Saxon.
Sir Helmut stepped back, and Dale turned to face the orc warboss, still burning with determination.
“Saxon blades.”
He addressed the Death Knights at his side.
“Fulfill your duty.”
With shadowy aura blades, the Death Knights charged, unleashing their martial prowess.
“What in the world…!”
Sir Helmut exclaimed in shock.
The sword dance of Dale’s Death Knights was unlike anything an ordinary necromancer could produce.
It was as if master swordsmen were performing their techniques through the Death Knights.
A Death Knight’s swordsmanship typically stemmed from the necromancer’s control, and most necromancers lacked any real swordsmanship skills. Thus, their Death Knights’ swordplay was often crude and clumsy.
But Dale’s Death Knights were different. Remarkably so.
They displayed swordsmanship and skill beyond what they had in life. The orcs’ axes, renowned for their might, were effortlessly parried by the Saxon black swords.
The blades flowed like water, evading the orcs’ strikes, while the Saxon swords thirsted for enemy blood.
Squelch!
Orc blood sprayed through the air. It was a one-sided slaughter, almost unbelievable to witness.
“I knew Lord Dale’s swordsmanship was exceptional.”
But this was beyond mere talent.
“What on earth is that incredible swordplay!”
This was beyond the realm of talent. The sword techniques displayed by Dale’s Death Knights were already perfected.
Even Sir Helmut, the Mad Sword, could not fathom it.
Unbeknownst to him, the swordsmanship unfolding before him was that of the legendary hero who once conquered the continent.
Against such mastery, the orcs’ resistance was meaningless. It was merely a futile struggle.
“Graaaah!”
The orcs, a warrior race, launched a desperate final assault. Yet their determination and roars never reached the Death Knights. Only slaughter ensued.
The black swords swung, and with each strike, the bodies of elite orc soldiers piled up.
At that moment, amidst the one-sided massacre, the orc warboss’s double-headed axe swung down.
Boom!
With a resounding impact that seemed to shake the very earth, the Death Knight finally crumbled into a heap of bones.
The title “Orc Warboss” was no empty boast. He was the leader of the orc horde, fighting desperately to survive the great migration of the demon race.
Watching this, Dale snapped his fingers.
The black swords of the knights halted in unison. The undead knights withdrew, making way for the “Black Prince” to step forward.
His shadowy cloak, disguised as a black surcoat, billowed as he moved to bring this battle to its conclusion.
“Y-Your Highness!”
One of the knights called out in alarm at the sight of Dale.
“There’s no need to worry.”
But Sir Helmut Blackbear extended a calming hand to restrain his subordinate.
He had seen the swordsmanship Dale displayed through his Death Knight. What Dale was showing now was his full, unrestrained power, without any regard for his opponent.
As the empire’s greatest prodigy, the anticipation of witnessing the “Black Prince” in action was almost unbearable. Even if his opponent was an Orc Warboss capable of crushing a few Saxon knights with ease.
The Orc Warboss adjusted his grip on his steel axe, instinctively recognizing the formidable presence of Dale.
Dale, too, conjured a blade of darkness, following the flow of his shadowy cloak.
A tense standoff ensued.
At the end of the standoff, a fierce wind howled through, a bone-chilling gust that cut to the core.