Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The vision held by an external observer when contemplating a war scenario from a distance differs drastically from the experience of one who is immersed in the midst of combat.

When the panorama narrows and the intellect clouds, the burden of obligation and the anxiety that alters the nervous system cloud the capacity for choice. Few people manage to maintain the frigid apathy of a spectator when finding themselves on the boundary between survival and death.

Not even Sir Milvas himself, the renowned Pure Sword, managed to escape this reality.

“By Saint Magdalene!”

“Forward!”

In a desperate attempt to conclude the conflict swiftly, they executed a deep incursion.

By pursuing the rival leader and the retreating mounted force, the gap between them and their own rearguard gradually increased.

Dale of Saxon, while retreating, looked over his shoulder at Sir Milvas and his riders, who were following him very closely. Guiding his mount at maximum speed, he released the reins and assumed the pose of an experienced equestrian marksman.

His fingers pointed directly toward his pursuers.

“Magic…!”

Anticipating his next action did not require great effort. A shot in full retreat.

“Ice bullet.”

Thwang!

A wave of bluish mystical energy emanated from Dale’s fingers, projecting a frigid fragment at high speed.

“What a miserable trick!”

Even against the imposing Dale, his opponent was a warrior skilled in wielding an aura sword. Against an organism that surpassed the restrictions of common mortals, an ice projectile was insignificant.

“Neigh!”

However, no matter how formidable a knight might be, his mount lacked such invulnerability.

One of the battle steeds, guided by an aura warrior belonging to the count’s house, collapsed abruptly without uttering a single whimper.

Thud!

The rider was thrown and rolled violently across the ground. Although a simple fall would hardly cause serious damage to an aura bearer, being unhorsed in the midst of a pursuit nullified any possibility of continuing the hunt.

“To strike with such meticulousness from a horse in full sprint…!”

Sir Milvas could not help but admire the precision of that impact.

The firstborn of the Saxon dynasty boasted an exceptional gift in both the arts of the sword and the mystical arts. Nevertheless, he was still nothing more than a third-circle sorcerer!

Even being a gifted mage, he did not possess the status required to sustain himself in a theater of war. Unlike knights, rigorously trained for direct confrontation, magic users tend to suffer an even more pronounced imbalance in this arena.

It is common for high-ranking sorcerers to succumb to ordinary warriors.

Despite that, did this mage preserve ideal stability upon a galloping steed, executing a projectile spell with perfect aim?

Manifesting the spell is an understandable matter, but striking the target accurately transcends mere mystical discipline.

It implies possessing a combination of superlative equestrian dexterity and talents inherent to archery.

Posing as bait in such a dangerous juncture did not constitute an imprudence nor a baseless deception.

“Rise, wall of ice.”

Boom!

Unexpectedly, a frozen barrier emerged, blocking the path of Sir Milvas and his mounted troops.

The leader of the count’s house believed he had not underestimated the young Saxon successor, but he was wrong. He had disproportionately underestimated his rival’s potential.

The main strategist of the opposing faction had voluntarily exposed himself as a decoy to grant valuable minutes to his combatants.

While the aura warriors of the count’s house remained bewildered and delayed by the intervention of a single, young sorcerer, the enemy mounted hosts had reorganized, turning their horses around.

All for the purpose of safeguarding their fledgling leader. To reciprocate the sacrifice of Dale, who risked his integrity in the vanguard to secure them a temporary advantage.

“Prevent their weapons from reaching the young lord!”

“Surrender your lives as his protective shield!”

“Attack!”

Upon witnessing such resolve, Sir Milvas could only let out a bitter laugh. The opponent no longer resembled the disorganized troop of covert combatants of the Baron of Greenbelt.

“One hidden stratagem after another…”

This was the “Black Cavalry”, a force he had faced in multiple conflicts and whose renown had earned his respect.

Their goal never consisted of directly defeating Sir Milvas and the aura riders of the count’s house.

The official strategist of the Count of Brandenburg, Philip, had made a disastrous decision by concentrating the bulk of his troops on the right section, causing the fall of the vanguard. It was Sir Milvas who found himself pressed for time, whereas the purpose of the Black Cavalry consisted solely of guarding their leader until that moment.

Said certainty did nothing but increase Sir Milvas’s anxiety.

“Before the scenario becomes more adverse, I must break the lines of the Black Cavalry and capture the Saxon successor.”

The most destructive elements of the Night Crow Knights, the celebrated “Aura Knights”, were not located in this place.

Before they managed to breach the left section of Baron Parker and consolidate a total flanking maneuver, he needed to capture Dale, who continued performing risky maneuvers in his role as bait.

“Forward!”

Despite the exhaustion of their horses due to the incessant marches and the progressive distancing of their reinforcements, they charged once more.

The 1st Cavalry Battalion, under the command of Sir Milvas, finally managed to reach Dale’s position.

However, the circumstances differed from what was planned.

Due to a reckless pursuit, they ended up trapped in the core of the rival formations, encircled by the Night Crow Knights belonging to the Saxon clan.

‘Their blind confidence in the might of the aura warriors remains unalterable,’ Dale reflected, contemplating the members of the Knights of Saint Magdalene trapped as if it were an event foreign to him.

As soldiers accumulate experiences and veteran status on the battlefield, these consolidate into a tactical doctrine that defines the character of their order.

The Holy Knight served as his custodian in a previous existence, so Dale knew the Knights of Saint Magdalene in depth, whether he wanted to or not.

Their virtues, their flaws, and an endless array of particularities undetectable to outsiders. Their priorities in combat, their mental frameworks, and the way they structured their strategic rulings.

Everything was as evident to him as the palm of his hand.

Magnifying the capabilities of aura warriors constituted an endemic defect in the Knights of Saint Magdalene.

The concept of a supreme swordsman capable of subjugating armies on his own belonged more to the fables of chivalric literature than to the reality of this world. Likewise, above the aura knights stood the “aura masters,” and not everyone who reached such a rank possessed the skills of a supreme swordsman.

“The hosts of the Baron of Greenbelt have broken the rival left sector!”

“The central mounted force has engaged, consolidating the flanking movement!”

“The leader of the left sector, Baron Parker, has been taken prisoner!”

Upon receiving the news from the central and right sectors, Dale calmly raised his gaze, dismissing the endless succession of triumphs.

“It seems Prince Philip suffered from distrust,” Dale commented, sketching a grimace of disdain.

Sir Milvas and his men, isolated in the heart of the opposing army after a failed incursion, had seen their contingent of fifty aura warriors reduced to a minuscule group. The survivors lacked the necessary conditions to prolong hostilities.

“Was it a deception structured from the beginning to incite us to advance?” Sir Milvas inquired using a thread of a voice.

“The battlefield is characterized by confusion, and no individual possesses the faculty to govern or anticipate every unforeseen event,” Dale responded, shaking his head in denial. “In the midst of constant disorder, bringing about one’s own ruin is, ultimately, a consequence of one’s own recklessness.”

Beyond their position, the main contingent of the count’s house, entirely encircled and overrun, was suffering total destruction.

The defensive line had completely crumbled, and wails reverberated in all directions. The crunch of metal tearing flesh, the impact of steel scattering blood and breaking bones dominated the atmosphere.

“Is it your intention to demand clemency for your existence?” Dale questioned amidst the growing clamor. “Will you prostrate yourself in ignominy and pledge a payment for your salvation?”

Keeping his features covered by his dark helm, he showed no hesitation whatsoever in evidencing his absolute contempt.

“To those who choose to submit and request their preservation through precious metals, I am willing to grant clemency, following the traditional guidelines of the great empire.”

It was customary for captured combatants to settle a price to regain their autonomy. However, Dale’s sarcastic expressions transformed said practice into an intolerable humiliation, preventing anyone from responding lightly.

“Don’t speak nonsense!” fiercely spat one of the trapped aura warriors.

“Well, so that’s how it is?” Dale uttered, executing a snap with his fingers.

Bam!

The members of the Night Crow Knights guarding them struck with their polearms immediately. The resulting echo resembled the sudden emptying of a pneumatic container, extinguishing any possibility of complaint. The bloodstream gushed with force.

“In that case, your destiny is to perish,” Dale sentenced, employing a tone devoid of humanity. “What is your stance, Sir Milvas?”

“……”

“At any rate, the one who will bear absolute responsibility for this disaster will not be you, but the naive Prince Philip.”

Sir Milvas kept silent.

After a prolonged pause, he slowly bent his knees. Enduring a disgrace more severe than death itself. The grinding of metallic components was heard clearly when his armor impacted the ground.

“…!”

His behavior was not born from the terror of death, nor did it imply a disdain for his reputation. He needed to survive to transmit a crucial report.

The risk represented by the eldest scion of the Jaxen dynasty far exceeded any prior estimation.

Aside from that, an Aura Knight constituted an element of incalculable value that should not be discarded lightly. As long as there were purposes to materialize, wasting one’s life over superficial vanity was far from being considered a respectable end.

“Prostrate yourselves, all of you, this instant!” decreed Sir Milvas, the Pure Sword, employing a powerful voice. “We will avail ourselves of the traditional protocols of the Empire and demand the conditions corresponding to prisoners of war!”

“Do you intend for us to compensate for our survival on our knees?” Dale questioned, keeping his intentions and countenance concealed by the black metal piece.

Sir Milvas made a gesture of assent, pressing his lips with such intensity that they were on the verge of drawing blood.

Succumbing to the opponent’s incitements and marching toward sterile destruction represented exactly the scenario the rival sought to provoke.

Upon realizing that his provocation had exhausted its utility, Dale’s mocking gesture extinguished completely, resembling a performer abandoning the stage once the show has concluded.

A threatening stillness emanated from within the dark helm, devoid of any trace of sensibility.

“Of those who remain in this place,” Dale finally pronounced, breaking the stillness, “none shall leave alive.”

A contained and widespread lament ran through the ranks at the unforeseen declaration.

“Finish them all off.”

Not even the members of the Night Crow Knights stationed beside Dale hesitated at the directive. Despite the imperial protocol stipulating that captured knights were usually restored through a payment, Dale’s determination was unwavering, and for Jaxen’s forces, his commands were sacred.

A brief pause occurred, but not a refusal. The paramount quality of a warrior lay in the fulfillment of duty, not in deliberation.

The blind faith placed in their leader was the direct result of Dale’s authority and magnetism.

The Night Crow Knights, muffled in their dark cuirasses, thrust their pikes and metallic blades in a unison movement.

Bam! Bam!

By the time the soldiers linked to the count’s house, devoid of weaponry and in a position of submission, attempted to react, the opportunity had vanished.

All perished, with the sole exception of Sir Milvas, the Pure Sword.

The latter managed to grasp his standard sword, at the same time a whitish energy flashed around the metal, resembling a blizzard.

“Do you suppose I will be defeated without offering resistance?”

With an energetic swing, he thrust the hilt, and the white energy gleamed from the edge. It constituted a desperate and violent assault, but true to the skill of a combatant of his rank.

Under his current conditions, Dale did not possess the resources to match such a martial level. Nevertheless, Sir Milvas’s blade never managed to approach its target.

“Safeguard the young lord!”

“Prevent his steel from reaching the young master!”

Clang!

The dark-armored combatants interposed themselves with alacrity to guard Dale, employing their own bodies as a defensive wall.

Dale contemplated the agonizing resistance maintaining an imperturbable countenance, without making the slightest movement, standing firm in his role as supreme commander of the war scenario in command of the Night Crow Knights.

Thud!

Finally, a precise strike tore Sir Milvas’s thigh, causing the loss of his stability.

Bam! Bam!

Immediately after, multiple spearheads surrounded him, immobilizing him completely and depriving him of any capacity to react.

And while Sir Milvas remained subjugated under the pressure of the shafts, Dale closed the distance between them.

He approached his position and communicated something to him in a hushed whisper.

“Do you bring to memory my demise?”

“…?”

Sir Milvas experienced momentary confusion at the meaning of those words.

“I retain the memory of your features during the course of that evening,” Dale continued, impassive. “Your leader pierced me with a blade through the back, and you were part of the scene.”

His intonation denoted serenity, despite the icy resentment that sustained it.

“I will reiterate it to you once more, young warrior.”

Initially, Sir Milvas found himself incapable of processing the meaning of what he heard.

“Do you bring to memory my demise?”

Nevertheless, in the instant his perception began to fade, a terrifying shock shook his organism, as if the torrent in his veins had frozen instantaneously.

“A-ah…!”

Sir Milvas made an effort to emit a scream, but time had run out.

Thud!

A somber garment, integrated like Dale’s dark attire, moved with celerity.

“Ugh, urgh…”

The resulting sound evoked the escape of air from a pneumatic structure, transforming into an empty echo devoid of meaning in its final outcome.