Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

“Wilhelm of Geol! I place thirty knights, one hundred heavy infantrymen, and four hundred foot soldiers at the Duke’s disposal!”

“José of Videl! I deliver to the Black Duke thirty knights, fifty heavy infantrymen, fifty light cavalrymen, and three hundred infantrymen!”

“Kenneth of Bilderberg! I offer one Aura knight, thirty knights, and one hundred heavy infantry soldiers…!”

In the main hall of the Saxon ducal palace, the rulers of the northern lands declared the contingents they had brought with them.

Each of them swore absolute loyalty to the supreme sovereign who occupied the throne: the Black Duke.

The northern aristocracy had gathered around the Duke of Saxony, the most prominent figure in the northern territories and one of the three great dukes.

“Additionally, Beth, my eldest descendant of the Geol lineage, attends with the firm resolve to fight for Your Excellency in this conflict…”

“Just as my progenitor has expressed, in the Geol family we are fully prepared to give our lives for Your Excellency.”

An aristocrat, evidently the father, took the floor while a young man clad in armor knelt and drove his steel into the floor. It represented a habitual noble plea, an attempt to gain favor for the young heir.

“Yones, our second offspring of the Kenneth lineage, has likewise bravely summoned a contingent of one hundred mercenaries to join the ranks…”

The Count of Geol was not the only one seeking to gain the sovereign’s grace. The Duke of Saxony replied, maintaining his composure.

“I deeply appreciate the loyalty you show me.”

Wars do not break out in an instant. Prior to the outbreak of the imminent armed conflict, the aristocrats concentrated in the fortress and the troops remained quartered in their respective camps, organizing the battalions. In that interval, the supreme lord needed to summon his vassals to ratify the obedience of his allies.

Social interactions and the creation of bonds between aristocrats were also indispensable ceremonies. It was vital to determine which side to support and which high-born figures to dazzle. In this landscape, there was no hesitation about which side the northern lords and their descendants should take.

“We pay our respects to the Black Prince!”

“Prince Dale! The stories of your feats during the Battle of Black and White have reached us!”

“I am Beth, the eldest heir of the Geol lineage! It is my wish to fight alongside you, Prince, and witness your heroism!”

“The dynamics of power always operate this way.”

Upon perceiving how the crowd praised his achievements, Dale drew a proper polite grimace on his face.

“All of you give me great confidence.”

A very clean gesture for a child of barely eleven years old.

“Oh, Prince Dale!”

“Your grace and gallantry far exceed what people say!”

“I never imagined it would be a youth with such a distinguished and captivating bearing!”

“He exhibits formidable courage and maturity for his young age!”

Even the noble maidens, whose ages did not exceed fourteen or fifteen, vied with each other to get a look from him.

“With the start of hostilities so close, have you decided to present yourself here in person, my lady?”

Dale inquired, causing the young women to answer with total effusiveness.

“It is our duty to support the men, thus allowing our progenitors and brothers to focus entirely on the struggle.”

A clever and clear reply. The descendants of the noble lineages put all their effort into fulfilling the role that corresponded to them.

“I understand.”

Dale nodded with some detachment. Upon contemplating the endless line of individuals seeking to approach, he could not avoid displaying a grimace of subtle disdain. All of that was truly exhausting.

“Prince Dale.”

At that precise moment, a tone loaded with firmness broke through, dispelling the atmosphere charged with flattery.

“It has come to my ears that, even possessing such a young age, you possess combat skills capable of rivaling those of experienced warriors.”

Dale directed his gaze toward the source of those words.

It was an individual clad in dark armor that showed signs of wear, carrying steel hanging from his belt. His appearance betrayed that he barely exceeded his twenties, retaining youthful features that revealed his status as an aristocrat’s son.

“Y-Yones! You insolent and foolish boy!”

Simultaneously, a man who appeared to be his progenitor advanced hurriedly, unable to hide the shame he felt.

“How dare you address the Prince in such an inappropriate way!”

However, Dale remained impassive and downplayed the event. Upon noticing his demeanor, the father of the accused immediately fell silent.

“You are Sir Yones, the second descendant of the Kenneth lineage, am I correct?”

“Indeed, that is so.”

Sir Yones knelt, adopting the etiquette posture of warriors. The prevailing agitation vanished and all those present fixed their attention on the scene.

“Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“The greatest prodigy that the Empire possesses…”

Sir Yones began.

“I know from a good source that the tender heir of the Saxon lineage enjoys an unparalleled capacity both in the arts of the sword and in the mysteries of magic.”

Mastery of the sword and mystical arts.

“At your young age, you commanded the actions in the Battle of Black and White, guiding the forces toward a monumental triumph, transforming the combat terrain into an authentic river of blood in the company of the knights of Saint Magdalena.”

“That was achieved through the steels belonging to the Saxon family.”

“It is said that, even after a week of feasting for the scavenger birds, the remains of the rival side did not seem to diminish.”

“Is there any additional point you intend to expose?”

Faced with Dale’s question, Sir Yones made an affirmative movement with his head.

“Would you grant me the honor of receiving from you some lessons in the art of the sword?”

A murmur of astonishment ran through the entire room. That request was practically equivalent to launching a formal challenge of combat against the primary descendant of the Saxon family. It represented, from a certain perspective, an attempt to verify the authenticity surrounding the stories about Dale’s war feats.

It was not appropriate behavior for the offspring of a lower-ranking noble to adopt before the successor of a highly relevant sovereign.

“What great audacity!”

“How dare he show such lack of respect before the Prince!”

“Duke, this reckless young man is uttering nonsense that exceeds his limits!”

“Order his immediate expulsion from the fortress!”

Those present pointed with recrimination toward Sir Yones; however, his features remained unalterable.

“It is attractive.”

Dale expressed himself showing a feigned curiosity, causing the altercation to cease instantly.

“Sir Yones, of the Kenneth lineage. I am aware that you command a group of mercenaries composed of one hundred effectives.”

“In my condition as a wandering warrior, I built said group starting from absolute nothingness.”

“A mercenary faction, as you indicate.”

Being the second descendant of a baron, accessing the ownership of the territories was highly complex due to the inheritance regulations of the firstborn. For that reason, he was putting his own luck at risk in order to ratify his value.

Structuring a mercenary group of one hundred combatants under the condition of a wandering warrior and lacking higher support did not represent a minor task at all.

“It could end up being of great use.”

Above any other consideration, Dale felt esteem for his fearlessness.

“Very well.”

Having adopted a determination, Dale nodded slightly.

“I accept the challenge you pose to me.”

Counting on the direct observation of his progenitor, the Duke of Saxony, an unexpected confrontation between Dale and Sir Yones was arranged.

The stage was the main hall of the ducal palace of Saxony itself.

The Duke of Saxony contemplated the scene from his royal seat with a completely neutral expression oriented toward both young contenders.

The aristocrats and their heirs who gathered there were part of the hosts that would march to war under his guidelines and those of his offspring. Exhibiting Dale’s combat potential before them was an action that the Black Duke had no reason to reject. On the contrary, it presented itself as an ideal juncture to consolidate an undoubted hierarchical order.

This determination was made because, in his role as a father, he maintained absolute certainty regarding Dale’s triumph.

Despite the circumstances, it was undeniable that Dale was at a very early age. Because of this, it became imperative to demonstrate to the northern rulers the real scope of his gifts.

To corroborate that the ferocity and the gloomy renown of the “Black Prince” were not mere inventions of the people.

Srrng.

Sir Yones removed his combat steel from the scabbard. Upon noticing this movement, Dale took the floor.

“You are aware that my armament does not correspond to that of an ordinary weapon, is that so?”

In the midst of the static atmosphere, his dark clothing fluttered slightly.

“I have news about the ‘Shadow Sword’ that you manipulate, Prince.”

An artifact that had the capacity to direct according to his will, executing movements without the need for direct physical contact; a blade of a dark nature. Speaking strictly, it represented an instrument outside the traditional canons of chivalry; however, Dale’s essence corresponded to that of an artificer of magical arts.

“Deploy your aura.”

“…”

Upon hearing Dale’s requirement, a grimace of bewilderment was drawn on Sir Yones’ features. He perfectly understood the relevance that the use of aura entailed in a confrontation of this nature.

“It constitutes a directive.”

Dale sentenced using a frigid tone. Once a position was set, there was no possibility of amendment. It was the equivalent of capturing said premise with his words.

“Understood.”

The flow of the aura began its transit through Sir Yones’ anatomy. He still did not reach the rank of a warrior fit to manifest a blade completely imbued in aura.

“Even so, the management you perform of your energy is highly meticulous.”

Dale pondered his rival’s condition with total coldness before speaking again.

“Give all your potential.”

At that very moment, the dark silhouette projected under his feet gained volume, rising and effecting turns around his position, resembling a sharp weapon.

“So that is the steel of the Black Prince…”

The blade coming from the darkness.

Upon contemplating those disturbing and shadowy weapons, Sir Yones made a swallowing movement to temper his nerves. Subsequently, he tightened the grip on his own weapon.

Yones of Kenneth.

Counting on sixteen years, he had traveled the diverse regions of the continental territory under the condition of a wandering warrior, forging a name for himself. Starting his path lacking possessions, he had transformed into the commander of a mercenary group integrated by one hundred men. Upon reaching twenty years of age, he manifested the aptitude to channel the aura even without having had formal instruction.

Maintaining an unwavering resolution, Sir Yones attacked with speed toward the front.

“I absolutely refuse to bite the dust before a spoiled infant who has had any privilege at his disposal from the moment of his birth.”

Having come into the world in the capacity of the second offspring in the bosom of a noble lineage of little relief, he lacked goods and had opened his way to that position supported only by the effectiveness of his sword.

In contrast, the primary heir of the most relevant regent of the northern territory, belonging to the Saxon dynasty, exhibited his “innate capacity” as if it were an absolute obviousness!

That notion resulted so exasperating that it exceeded his capacity for tolerance.

He longed to prove that those devoid of resources possessed the faculty to bend those who possessed everything. He firmly opposed submitting before the arbitrariness and the asymmetries that govern existence.

Clang!

Sir Yones discharged a blow with his sword employing perfect aim, causing the din derived from the impact of the blades to spread through the space. Each occasion in which he managed to push aside the assaults of the dark weapons that executed spirals around him, a sensation of deep anxiety began to take hold of his being.

The “Black Prince” remained observing him fixedly with an expression devoid of emotions, governing without greater complication the steels of darkness that sprouted from the darkness situated under his feet.

Their respective weapons collided, distanced themselves, sought the frontal impact, and met again in a sequence that seemed to have no end. After dozens of lances were concretized, Sir Yones finally managed to realize the reality of the situation.

“A-ah…”

From the start of the actions, the “Black Prince” did not even take the trouble to consider the entity of Sir Yones. His authentic goal did not reside in the figure of Yones, but in the northern lords and their successors who were witnessing the confrontation. The whole act was developed with the purpose of evidencing his superiority before the concurrence, reducing Sir Yones to the condition of a piece that could be dispensed with on the board.

A piece used to define the positions of command.

The Black Prince subjected him in the same way that one interacts with an infant, making an ostentation of his capabilities.

“This cannot be happening…”

An infant of barely eleven years old giving shows of such fortitude before a warrior trained in the channeling of the aura? That was completely equivalent to an execution in view of everyone, an absolute degradation.

“I find it impossible to tolerate that this continues in this way…!”

Spurred by a feeling of despair, Sir Yones swung his sword applying a renewed energy, carrying the firm goal of bringing down his counterpart through an assault of a lethal nature.

Clang!

The weapons met once more in the air.

Clang! Clang!

However, that din did not keep a relation with the ordinary clash between two blades. It resembled rather the dull impact against a totally impregnable structure. A barrier of such gigantic and elevated proportions that it resulted chimerical even to try to encompass it with the gaze. A wall composed of frustrations consolidated before his position.

The struggle had derived in a confrontation lacking equity, where Sir Yones executed sterile movements without obtaining any fruit.

It was in that precise moment when he reached the full understanding.

The unparalleled capacity that distinguished the Black Prince did not find its origin in the fact of having been born under a roof of great influence nor in having had access to privileged training. It represented the materialization itself of the implausible.

A reflection of the own arbitrariness of the world, possessor of a genius so unmeasured that it resulted impossible to refute.

Upon assimilating this landscape, Sir Yones could not do more than emit a guffaw lacking joy. Sustaining the confrontation lacked logic completely. The gap that distanced them not only was shown immeasurable, but it infused an absolute discouragement.

“My…”

The energy abandoned his fingers entirely, allowing the handle of the weapon to slide out of his reach.

“I grant the surrender.”

In that same moment, the blades of darkness that performed orbits around Dale interrupted their dynamic.

“Consequently, the triumph belongs to me,” Dale sentenced.

“Does this represent the entirety of your skill?”

Faced with the interpellation formulated by Dale, Sir Yones found himself devoid of the faculty to articulate any word at all.

“……”

An extensive and overwhelming void of sound took hold of the enclosure.

Although the warrior had not reached the rank of “Aura Knight” in life, Dale was capable of perceiving the remnants of that energy in his interior and combined it firmly with his own mystical faculties.

Zas!

The amalgam between “black magic and aura” originated a highly powerful bond that traversed every corner of the corpse, transmuting it into the energy proper to the fallen. That eternal warrior, provided now with a sword imbued in a dark aura, knelt before his master and sank his weapon into the surface of the floor.

Pum!

The Black Duke contemplated the scene with profound astonishment, holding his breath.

“It is surprising… the prolixity with which he manages to master it.”

That creature was not a simple servant of the common and ordinary death. It was an authentic Aura Knight, whose capabilities exceeded by much the crude creations of any conventional necromancer. This achievement was feasible only thanks to the fact that Dale possessed a highly advanced notion about the art of the sword and the foundations of chivalry.

Trying to reanimate the remains of a warrior without understanding the discipline of arms would have been a sterile task. The Death Knight conceived by Dale did not represent a mere walking corpse, but the living reflection of his own prowess and martial understanding, consolidating himself as an authentic “representative of the sword.”

The sorcerers of the Black Tower, who had distanced themselves from weapons for quite some time, could never conceive the splendid combat that would emerge from an executor of this caliber. Not even the Black Duke himself was capable of foreseeing it.

“It has been a success, Father.”

The words pronounced by Dale broke the quietude of the place, leaving the Duke of Saxony sunk in silence while he assimilated the prodigy he had just witnessed. Although he still ignored that the dark bonds of the “Book of the Black Goat” had taken deep root in Dale’s being, it was impossible for him to question the colossal force that said artifact conferred upon him.

Even treating himself of the Black Duke, a sorcerer who dominated the eighth circle, it was impossible for him to hide his commotion before such purity of dark energy.

“The mystical force finds itself polished at a level truly astonishing.”

“That is because I count on the teachings of the most capable instructor.”

Dale replied showing a false candor, addressing the most formidable dark sorcerer of the entire territory, the maximum authority of the Black Tower.

“However, in comparison with the hosts of the ‘Order of Death’ that you taught me formally…”

If it lacks a continuous contribution of energy, a Death Knight is incapable of preserving his existence in a prolonged form.

“In what way is that achieved?”

“The moment has not yet arrived for you to access that knowledge.”

The Black Duke expressed his refusal with a movement of his head before Dale’s doubt.

“For the moment, my labor will consist of instructing you on the use of necromantic arts in the terrain of conflict.”

Taking as a pillar the “immortal knight” that the boy had brought back, they would delve into the dogmas of the war magic implemented by the Black Tower.

“It is imperative that you deliver yourself completely to your preparation to face the war conflicts that are glimpsed on the horizon.”

Dale nodded quietly before the directives of his progenitor. After a few moments, the leader of the noble house made his fingers sound. Several remains of goblins dispersed in the room began to reanimate, propelled by the power of the Black Duke.

Creak, creak!

Converted now into fallen combatants, they distanced themselves completely from their original forms, remaining reduced to simple instruments of destruction. These beings attacked in a group against Dale’s Death Knight, surrounding him completely. The Death Knight secured his posture on the handle and began his lethal execution. The dark blade of the warrior moved emulating a whirlwind, destroying the bony armament of the attackers as if it were fragile branches.

The dark flashes of the attacks dissipated in the air.

It was a beautiful and sophisticated exhibition. They were not empty and ornamental movements, but a technical cleanliness forged strictly for combat. A style of combat designed with the sole purpose of snatching existence.

“……!”

The Black Duke observed fixedly, swallowing with absolute incredulity before such a level of virtuosity with the weapons.

Not all these warrior specters possessed the same value. The fact that a combatant is brought back as an eternal being does not guarantee that he retains the martial mastery he possessed in life. Unless a high dark magic focused on intervening the memories and the mind of the corpse is used, the total control falls into the hands of the necromancer, and these men of magic usually suffer from skill with weapons. Therefore, the movements of a regular death knight tend to be rustic and lacking in grace.

However, the movements that Dale transmitted through his Death Knight exceeded by much the aptitudes that the Night Raven Knight himself manifested when he was still breathing.

“How is it possible that he achieves this?”

The Black Duke was fully aware that Dale never abandoned his practice with the sword. However, witnessing such an irreproachable execution coming from someone who exercised as a “simple magician” and not as a professional warrior resulted incomprehensible.

“The aptitudes of the young master Dale go beyond any limit that I have witnessed ever.”

The previous comments of Sir Helmut Blackbear came to his memory in that instant. Dale’s aptitudes. In effect, it was one more time that extraordinary gift.

“How far do the capabilities of this boy actually reach?”

Or was it perhaps appropriate to qualify it merely as a gift?

He stood out in the same way in the discipline of weapons, mystical arts, intellect, and war planning. The most gifted prodigy of the entire sovereignty, the brilliant mind of the ducal dynasty. That was the descendant of the Black Duke, the so-called “Black Prince,” Dale of Saxony.

“… Is something wrong, Father?”

Suddenly, a call brought him back from his thoughts. The Black Duke turned his gaze toward one side.

Dale remained in that place, observing peacefully in the company of his Death Knight. It was his descendant, without a margin of doubt.

“You definitely carry my blood.”

With that thought, the Black Duke discarded any other question from his mind.

“You cause me profound pride.”

“Everything is the result of your lessons, Father.”

The progenitor limited himself to offering him a grimace of affection to his heir, and Dale inclined his face in a sign of consideration. Regardless of the opinions of third parties, that boy was legitimately his.

With the passing of the days, the rapid advance of his pupil and the stories about his feats, which gained strength in the confines of the empire, represented an enormous source of joy for his mentor.

Despite that, the emotions of the sorceress of elven lineage, Sephia, were highly tangled each time she fixed her eyes on Dale. Even on that occasion, while she instructed him in the foundations of water magic, the situation did not vary.

“Sephia, are you feeling well?”

Dale’s attentive gaze motivated Sephia to sketch a subtle line of affection on her face.

“… Nothing bad is happening.”

That day when Dale submitted himself to the evaluation of the bastion and they wandered together under the nocturnal firmament.

“I feel great affection for you, teacher.”

The declaration of the youth resonated in Sephia’s memory. Even though he pretended to camouflage it after the ingenuity proper to childhood, Sephia was capable of deciphering the background. She could perceive it with total clarity.

The frigid environment and the dense darkness that inhabited the “world of Dale,” added to the longing and the indisputable need for shelter of an individual. The search for the affectionate touch of a female figure in the midst of a highly acute isolation.

Upon noticing what Dale experienced internally, agitation took hold of Sephia’s being. It was similar to the impact of an object altering the quietude of a peaceful pond. Her student, who barely had to be eleven years old, generated in her a mixture of restlessness and tenderness. Her chest softened completely.

“……”

After meditating for a few moments, Sephia extended her clear and fine hand to touch subtly the face of the eleven-year-old infant.

“Teacher?”

Dale manifested a slight blush due to the unexpected physical contact, showing himself disconcerted.

“… The members of my race possess a very prolonged existence.”

Sephia continued with her intervention, employing that peaceful and affable tone that characterized her.

“Even when time passes and you transform into a highly graceful knight…”

However, this time she did it carrying a magnetism that distanced itself from her habitual conduct.

“It is very certain that I will remain identical to how you see me today.”

She herself could not decipher the motives that impelled her to act in that way before him. When the chronicles reached her ears about the “Black Prince” obtaining a monumental triumph in the black and white competition and exterminating his opponents. When the inhabitants of the territory commented on the gift and the dark fame of the young successor of Saxony.

Sephia was incapable of experiencing a full happiness. The posterity of men is summarized in chronicles of violence and armed disputes. A perpetual cycle of inflicting and receiving death. Seen in that way, it could well be affirmed that Dale’s aptitudes functioned as the “engine that makes history turn.”

An entity of mass destruction.

Sephia simply experienced misgiving before that reality. She did not wish for the infant to transit through a path filled with slaughter.

“Until the moment in which you manage to clarify your authentic feelings.”

The clear and fine hand of the elf continued its trajectory.

“I will remain by your side.”

She stroked the boy’s cheek while she gifted him a warm expression.

“Not performing the role of instructor, but the position of a woman.”

“…”

Sephia expressed herself evidencing a shyness little common in her features, which looked flushed.

“Therefore, you do not find yourself helpless.”

Her attitude reminded her of that of a young woman revealing what she keeps in her chest, overwhelmed by the modesty of her own words. In a certain measure, that analogy did not distance itself from reality.

Dale remained quiet, guarding absolute silence while he perceived the maturity of a female presence in which he had not stopped to notice previously. In that instant he understood truly the reason for which the elven lineage enjoyed so much fame for its visual grace.

Upon noticing the bewilderment in Dale’s eyes, Sephia…

“Ahem.”

She understood how compromising her declarations had resulted and cleared her throat with some clumsiness.

“Well, it is time to resume the study session…”

In that precise instant it happened.

“I thank you for it.”

After a brief lapse of quietude, Dale showed a smile. Following that, he sought refuge approaching Sephia’s lap.

“……!”

The sorceress held her breath before the audacity of the minor, however, she ended up welcoming Dale between her arms with a complacent expression.

“I feel immense appreciation for you, Sephia,” the boy whispered, hiding his face in the shelter of her body.

“For that reason, I ask you to wait for me.”

“… It’s fine,” she replied, yielding before the warmth that dissipated the cold and the isolation of her own being.

It was a pact forged in the years of youth that would never remain in oblivion.

At nightfall.

In Dale’s private dependencies.

Sephia’s unexpected words had taken the youth completely unprepared. That occasion, during the exam carried out in the bastion of the Necropolis, Dale’s internal disorder, motivated by his longing to evade the limit of his isolation, caused him to involuntarily expose a part of his being before her.

That event generated a mutual bond due to their shared condition of magic users, allowing Dale’s feeling to be transmitted directly toward Sephia.

Dale’s internal environment resembled a winter night dominated by an inclement cold and darkness. Due to chance, the attunement that both possessed with the water element facilitated this bond, and the combination of “frigid environment and isolation” that reigned in Dale’s interior ended up reaching Sephia’s being. Even for an expert magical elven lineage belonging to the sixth circle, conserving equanimity under such factors represented a considerable challenge.

It was a credibility difficult to conceive; however, for the first time, a sensation of warmth flooded her being upon verifying that they understood her in an authentic way.

Located with his limbs crossed over his place of rest, Dale contemplated fixedly the glazed surface of the fortress.

Three circular structures orbited in the proximities of his chest, with dark ramifications adhered firmly between said elements and his own heart. There was a time in which he came to consider that he lacked possessions to lose.

However, in the present he counted on elements that he intended to safeguard, aspects that he valued profoundly.

“It is indispensable that I increase my faculties.”

There did not exist a margin for hesitation. It did not cause him conflict the tribute that he would have to offer in exchange for the power that he intended to obtain.

Little time later.

As a consequence of the massive displacement starred by the hosts of dark beings, the rulers of the northern lands who guarded submission to the Saxon Duke began to concentrate in the domains of his noble territory.

Attending the call of the maximum authority, the Saxon Duke, the mandatories of lower rank gathered in the company of their ambitious heirs, all of them with the firm purpose of evidencing their capabilities. Their intention resided in making use of the support of the Saxon Duke and the figure of the Black Prince to consolidate their own relevance within the hierarchy.