Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Lady Elizabeth, belonging to the high society of the imperial capital, enjoyed a truly exceptional fortune.

It was not just any nobleman, but the very same and feared Bloody Marquis, Eurys, who had extended a discreet invitation to her.

Eurys was considered one of the five great heroes of the entire Empire, sharing that status with the famous warrior from another world and the holy knight, in addition to possessing the reputation of being the most attractive knight at court. Practically no lady would be able to spurn the attentions of such an individual.

For the young women of the capital, the Marquis of Eurys represented the living image of the ideal knight they fantasized about in their dream-filled nights.

Feeling at the peak of bliss, as if she were living a fairy tale where a nobleman came for her riding a white steed, Elizabeth accepted without the slightest hesitation that secret meeting with the Marquis.

The date was set in the dense gloom of a dawn devoid of stars, completely alone and sheltered from the eyes of others.

The storm roared with force.

Enduring a freezing blizzard that chilled to the bone, Dale continued his advance firmly.

Holding the Black Sword of Saxon tightly, he passed by the impassive death knights who blocked the path.

That confrontation was reduced to a single combat, a duel to the death between the two leaders. It meant, fundamentally, the decisive contest that would put a final end to this armed conflict.

“Graaaah!”

The orc war chief emitted a powerful shriek while making the ground rumble under his feet.

Slash!

The heavy, double-edged axe he wielded moved violently, scattering fluids and biological remains in every direction.

“He manages to combine immense mass with astonishing speed.”

He possessed colossal power and amazing quickness. A might founded exclusively on the inherent physical capabilities of the creature, completely dispensing with magical arts or the activation of any aura.

With great dexterity, Dale manipulated the icy currents of the environment to erect a protective barrier of ice.

Clang!

The war axe pulverized the frozen structure, causing a violent explosion in the blink of an eye.

It was the Fragment Magnum. However, even though the sharp shards of ice were projected like spinning blades, the Orc War Chief did not hesitate for a single instant in his advance.

“…!”

The freezing spells were insufficient to slow his march, and the space separating them narrowed drastically.

The opponent displayed a boldness that surpassed any forecast Dale had made.

Adopting a low position quickly, he dodged the trajectory of the orc war chief, entering the range of action of his weapon to avoid direct impact and look for an opportunity to counterattack.

The sharp edge of the axe passed brushing against Dale’s skin, causing a thin thread of blood to sprout from his cheek.

Immediately, the shadow blades that orbited constantly around Dale attacked the orc war chief. However, executing a dry movement, the colossus released a burst of dark energy from his own fist. The impact caused the shadow blades to shatter like fragile glass, scattering through the air.

Those fragments were converted instantly into meticulously crafted “shadow bullets.” The scattered projectiles shot simultaneously toward their target.

Such a technique could well be considered a perfect fusion between fencing and mystical arts, or perhaps a combination between the sword and a firearm.

Both offensives intertwined seamlessly, and the pure hostility imbued in the darkness struck the orc war chief squarely.

Slash!

The dark blade tore deeply through the creature’s tissues, allowing the shadow bullets to penetrate directly into the open wounds.

“The attack has taken effect.”

Even though vital plasma flowed abundantly from his body, the orc war chief cried out to the sky once more.

That was not an ordinary cry. It was an exclamation loaded with the unwavering resolution and honor of a combatant who refused to surrender to death.

“Kieeeek!”

The imposing vibration of the shout caused the manifestations of “shadows” that bubbled inside the orc war chief to enter a state of absolute panic. Prey to terror, they retreated in a great hurry toward the “mantle of shadows” belonging to Dale.

Dale clicked his tongue in disapproval, ignoring the specters that shrank in fear at his feet.

The orc war chief was no longer responding to sanity.

He had entered a state of Berserk.

“We have reached the climax of this dispute.”

The orc war chief rushed forward with ferocity, consuming the last reserves of his vital energy. Each blow of his axe conveyed the clear notion of an existence that was being extinguished, consumed by the fire of battle.

“He is too fast.”

Impact after impact, the offensive gave no quarter. Dale avoided the incessant swings by millimeter margins, keeping his concentration at the maximum level.

Turning his attention away from the shadows that trembled under his boots, he began to rev the three magic circles inside him without stopping.

Three hundred turns, a thousand turns, two thousand turns per minute… emulating the accelerated roar of the engine block of a two-wheeled vehicle.

As if that were not enough, Dale’s spiritual resources were not limited to that mechanism.

Dark filaments intertwined firmly between his heart muscle and the mystical circles. It was another manifestation of the dark current that resided in his being.

The power derived from the “Book of the Black Goat.”

A highly purified dark energy, processed from these two branches of darkness, began to sprout.

The colossal density of dark magic that Dale had gathered, using all his potential, was infused directly into the frightened shadow cloak.

At that moment, he recalled the shadow manipulation faculties that the high-ranking demon he had defeated in the past—who was the original bearer of said piece—had displayed. The dark silhouettes that writhed beneath him were not mere unimportant lesser entities.

“Still not enough power.”

Dale gathered all his willpower and channeled his resolution toward the weak dark manifestations that agitated beneath him. He forced the forbidden magic until he plunged it into an absolute frenzy.

“It is imperative that it become more implacable, more perverse, and much more terrifying.”

All to manifest the true purpose for which Dale had decided to wear, without hesitation, that somber object known as the “cloak of shadows.”

It was just at that moment.

─ Do you require my assistance?

A subtle vibration resonated from the depths of Dale’s chest.

It resembled the voice of a little girl.

“The moment for your intervention has not yet arrived.”

Dale rejected the proposal mentally, bringing to his memory the appendages that agitated under the entity’s garments.

Depending on such mystical force before the gaze of the Black Duke, Sir Helmut, and the rest of the Northern factions implied a highly elevated danger.

“…!”

Faced with Dale’s categorical refusal, he perceived how the filaments contracted forcefully around his heart. In that precise instant, contemplating the worst possible scenario in which the entity could lose its temper, Dale was filled with determination.

Then it happened.

─ Your reality is extremely pleasant to me, brother.

It was the response that came from the “Book of the Black Goat.”

─ I will never execute any action that causes you displeasure.

It pronounced those words as if seeking to instill calm in him.

─ Therefore, use me for your purposes as much as you wish.

It expressed that with a tone that denoted an innocent cruelty, but which at the same time preserved a purely childish purity.

Slash!

“Kieeeek!”

Immediately, the dark silhouettes located under his feet began to emit screams of pain.

It was not the cry of pride of a formidable warrior like the orc war chief.

That was, plainly, the most terrifying shriek that could be heard in the world.

Slash!

Simultaneously, the shadows that projected under Dale’s boots began to expand in an uncontrolled manner. And those manifestations were no longer related to simple dark projections.

They turned into a tide of absolute blackness that flooded the surrounding terrain, extending uniformly beneath the positions of Dale and the orc war chief.

Various exclamations of amazement and consternation were heard among those present.

“My Lord…!”

“What kind of abomination is that?!”

Not even figures of the stature of the Duke of Saxony or Sir Helmut managed to maintain their composure. To all the witnesses, the impression of contemplating such a display by Dale was impossible to assimilate.

Likewise, the veterans belonging to the Black Tower were left speechless by the event.

On that changing lake of pure blackness, the orc war chief lunged with violence, stepping down hard. However, Dale remained completely imperturbable, limiting himself to observing his rival’s trajectory. He understood perfectly the nature of the “domain of darkness” that had been consolidated under his feet.

“This space belongs entirely to me.”

He made a slight movement with the palm of his hand.

Slash!

From the bowels of that dark pit, the figure of the “stalker” began to emerge silently.

Making its way through the oscillating waves composed of pure shadow.

An entity began to manifest.

It did not adopt the appearance of a bladed weapon, a magical projectile, or energy bullets. It consisted merely of a series of sharp, pointed filaments that bore a resemblance to large thorns.

《Shadow Stalker》.

A creature designed to hunt from the shadows. A being of dark nature that remains crouched in the darkness, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on its target.

And that swamp of blackness that Dale had summoned represented, in effect, the “habitat of the shadow stalkers.”

This was the manifestation of the third phase of the cloak, named Shadow Creatures.

A huge quantity of these spiny appendages belonging to the “shadow stalkers” embedded themselves forcefully into the physiognomy of the orc war chief. With the same ease with which a blade passes through a piece of tender meat, the spikes pierced the skin of the enemy leader, ignoring completely the resistance of his metallic armor.

“Graaaah-!”

The orc war chief lacked any escape route. He had been completely deprived of freedom of movement. No matter how much effort he exerted and no matter how much he tried to wriggle free, it was impossible for him to get rid of the spiny tentacles arising from the gloom that sprouted from every angle.

Everything happening right there, in the middle of that lake of darkness.

Crunch! Crunch!

The dark filaments continued their work of perforation implacably. In an act of pure desperation, the double-edged axe was directed in a downward trajectory toward Dale’s position.

Even when the heavy blade of the weapon approached a short distance from his position, Dale remained completely motionless and plunged in a cold silence.

With the edge of the axe being mere centimeters from impacting his face, the appendages of gloom emerged again, imprisoning the upper extremities of the orc war chief. They restricted the movement of his arms, his legs, his midsection, and his shoulder region. Immediately afterward, they proceeded to pierce him with the sharp shadow spikes.

Like a macabre artistic work, an infinity of filaments tore and kept the orc leader immobile.

The greenish-hued vital substance splashed the battlefield.

The sharp extensions of the stalking shadows went deep into the torn tissues, causing the exposure of his internal elements.

Dale contemplated the dying figure of the orc war chief with a gaze completely empty of any trace of compassion.

The imposing clamor of the creature had been extinguished long ago. In its place, only a dull whisper could be perceived, similar to the escape of a flow of air.

The orc war chief looked up at Dale, devoid of any hint of energy.

The Great Migration of the Demons.

With the sole purpose of guaranteeing the continuity of his own, he led his clan out of the domains controlled by the Demon King, crossing the imposing white mountain range… to end up finding, in this precise place located in the upper section of the Saxon River basin, the definitive outcome of his campaign for subsistence. Perishing together with the members of his lineage.

The final point of his journey.

The orc group did not find its ruin due to a supposed intrinsic evil, but simply because they did not have the power necessary to prevail.

The mere desire to survive does not grant strength. Since time immemorial, the unprotected lack real options to guarantee their continuity.

The prevalence of the fittest. That constitutes the fundamental norm that governs this environment.

In past eras, figures like the Demon King, the bearers of the Sacred Sword, and even the previous incarnation of Dale found their end because they lacked sufficient power. The orc war chief did not represent any anomaly to this rule.

Dale turned on his heels, moving away from the scene while experiencing a feeling of deeply profound desolation.

Amidst the material remains of the orc hosts, a large number of combatants from the northern regions remained expectant, keeping their eyes fixed on Dale’s figure.

The northern aristocrats and men-at-arms who witnessed the unfolding of the combat, in the company of the members of the Saxon lineage.

A dense silence took hold of the surroundings.

Faced with the colossal display of capabilities that Dale had manifested before their eyes, none of those present felt the courage to utter a single word.

Clang!

In that precise instant, the hosts of death knights under Dale’s command, who had just exterminated the front-line orc combatants, bent their knees in a coordinated manner and inserted their dark weapons vertically into the surface of the ground.

Thud!

Immediately afterward, the totality of the aristocrats and warriors who were stationed around imitated the gesture successively, kneeling and sticking their respective swords into the earth in the same way.

“The young lord has managed to strike down the leader of the orc hosts!”

“The definitive triumph belongs to the Black Prince!”

“Lord Dale has risen to glory!”

“Waahhh!”

Breaking suddenly the stillness that reigned moments before, a thunderous clamor of triumph rose with such force that it seemed capable of fragmenting the atmosphere itself.

The fearsome and infamous name associated with the “Black Prince” was now coated with a profound feeling of devotion and respect from his people.

He consolidated himself as the authentic protector of the northern lands who had halted the march of the orc commander in the middle of the exodus of the demonic forces, reaffirming himself, moreover, as the legitimate successor to the territory of the Saxon duchy.

In this way, the hostilities reached their formal conclusion.