Arrows and spells shot through the air, belatedly released by the archers and sorcerers. The wave of monsters rushing forward consumed the arrows, and the Mozes tumbled to the ground in dust clouds. Numerous Mozes were struck down, and even more tripped over their fallen brethren. But these attacks were insufficient to halt their charge.
Dozens of ladders simultaneously hooked onto the fortress walls. The walls swayed back under the weight of the black swarm of Mozes. Soldiers pushed with all their might to topple the ladders, or stabbed with spears at those they couldn’t push off due to the sheer number of Mozes clinging to them. It was a losing battle. There were simply too many.
Mozes that breached the wall became entangled in a melee with the soldiers. Sorcerers and magic academy trainees cast spells, firing magical arrows. Many monsters fell to these arrows, but an even greater number had already overrun the fortress.
Dunmel continuously shot arrows, but for every Moze he felled, ten more took its place. Loyal, who had gone down to guard the entrance, was lost in the chaos and out of sight.
A soldier stabbing down from the watchtower beside Dunmel was bitten on the neck by a Moze. Dunmel thrust a dagger into the creature’s face and knocked it down from the wall, saving the soldier. But the badly injured soldier collapsed and lost consciousness.
Taking advantage of a brief lull in Dunmel’s assault, two Mozes climbed up the tower. Dunmel dodged their attacks and sliced their throats. Thick blood splattered on his face and shoulders. Three more ascended, and as he felled them, four more followed. The corpses of Mozes piled up in the confined space, yet more kept coming, but Dunmel held his ground on the tower.
Suddenly, someone stabbed him in the back with a spear. Without looking, Dunmel dodged the spear and kicked the attacker. Mozes had now overrun the rear of the tower as well, squeezing up the stairs.
In the midst of focusing solely on the tower, Dunmel realized all the soldiers with him had fallen and significant parts of the fortress wall had been destroyed. The entrance remained intact, but with so many Mozes having crossed other sections, the closed gate was meaningless. The situation was unsustainable.
With a Moze impaled on his sword, Dunmel swung it towards others climbing the stairs, sending them tumbling backward. He slid down the stair rail, stepping on the backs of the fallen Mozes, and before landing, drew his bow and shot two more.
‘It’s too late to retreat now.’
The fortress had not withstood even a single assault. It was never built to endure such an attack, nor had it been reinforced. The sorcerers were too busy figuring out why their magic was ineffective against the monsters, what malevolent force was targeting Lutia, or who the traitor might be. No one had prepared for an attack of this magnitude.
Exhausted over two days, the soldiers couldn’t muster the strength to fight. The inexperienced youths of Lutia didn’t know how to conserve their energy or stay awake through the night. They didn’t know when to retreat. There was no commander on their side to give such an order at the right moment.
Purely in terms of combat power, Lutia, the city of magic, was so strong that even if the entire continent combined forces, it could not be brought down. However, the problem was that they faced opponents immune to magic.
Dunmel carefully observed the battle of Lutia as he retreated.
One of the teachers from Kainswick simultaneously brought down five Mozes with an arrow. A sword animated by magic danced alone, cutting through the Mozes. Master Luder hurled twenty Mozes into the air to secure a retreat path for the allies.
It wasn’t just the monsters that had become accustomed to strategy and combat. The sorcerers were adapting as well.
They found alternative methods to fight against the magic-resistant monsters, and they would surely discover better ways in the future. With a bit more experience, it could be possible. However, the commander of the Mozes didn’t give the sorcerers any chance to harness their potential and overcome this crisis.
That was why they had only made sporadic attacks without a decisive strike over the past few months. The enemies deliberately continued sloppy attacks to make them accustomed to the crisis and dull their sense of danger. Then, at a point when their numbers had definitely increased, they took down Lutia with a single attack.
Dunmel shot one of his last two arrows, embedding it in the neck of a Moze and turned around. Atop the fortress wall, a Venon covered in black fur had climbed up, and on its back rode a Black Knight in a black robe.
‘Kagua!’
Kagua, locking eyes with Dunmel standing on the corpses of Mozes, spurred the Venon forward in a rush. Dunmel loaded his last arrow and fired. The arrow flew a short distance straight towards Kagua’s head. But Kagua simply tilted his head, and the arrow missed.
‘Dodged it?’
Dunmel’s reaction was delayed by the surprise of his sure shot missing, and he narrowly dodged the spear swung by Kagua. The attack was incredibly fast. Dunmel rolled on the ground to avoid it.
Unlike a horse, the Venon, being a carnivorous beast, turned direction very quickly. Dirt clouds rose where its paws slid. Kagua, like a ghost, fluttered his cloak skillfully maneuvering the Venon.
The Black Knight swung his sword again at Dunmel, who leapt back to escape the reach of the blade. Then, the Black Knight threw the spear he had at his side at Dunmel. The spear flew in a straight line, grazing Dunmel’s side and embedding itself in the stone wall.
It wasn’t a severe injury, but Dunmel grasped his side and collapsed. Suddenly, his legs gave way, making it difficult to move.
Dunmel was panicked by the unusual change occurring in his body.
‘What’s happening? Why is this happening?’
He had no time to ponder. The Black Knight, drawing another spear strapped to his back, charged at Dunmel. Dunmel, pulling the spear from the wall, prepared to die together with the oncoming Black Knight.
In that instant, the Black Knight, along with the Venon, was forcefully pushed to the left of their charging path. The Venon, suspended in mid-air, elegantly twisted its body and landed on all fours like a cat. The Black Knight, clinging to the Venon’s back in his black robe, twisted his body as if one with the beast to assist in the landing.
The Black Knight effortlessly raised his head.
Master Luder, emerging from an alley in Downsearch, stood with his staff raised.
“Let’s see if you too are immune to magic.”
Three tendrils of fire erupted from Luder’s staff, wriggling like snakes in water, stretching towards the Black Knight. The Black Knight raised his spear to block the fire streams, but the formless flames penetrated the spear, quickly engulfing his upper body. For a moment, it looked as if the flames were burning his black robe.
The Black Knight slowly straightened his slightly twisted body. Within the blazing flames, he stared at Luder without flinching, almost as if mocking the sorcerer.
The Black Knight threw the flame-engulfed spear. The spear flew over thirty steps in a flash, piercing Luder’s shoulder and embedding itself in the wall. It happened so fast that even Dunmel couldn’t react.
Kagua, wrapped in magical flames, drove the Venon slowly towards Luder and pulled the spear out again. Dunmel, belatedly, threw his spear, and almost simultaneously, Kagua threw the bloodstained spear back at him. The two spears grazed each other in midair and lunged towards their respective targets. Dunmel twisted his body to dodge, and Kagua, like when he dodged the arrow earlier, just bent his upper body to evade.
After the magical flames extinguished, Kagua’s black robe fluttered in the wind, unscathed.
Dunmel drew two daggers and held them in both hands. Luder, even with his shoulder pierced and the spear removed, picked up his staff again. However, his legs were unsteady, and the bleeding was severe.
Kagua glanced side to side and then quickly maneuvered the Venon to escape into the alleys of the town.
Dunmel hurried to Luder’s side. Luder was holding his shoulder, but blood gushed out between his fingers.
“I won’t die from this.”
Luder bit his lip and stood up. Several Mozes, like beasts discovering prey, rushed towards them. Dunmel stood in front of Luder, slicing through all the charging Mozes.
“Who would have thought Kagua was commanding the Mozes…”
Luder gasped for breath as he spoke.
Dunmel, seizing a moment when there were no Mozes, pointed towards the tower.
“Are you suggesting we escape? No, we can’t.”
Luder shook his head.
“There are still many soldiers who haven’t retreated. My command was too late. So, I must take responsibility.”
It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. But Luder saw it as his responsibility.
More Mozes charged at them. Luder, despite his injuries, swung his staff, sending them flying, while Dunmel stood by his side, covering the gaps after each spell.
“Surviving soldiers, rally to my side. Those who cannot reach me, retreat towards Larvitten Bridge.”
Luder’s voice, not overly exerted, resonated throughout the town with a magical echo. To Dunmel, it was as if a horn was blaring right next to him. Soldiers who heard his voice rushed through the alleys of Downsearch.
The soldiers retreated while shooting arrows, but it wasn’t an efficient attack. The pursuing Mozes didn’t stop for a few arrows.
Luder, seeing the retreating soldiers clear behind him, raised his staff and both hands high. The ground trembled, and several houses in Downsearch shattered instantly. The rubble crushed dozens of Mozes beneath it, flattening them like bugs.
‘If magic had worked on them, Luder alone could have stopped this charge. Be it a hundred or a thousand Mozes.’
Dunmel was in awe.
“Let’s go.”
Luder staggered, likely from the strain of casting a large spell. Dunmel supported him and ran towards the tower.
Already on Larvitten Bridge, a skirmish between the Mozes and soldiers was underway. Injured soldiers ran across the bridge, while Mozes that had followed them through the town fell to arrows as they gave chase.
Only about three or four Mozes had sporadically run towards the bridge, but soon hundreds would swarm it. Everyone needed to cross before that happened. At least, once they crossed, the Mozes wouldn’t be able to follow over the Kvotz River flowing beneath Larvitten Bridge. It seemed unlikely they would recklessly swim across, even if they were good swimmers.
From the south, a group of soldiers from Downsearch also ran towards the bridge. Protecting them was Loyal.
‘Let’s meet on the bridge.’
Loyal signaled from a distance.
Led by Philip and Dethain, the soldiers retreating from the north crossed the bridge. Dethain waited for Luder and Dunmel before crossing. It seemed they were preparing to demolish the bridge.
Dunmel sent the injured Luder ahead with Dethain and waited for Loyal. An enormous number of Mozes, far exceeding the figures shown by Dethain’s map, followed the retreating soldiers led by Loyal.
After the last soldiers crossed, Loyal and Dunmel blocked the front of the bridge. Loyal took a short breath and stared down the Mozes.
“Dethain is about to break the bridge from behind. Let’s retreat,” Loyal said.
‘Wait.’
Dunmel stopped him for a moment. The Mozes halted in front of the bridge.
They didn’t attack, even though Loyal and Dunmel were only about twenty steps away. Even those who were running at full force stopped abruptly at a certain distance. The plan was to delay the Mozes’ charge and buy time to break the bridge, but they stopped themselves.
Both were slightly dumbfounded.
After a while, the Black Knight, Kagua, stood in front of the Mozes. Only then did Dunmel grasp the situation. If the Mozes had been a human army, it wouldn’t have been unusual, but they were monsters, making it a hard fact to adapt to. They were waiting for the ‘command’ of their leader.
Kagua didn’t have the deathly aura of the transformed Black Knights from the Twelve Thorns. But one thing was clear: he was very strong.
Kagua shouted first.
“Who are you?”
After a moment, Loyal hesitated. He stared blankly at Kagua, then turned to Dunmel.
“That bastard just spoke!”
‘What did he say?’
Dunmel, who couldn’t read lips through his helmet, was informed by Loyal.
“He said, ‘Who are you?’ Was that… a human?”
The Black Knight, concealed in black robes and armor, showed no skin, but he was undoubtedly human. Dunmel knew it. The knight waited for a response for a long time, and Loyal, confused, remained silent. Dunmel looked back at Dethain waiting across Larvitten Bridge.
Dethain was still waiting, not yet demolishing the bridge. The sorcerers and soldiers were either curious or fearful of what was happening.
‘Tell him, Loyal.’
Dunmel signaled.
“What should I say?”
‘He asked our identity, didn’t he? Answer him.’
Loyal nodded and then shouted.
“We are the Wolf Knights of Aranthia.”
☆ ☆ ☆
I wish to return to the Queen
Seeing the words written on the ground, two maidservants escorted Themar to the royal palace. All around the palace, individuals in Wolf Knights’ armor watched him with vigilant eyes.
Themar knelt before the Queen of Aranthia, just as Karlsten had. Beside the Queen stood Quain, his master’s killer.
Themar wanted to fight Quain right there and then, even if it meant dying. He was willing to do anything to erase the grief of losing his master and the overwhelming uncertainty about the future.
He thought about returning to Blackfoot. Staring at a small, unextinguished ember all night, Themar pondered. Without the two people who knew all of Blackfoot’s assassination techniques, Blackfoot had no future. He had to return to the guild to pass on the techniques.
He missed Heder, whom he had cared for, who had followed him, to whom he had given his only affection. He wanted to return for her.
Themar was angry at Karlsten. Why come here if he was going to die like this? If he knew he would die?
Themar chose neither option. He simply knelt before the Queen, weakly writing words on the white stone floor.
I will follow my master’s will.
Sanadiel looked down at Themar for a while and then spoke.
“You hesitate. I do not want such a child.”
It doesn’t matter.
Themar glared at Sanadiel. She extended her slender hand and touched Themar’s forehead. Slowly but irresistibly, his head began to hurt excruciatingly, and Themar tried to back away. However, he could not move an inch from her palm, even though she exerted no force.
Themar, frightened, reflexively reached for the sword at his waist. The Guardian Knight standing behind the Queen also grasped his sword almost simultaneously. However, Sanadiel looked at Themar with cold eyes, indifferent to the tension between them.
“Hear your master’s voice!”
A loud, ear-splitting sound shook his head.
He couldn’t remember when he had last heard anything. The sudden sound of the Queen’s voice sent shivers through his body, like needles piercing his skin.
Having never heard it before, he couldn’t tell if it was Master Karlsten’s voice. The vibration of the sound brought him both pleasure and pain. The voice of the client who had commissioned the assassination of the Queen brought discomfort and fear, but Karlsten’s voice delivered by Sanadiel brought coldness.
‘…I greet Her Majesty, the Queen of Aranthia. Though I never had the opportunity to become a Knight of the Wolf, I wished to meet you in this manner.’
Then Sanadiel’s voice followed. It was the conversation between the two before Karlsten’s death yesterday. The meaning itself, not the language, was being conveyed.
‘I understand your intent. You harbor a desire in your heart. Speak.’
Again, Karlsten’s voice was heard. There was no strength in his voice; he was dying.
‘Please allow Themar to carve his own path.’
At these words, Themar, who had not cried even at the moment of his master’s death, shed tears.
‘Grant this child, who never had a choice in life, his first opportunity to choose.’
Themar screamed in his mind.
‘What do you mean, Master? Why do you say that? You were my choice. You were my life. Why do you say I had no choice?’
All the words his master had ever said to him came flooding back.
‘Will you be my disciple?’
That wasn’t a choice when they first met. Young Themar had lost his place. The moment the wandering troupe he stayed with for revenge for his father disappeared at the hands of Blackfoot, he lost his place to stay. So, without hesitation, he agreed. A choice from a single option was not a choice.
‘What do you want to do from now on?’
Dunmel responded that he had someone he wanted to teach. It was Heder. Was he already thinking of training a disciple? It was an excuse. He wanted to stay at Blackfoot by ascending to the position of a master and training a disciple.
‘I wish to entrust my disciple to you, Master Quain.’
Did Karlsten truly want to entrust his disciple to a man known only by reputation and nothing else? No. Karlsten had always known what Themar wanted.
‘Do not take pleasure in bloodshed. It doesn’t suit you.’
Karlsten didn’t want the deaf and mute genius of swordsmanship, who lived among assassins, to desire such a life. But he couldn’t carelessly let go of a disciple who couldn’t find a place to belong other than Blackfoot. Karlsten wanted to protect his talent, which could be exploited by evil forces or shunned by people.
Karlsten knew everything. It took years after changing his name to Dunmel to realize what his master had known then.
Themar wanted to find a place to belong.
The Queen’s voice was heard.
‘Your disciple will follow his own will.’
Themar’s ears returned to their previous state, hearing nothing. Themar was silently sobbing. The Queen slowly stepped back, waiting for him to raise his head.
“Now speak again, child.”
The Queen’s face, once ice-cold, now shone with unparalleled beauty.
“What do you desire?”
With trembling hands, Themar wrote on the floor.
I wish to find my place.
The Queen smiled warmly.
“You may stay here. And with the authority granted to me, I now appoint you to the Wolf Knights.”
☆ ☆ ☆
At Loyal’s shout that they were the Wolf Knights of Aranthia, the Black Knight hesitated for a moment. Then he slowly raised his sword. The Mozes, baring their teeth, also held swords. These were weapons taken from the soldiers of the Vigilante Group.
“Oh ho.”
Suddenly finding something amusing, Loyal tapped Dunmel’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Dunmel. Almost forgot. Right. We are the wolves of Aranthia.”
The innocent smile on his bloodied face was akin to that of Queen Sanadiel. Cold yet warm. Loyal had wanted the same when he first came to the Wolf Knights. A place where he wouldn’t be feared by his friends.
‘I felt the same, Loyal. Thank you for not being afraid of me.’
Dunmel smiled back and extended his dagger.
‘Right, Loyal. A White Wolf should never show its back.’
Loyal clanged his sword against Dunmel’s, shouting,
“For Her Majesty the Queen!”
As if on cue, the Mozes charged towards Larvitten Bridge. Dunmel and Loyal, unfazed by the overwhelming number, held their ground.
Suddenly, an immense force, unlike anything they had felt before, swept over them. The bridge shook violently, and a strong wind surged from below.
Both turned in surprise. Initially, they thought Dethain was following the plan and destroying the bridge. But the tremor was not from the bridge; it was rising from the calmly flowing river below.
The river water was rising!
A column of water, frothy and white, shot skyward and then cascaded down onto the Mozes like a waterfall. The monsters panicked and tried to retreat, but it was too late to escape the wave created by the river. Like a giant hand made of water smashing down, the Mozes were swept away by the current, and Kagua disappeared into the white foam.
The water that had risen overhead also fell towards Dunmel and Loyal. However, it did not possess the same strong force that had attacked the Mozes. It was more like being caught in a heavy downpour.
Dunmel spotted the Venon shaking off water among the group of Mozes swept away by the current. Behind it, the Black Knight was stumbling to his feet. The Venon, carrying the Black Knight, moved away towards Downsearch.
“What in the world was that?”
Loyal muttered.
The two crossed the bridge and returned to where the masters were waiting. There stood Ruskin, holding a wooden staff, with beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Convene the Lutiano. It’s time to make a final decision.”
Ruskin staggered back towards the tower.
“Perhaps it’s best to leave the bridge as it is.”
Luder, holding his bleeding shoulder, spoke. Dethain ceased his magic to destroy the bridge.
Loyal asked,
“Aren’t the Mozes still not fully retreated? Shouldn’t we destroy the bridge…”
Luder shook his head.
“There are many comrades captured during their attack. The Mozes have taken several soldiers who lost their strength to move, alive. Plus, there might still be soldiers hiding in the houses of Downsearch… I don’t want to cut off their last path of return by our own hands. We can always destroy the bridge later, so let’s not do it right now.”
Dunmel looked around. Koret approached and said something to Luder.
Luder was visibly shocked and asked several times if it was true. Dunmel, reading his lips, realized that Master Justin, who had previously fought alongside him on the northern watchtower, had been captured by the Mozes. Captured, but would such creatures keep a hostage alive?
Death hung heavily in the air. Soldiers bleeding and being supported by comrades, magicians carried on stretchers, villagers screaming in pain from their wounds.
One person ran by, crying, carrying a soldier whose arm had been torn off. There was a soldier clutching a corpse and weeping, and students from Kainswick looking towards the river in despair. The hustle of treating the wounded buried their sorrow.
Not far from the bridge, Nonsearch had quickly turned into a makeshift hospital.
Dunmel continued searching the crowd until he recognized someone. Seemingly searching for each other, they both ran towards one another. It was a disciple of Flora.
“Flora is…”
There were claw marks of a monster on his face, and dried blood ran down his chin.
“Flora was taken by the monsters. She was sending us to the bridge until the last moment, but then she fell behind and…”
Dunmel couldn’t hear the rest and closed his eyes.
He later learned that even when the gate guarded by Dunmel and Loyal was breached, the northern watchtower defended by Flora had not been.
Flora had accomplished something. Therefore, the retreat was delayed, leading to this situation.
Dunmel leaned his forehead on his hand. He felt drained of all strength.
–TL Notes–
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