"Do you know why the other support units returned before you?" Eoch's eyes bore into Carl. "Because by the time they arrived at the scene, our people had already been slaughtered!"

Ravens took wing from the treetops, their dark shapes scattering against the sky.

"You mean none survived except these three?!" At last, Devalosfang's composure cracked like thin ice.

"I should thank you, Devalosfang, for bringing me three living men and one corpse," Eoch pushed himself up, gathering stones from the riverbank. "The others brought me only fragments—pieces of what were once whole men. Do you understand?" The stones skipped across the water's surface, each splash a tiny explosion of frustration. "Had I known, I would have led the main force myself to carve those Black Riders to pieces, just as they did to our men... Curse them all!" His fist struck the earth with a thunderous crack.

"It's not so simple, sir," Tyler ventured carefully. I can't be certain it was him. There are more pressing matters now. Perhaps I should consult Carl first. "We don't know their numbers in the outskirts. Rushing in would be foolish. And their cloaks..."

"What about their cloaks?"

"Well... they're unlike any normal cape or mantle. The material is... peculiar. Beyond muffling movement and melding with darkness, they seem to..."

"Act as shields against blade strikes," Carl finished.

"Cloaks?" Eoch wheeled around, his face a mask of disbelief. "Shields against swords? What a delightful fairy tale you've spun to amuse me. Perhaps you should wrap your heads in these magical cloaks so I might hack you to pieces myself." Another stone plunged into the depths, the river's ripples seeming to mock him. "Why this silence?! Don't tell me it's actually true?!"

Tyler's voice carried no trace of jest. "It appears so. I can't speak for all the Black Riders, but the one Carl and I faced - my blade couldn't pierce his cloak."

"Nor mine," Carl added.

"And you?" Eoch's gaze cut to Devalosfang. "Don't tell me even your 'wife' couldn't slice through their cloaks." He nodded at Devalosfang's sword.

Devalosfang inclined his head. "It pains me to confirm it, sir. Though not from today's battle."

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"You've encountered these cloaks before?"

"Indeed. If you'll permit me, sir." Devalosfang settled beside Eoch, the others following suit along the riverbank. "It was shortly after my marriage to Josephine. We were walking in Vellabuchlon Forest, as was our custom. The sun was warm but gentle, the autumn breeze cool but kind. Everything was perfect - until it wasn't. As we picnicked beneath a banyan tree, a bandit appeared."

"The bandit wore a mask, like those used by dwarven mercenaries, though he was unmistakably human. I hadn't noticed his cloak at first - he charged at us with an axe the moment he appeared. I quickly positioned Josephine behind me and drew my sword. Whether by chance or fate, he stumbled on our picnic blanket mid-charge and lost his balance. My blade struck true."

"I bet that dwarf bandit was fine," Eoch muttered with contempt.

"He wasn't a dwarf, sir, but you're correct - he was unharmed," Devalosfang began toying with the stones at his feet. "When he fell, his cloak pulled taut behind him, and my sword struck it directly, but couldn't penetrate."

"Oh?" Eoch's eyebrow arched. "So even your 'wife' proved ineffective?" His eyes lingered on Devalosfang's sword.

"Correct." A shadow of grief crossed Devalosfang's eyes at the mention of 'wife.'

"What happened next? Did you keep the cloak? Don't tell me you used it as a picnic blanket." A stone skipped across the water.

"The bandit was clearly rattled, making him easy to subdue. We questioned him for over a month, starting with basic inquiries about his identity and motives, eventually progressing to threats about turning his fingers into crispy sausages for his dinner. Though initially tight-lipped about the cloak's origin, perhaps fearing the loss of his fingers, he finally revealed he had stolen it from a merchant at the Gotena Free Market."

"The Gotena Free Market?" Eoch asked.

"Yes, sir, that very market where the crowds alone could trample you. Following the bandit's description, we found the merchant - a peculiar sight indeed. He wore a velvet hat with more feathers than a rooster's tail, silk garments covered in worm-like embroidery, and limbs so padded they resembled giant chicken legs. Standing was the only way to distinguish his arms from his feet."

"A half-elf," Tyler commented. "Only half-elves would dress like that."

"Though nobles and bards sometimes dress similarly, you're right, Tyler. Only half-elves dress so ostentatiously, desperate to announce their lineage and status. When he saw us approach, I felt his eyes fixed on my sword and coin purse. 'How may I serve you, esteemed sir?' he said, rubbing his hands together, eyes bright as torches. But at the mention of the black cloak, his face fell to the ground. 'Never heard of such a thing, my apologies,' he said, lifting the canvas on his cart. 'But I have other fine wares - like this cloak, which accompanied the war god Okado in battle! Far superior to any green cloak!' Then he pulled out the supposed war god's cloak."

"Utter nonsense," Eoch spat, his contempt palpable. "Okado never used a cloak - let alone a tattered one. He often went into battle wearing barely anything at all. Even the dullest noble brat in Godma, still drooling and crying for his wet nurse at sixteen, knows that much."