Edith opened her eyes slowly. The warmth of the sun brushed her face, and she watched as a single cloud drifted lazily across the sky. She felt groggy, her mind hazy. She tried to take a deep breath when—suddenly—a sharp pain tore through her chest and—
CLANG!
The deafening noise snapped everything into focus. She was panting, her body aching and heavy. The sky above blurred as she winced, the pain in her chest flaring with every shallow breath.
The thunderous clang, followed by the screams of soldiers, pulled her attention to the chaos around her. Edith turned her head toward the commotion, but what she saw were bodies strewn across the battlefield. Some still twitched faintly, while most were nothing more than bloodied masses of flesh. Those who could still move scrambled in panic, fleeing in every direction.
Thump!
Suddenly, everything went black. Edith blinked a couple of times. Her face stung, numb from the impact. The realization came slowly—someone had just rushed by and stepped on her head. She winced, attempting to prop herself up, but her body gave out beneath her, slumping helplessly back onto the blood-soaked ground.
Disoriented, her gaze drifted downward, and her heart sank. Most of her left arm was missing, jagged bone and torn muscle exposed to the open air. Both legs were twisted at unnatural angles, shattered. A fresh wave of pain surged through her.
She tried again, this time dragging herself painfully toward a nearby dead horse. Each movement sent waves of agony through her battered body, but she pressed on. After what felt like an eternity of struggle, she finally managed to drag herself close enough to lean against the horse’s lifeless body, its flesh still disturbingly warm beneath her.
Her eyes drifted across the battlefield. The stench of blood and burning flesh choked the air, and the landscape before her was a twisted nightmare of mangled bodies and shattered armor. No, this wasn’t a dream—it was a hellscape made real.
A booming sound echoed in her ears again, this time from much farther away. She strained to locate the source, but through the thick haze of smoke and ash, all she could see were bodies being flung through the air like ragdolls. Giving up on finding the Count in the chaos, she shifted her focus back to her own body, her breath ragged as she took stock of her injuries.
"Thrust... he said Thrust, right?" Her voice was weak and trembling. She still couldn’t believe it—a simple thrust skill. That was a skill any spearman could learn at level 1.
She placed her trembling right hand on her chest, wincing as she noticed that most of her fingers were broken too. Desperately, she tried to move her mana. Nothing. Not even a flicker. In fact, she couldn’t feel any mana within her body at all. The cold realization hit her: she was dying.
Her thoughts drifted to the cowardly ranger who had always followed her.
“Fuck it, Guth… you could’ve warned me—” Her voice faltered as her strength ebbed. Slowly, her consciousness began to slip away, and her body slumped against the horse’s lifeless form before sliding down to the blood-soaked ground.
____________________________________
12 Hours Earlier
In the kingdom of Aenduil, nestled within the Brahdeun March, lay Cortinbury, one of the largest cities in the kingdom. With a rich history as one of the kingdom's oldest urban centers, Cortinbury had always been a bustling trade hub for neighboring realms. Merchants from near and far flocked to its markets, and countless dreamers sought to strike it rich in this lively border town.
Yet, on this fateful day, a heavy veil of apprehension descended upon the city. The inhabitants of the surrounding areas had been swiftly evacuated and brought within the city's protective walls. By noon, the imposing city gates were sealed shut, forbidding both entry and exit, while vigilant guards stationed atop the battlements kept watchful eyes on the horizon.
A profound sense of unease gripped the city as the threat of an invading force loomed a league away, encamped on the vast plain. This mysterious enemy had seemingly appeared from nowhere, swiftly swallowing the border fort with their overwhelming numbers. Fear coursed through the hearts of the city's residents as they dreaded the prospect of their home becoming the next target, subjected to the devastating horrors of pillage, sacking, violence, and enslavement if the enemy proved victorious.
Only one thing stood between Cortinbury and utter destruction.
____________________________________
The sun had just set, casting a warm orange glow across the great plain where an army camp had been established. Two soldiers sat by a crackling campfire. Although they fought for the same army, they hailed from different kingdoms.
The older soldier studied his new companion, whom he had just met. Despite the circumstances, the younger man appeared calm and collected.
Out of nowhere, the older man spoke up. “So, you’re a noble, aren’t you?” he asked the younger soldier.
The young man seemed taken aback as he glanced at the seasoned veteran beside him. “I... what makes you think so?”
The older soldier chuckled. “Oh, come on now. A dapper young man like you, donning such fine armor. I saw you practicing with your men. You certainly know how to handle yourself, and that expensive-looking bastard sword of yours isn’t just for show.” He gestured toward the sheathed sword lying beside the younger soldier.
With a wide smile, the older man introduced himself, extending a hand for a handshake. “I’m Wade, Ranger, hailing from the Ortsgard Kingdom,” he said.
The young soldier sighed, giving in to the older man’s charm, and shook his hand. “My name is Olli, Knight, from the Kingdom of Crilia,” he replied.
“I’m not exactly what you think. My father is a minor baron, and I’m the fifth son,” Olli said, indicating that he was used to such misunderstandings.
Wade raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I see. So instead of tying your fate to your oldest brother, you’ve decided to forge your own future,” he remarked understandingly.
“Yes, I’m grateful for my family. After I told them about my plan, they gave me more than enough support,” Olli replied with a smile. “The military training I received growing up is helping me climb the ranks.”
“I see. And you’re also in luck, heading into this war for your first time,” Wade commented, poking at the fire with a stick.
“How do you mean?” Olli asked, tilting his head in curiosity.
Wade glanced at Olli, satisfied to see curiosity on the young man’s face. “I don’t know how they pulled it off, but this alliance army was mobilized practically overnight. They managed to keep it a secret until the very last moment,” Wade said, shaking his head in amazement.
“I was garrisoned in western Ortsgard when they moved us out. We were told we were going for combat drills. The next thing I knew, I found myself outside Aenduil’s northern border, alongside soldiers from five kingdoms. It’s the same for you, right?” Wade asked, turning his gaze back to Olli.
“Yeah, I had just been made a squad leader at that time. My first assignment was supposed to be the subjugation of a bandit group, but at the last minute, we were moved here. We were told we were going to war, and the next day was our first battle. It all happened so fast,” Olli recounted with a sigh.
“My men and the rest of the soldiers were perplexed. Fortunately, the ensuing battle wasn’t too difficult,” Olli added, staring into the fire as if lost in thought.
“Exactly! That’s what I meant. This blitz strategy has proven to be very efficient. The war should end soon, and we can all go home richer, with another achievement added to our military record! Isn’t that nice?” Wade said excitedly, leaning closer to Olli.
Olli instinctively kept his distance from the older soldier, his mind swirling with more questions.
“What do you mean? We only just won a single battle, right? We barely entered the kingdom. How can the war be close to ending?” Olli asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“I can see why you would think that,” Wade replied. “But in reality, wars are often won not by killing every last soldier of the enemy, but by breaking their will to fight.”
He paused for a moment, glancing at Olli to ensure he was following along.
“You see... when a kingdom is faced with a powerful enemy, they have to weigh the costs of continuing to fight against the benefits of making peace. Agreeing to a peace accord might mean losing territories, but a war that drags on for years could spell the end of the entire kingdom. If the cost of war becomes too high, they will eventually agree to peace, even if it means ceding some territory or making other concessions.”
Wade leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “And that’s why this blitz attack is so brilliant! By moving quickly and catching Aenduil off guard, we’ve put them in a position where they have to make that consideration sooner rather than later. We’ve already won one major battle, and if we can take out the next army, we’ll reach the point where they’ll have no choice but to sue for peace.
“Let’s not forget, the Aenduil Kingdom we’re invading is the largest in the west. Normally, even a coalition of five kingdoms wouldn’t be able to pose a serious threat to them. It’s only through this blitz strategy that we’ve been able to penetrate this deep into their territory. Without it, it would have been nearly impossible—or at the very least, extremely costly.
“The enemy we defeated two days ago was Marquess Hammond’s army, which made up the majority of their defenses in this region. Although it’s a shame we couldn’t take them down in a single day, we still secured victory in a relatively short amount of time. Our army is now just a few kilometers away from one of their largest cities, with only the hastily mobilized forces of the neighboring county standing in our way.
“They won’t surrender immediately, but once we defeat that army tomorrow, our troops will be able to enter and ransack the city. After that, we’ll be in a position to threaten at least half a dozen of their cities. Their main army is still at least a week away from mobilizing, so they’ll have no choice but to offer a peace treaty,” Wade said, gazing up at the night sky.
“Would it really be that easy?” Olli asked, sounding uncertain.
“Even though we had 50,000 soldiers and the enemy only had 2,000, it still took us two days to defeat them completely.
“There’s a reason this kingdom is called the strongest in the West, and I don’t intend to underestimate them.”
Wade, still lying on his back, shifted his gaze from the night sky toward the enthusiastic young soldier.
“You’re right. Despite our overwhelming numbers, last week’s battle should have been easier. But it was a defensive fight for them, which gave them the advantage. They held a strategic position in a narrow field between a forest and a hill, making it hard for our army to make use of its size.
“But I suppose their leader is another big reason they held out so long. Marquess Hammond is one of Aenduil’s greatest generals. The guy was a legend... well, I guess he is now,” Wade chuckled at his own joke.
Olli appeared lost in thought as he added more wood to the fire.
“I heard Hammond is supposed to be in his 80s or something, but he’s still active on the battlefield,” Olli remarked.
“Apparently, he peaked over 20 years ago, but rumor has it he’s still around level 60 or so.”
“Hmm? Where did you hear that?” Wade asked, sitting up with apparent curiosity about the famous general.
“Well, I have a friend who was at the front lines when they finally managed to kill him. He said it took two squads of elite soldiers to bring him down, and even then, more than half of them died,” Olli said, clenching his hands.
“Huh, I guess he was a great general. I wish I had been there when they chopped off his head,” Wade said, gesturing to his own neck.
“See, that’s what worries me. You said the enemy we’re facing tomorrow is probably from the neighboring county, and the only county that borders this march is Eulstan. You know what that implies, right?”
“I certainly do. It means we’ll be up against another great general of Aenduil—the Count of Eulstan himself—who is considered to be the strongest on the continent. Hahaha!”
Wade's sudden outburst of laughter caught the young man off guard, and Olli looked at him with confusion. However, Wade quickly regained his composure, responding with a broad smile in a relaxed manner.
“You don’t understand; this is a golden opportunity for us. This is the achievement I was talking about earlier—being part of the battle that takes down the greatest general.
“Sure, the enemy is larger now, around 12,000, according to the intel. But they still don’t come close to matching our strength, and this time we’ll fight on an open field. I don’t give a shit how strong that guy is; I would love to see how he survives tomorrow’s battle.
“Well, IF we battle at all, that is,” Wade added, lying back down.
“What do you mean?” Olli asked.
“We’re sending an envoy—a prince from my kingdom. He’s going to demand complete surrender. He’s probably there right now, at their camp, speaking to the man himself: the Count of Eulstan.”
Olli murmured, “Alistair Roettger...” as he gazed across the vast plain toward the distant lights of the enemy camp.
____________________________________
Across the plain lay another army camp, but this one was smaller.
The atmosphere in this camp was calm, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy of the other. The troops here seemed more composed and focused, diligently preparing for the upcoming battle. Many were resting and tending to themselves to ensure they were in top condition for the fight ahead. Meanwhile, the squad leaders and commanders were occupied with examining various battle strategies and formations, making sure their troops were well-prepared for any plan their general might have. Despite being outnumbered four to one, the soldiers appeared unconcerned, their confidence remaining unshaken.
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In the center of the encampment stood the general's tent, a large ash-grey structure that blended in with the surrounding tents except for its size. Inside, little distinguished it from a common soldier's tent, lacking the lavish furnishings one might expect in the quarters of a high-ranking general. The tent was divided into two parts by a thick black curtain: one section for the general's private living quarters and the other for work. Today, the working area was being used as a reception area for guests.
A large wooden table sat at the center of the room, exuding simplicity and elegance despite its unadorned appearance. However, its apparent modesty belied the fact that it was crafted from rare and expensive Black Brum wood, known for its remarkable sturdiness and durability. Choosing such a costly material for a seemingly humble piece of furniture spoke volumes about the owner's values and taste.
At the table sat two individuals, each representing their respective armies.
A young man in golden armor occupied one side of the table, his helmet resting beside his sword on the table. He was a striking figure with full blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a long nose that gave him an air of regality. His armor was polished to a gleaming shine, and the golden hue of the metal caught the light, reflecting it across the room with every movement. The man’s smug smile only enhanced his confidence, as if he knew victory was already assured. He exuded a type of confidence that refused to yield to enemies, always moving forward to face challenges. Or the kind of confidence one would get by being escorted by five big burly men in black armor. In this case, it was the latter.
Prince Henry was the youngest of the five sons of King Frederick Bellecote, the reigning monarch of the Ortsgard Kingdom. He was no older than 20.
Despite his youthful exuberance, there was a sense of seriousness about the prince. He knew this was his first war, and he was determined to make his mark. This negotiation with the enemy was a golden opportunity for him to prove himself to his family and his kingdom.
He had 50,000 soldiers supporting him, more than quadrupling the number of the defending army. If they decided to fight, it would not be a battle; it would be a massacre. He had enough leverage to demand anything from the enemy commander.
The procession would take place at the center of the battlefield, with both armies looking on. The enemy commander would kneel and offer his sword to Prince Henry, signifying the transfer of power from the defeated army to the victorious one.
Henry relished the thought of the grand procession and the formalities that would take place. Although none of it was necessary— it wasn't even a custom—he was determined to include them in the negotiations. He wanted to assert his dominance and show off the might of his army. He knew such a display would bring him great honor, especially considering who the enemy commander was. As he pictured each step of the process, a small smirk formed on his lips, relishing the inevitable glory that would come his way.
Prince Henry's personal guards stood behind him—five knights in total, all clad in black armor. Among these knights was Perry Covil, who stood out as the strongest and most senior of them.
Perry Covil, one of Prince Henry's personal guards, was a level 41 Shield Knight. He had previously served as the captain of the Royal Guards and had amassed a wealth of battle experience. After peaking at the age of 61, he was reassigned to serve as Prince Henry's personal guard. With his strong will and unwavering loyalty, he was the perfect man to lead the prince's security detail.
At that precise moment, though, this battle-hardened soldier was soaking his back with sweat. He knew that the Prince was spoiled and inexperienced, but he didn't realize he was this foolish.
Without a doubt, Prince Henry received a royal education that included lessons on proper etiquette, especially in delicate situations such as negotiating in times of war. However, his behavior since the start of the negotiations had been disrespectful, to say the least.
As the guest, it was the Prince who was supposed to initiate the greeting, yet he sat down without uttering a word. While removing his helmet and placing it on the table was appropriate, leaving his sword there was a breach of protocol. It should have been placed by his side or handed over to one of his guards.
It appeared that the Prince was attempting to project an image of intimidation and indifference toward the host while also trying to show off the sword. Perry, who had been present when Prince Dorian gave the sword to Henry, could sense the Prince's pride in possessing it.
The sword was supposed to be a reward for the Prince's achievement in the previous battle against Marquess Hammond. Not that the Prince had achieved anything from the back of the army, but that's the perk of being a prince: you get a participation trophy.
Perry recognized the sword's exceptional quality, realizing that it was not just a decorative piece. The blacksmith who crafted it was unknown to him, but he could tell it was made from Red Kuri steel, giving it impressive heft and mana capacity. What intrigued him even more was that the sword's magical inscription was concealed beneath its outer layer, making it all the more mysterious and powerful.
The presence of a magic inscription beneath the blade's outer layer indicated that the sword was inscribed during the forging process, a skill possessed only by rune blacksmiths. Given that it was made from Red Kuri steel, Perry estimated that no more than five people on the continent could have crafted such a weapon. In the hands of a novice swordsman, it was a powerful weapon wasted—yet another perk of being a prince.
Perry once again glanced across the table, his concern growing. If it were any other situation, he wouldn't have cared about the Prince's attitude. But this time, the circumstances were different, and the three people opposite him were not ones he wanted to mess with.
If he were to meet these three people on the street, he wouldn't spare a glance at them because he couldn't sense any mana from them. He would think they were just some unclassed plebs. But these people were actually wearing Aenduil officers' uniforms. They couldn't be unclassed. The fact that he couldn't feel anything from these three could only mean one thing: they out-leveled him... by a lot.
Perry was sure that only when he was at his peak, a level 55 Shield Knight, would he have any chance against any of them.
Perry was a nervous wreck. He feared these people, especially the one sitting—the Count of Eulstan.
____________________________________
Across the oblivious prince were three individuals from the Aenduil Army. One of them sat at the table while the other two flanked him.
In contrast to their guest, who seemed dressed for battle, these three individuals were donning the dress uniform of the Aenduil Army. The uniform included a dark blue jacket and trousers with an orange belt and black boots. At the left waist, an orange scabbard was housing a saber.
The man standing on the right had a solemn expression on his face, and he looked to be in his sixties. His full black hair and warm smile made him appear younger. Although his mouth was turned up in a smile, his eyes didn’t seem to share the same sentiment. His strong square jaw and towering height of 210 cm (6'11”) only added to his intimidating presence.
The woman standing to the left did not bother concealing her intentions. Despite being the youngest of the three at 47 years old, she had a strong, imposing presence. Her blonde curly hair was tied back behind her head, and her blue eyes were accentuated by her little snub nose. Although her short stature contrasted with the man standing to the right, her cold expression and sharp eyes were just as intimidating as his.
Since the guests arrived, the woman’s gaze remained fixated on the sword placed on the table. As time passed, her expression grew increasingly grim and intense.
The man sitting down was different. Unlike his serious and imposing companions, he appeared relaxed, leaning back in his chair with a faint smile on his lips. He was a large man—though not as massive as the giant to his right—standing at 195 cm (6'5"), comfortably filling the chair. His uniform was the same as the others, but his featured intricate purple embroidery along the shoulders.
The purple embroidery on the man's uniform was a clear indication of his high rank and authority. It was a royal color; outside the royal family, it was reserved only for those who had earned the trust and recognition of the monarch. The embroidery indicated that this man was the head of the Roettger family.
The leader of the House Roettger should be in his nineties already. But the man who sat there, even with his white hair and the wrinkles on his face, somehow looked much younger.
Alistair sat, his right hand propping up his head, while his saber leaned against his chair on the left. He had been observing the people across from him.
The little prick seated across from him was the enemy's envoy. He had expected a certain level of arrogance from the envoy, but the boy's behavior exceeded his expectations. Alistair briefly entertained the thought of killing him on the spot, but he knew that would only play into the enemy's hands.
There were six of them: Prince Scoundrel and his five guard dogs. He had been covertly probing them with his mana, but so far, none had reacted.
He employed this method regularly to gauge his opponents' strength. By probing them with his mana and slowly increasing it, he could estimate their power based on the minimum amount of mana required to catch their attention.
He stopped probing when Albert, who stood to his right, finally reacted. The fact that it wasn't the probing target who realized it first meant that these people were nobodies. He thought that maybe at least the old man behind the foolish prince would be worth something, but he, too, was a disappointment.
Alistair grew bored, having expected more from the enemy's envoy, hoping for someone from whom he could gather information. Instead, they had sent someone who seemed useless. Glancing at the sword on the table, he suspected the enemy was attempting some sort of foolish ploy.
Prince Henry noticed the Count glancing at his sword, which made him smile. “I see you don't have your spear,” Prince Henry spoke, finally breaking the silence.
“I was hoping to see Aenduil's Hero with his mighty spear, but it seems that won't be the case. Nevertheless, I understand your decision,” the Prince commented, glancing at the sword next to the Count.
“In a cramped place like this, a long weapon like a spear doesn't work as well as compact weapons like swords. So that's probably why you decided to bring a sword, right?” The prince said smugly while leaning back in his chair.
The old man standing behind the boy lowered his head in shame upon hearing the prince's statement. He couldn't help but wonder if the boy had ever received any proper combat training.
“Ah...” Alistair could only chuckle when he heard the boy. He knew the boy was useless, but the prince managed to keep lowering his expectations with everything he did.
“That's a nice sword you have there,” Alistair said while gesturing to the sword on the table, ignoring the previous question.
“I assume it's something you procured recently?”
The question seemed to excite the prince. He picked up the sword from the table and began to run his fingers along the scabbard.
“You have nice eyes, old man. I guess that's what experience affords you, at least,” the prince said, dropping the pretense altogether and speaking however he liked.
“This sword is a treasure that my brother bestowed upon me for my achievements in combat,” the prince said while proudly displaying his new weapon.
“Would you like to take a look at it?”
“Certainly, if I may,” Alistair replied, seemingly unfazed by the change in the boy's behavior.
The old man behind the Prince began to make his way to the Prince's side to pass the sword to the count, but before he could reach him, the Prince abruptly threw the sword across the table.
The sudden act caught the old man off guard, causing him to flinch and his face to pale with shock.
Alistair caught the sword smoothly, but the two people beside him changed their expressions. The man lost his smile while the woman's face flushed red with anger.
Without appearing to be bothered by the Prince's slight, Alistair unsheathed the sword and began inspecting the blade closely. After a moment, he held the sword vertically in front of him, and the blade began to emit a low, humming sound.
The sight surprised both the Prince and the old guard. The Prince had attempted to activate the sword’s array, to no avail, and had begun to wonder if it had one at all. Yet, the man in front of him seemed to activate it with ease.
“How did you do that?” the Prince blurted out before realizing it.
Alistair observed the Prince’s surprised expression for a moment before cutting off the mana flow to the sword, causing the humming to stop. He then smoothly sheathed it back into its scabbard.
“Judging by the size and shape of the blade, you’ve probably been trying to activate Quickening, Lightening, or an elemental effect,” Alistair said, handing the sword to the woman on his left.
The woman took the sword and stared at it briefly before walking around the table to hand it to the old man.
“There’s only one large array in the sword, and it’s Condense, designed to increase the sword’s weight and strength,” Alistair explained further.
After receiving the sword from the old man, the Prince unsheathed it. He pushed his mana into the blade, attempting to activate the Condense effect. However, despite his efforts, nothing happened.
“Hey, it doesn’t work!” the Prince exclaimed, staring at Alistair.
Alistair propped his head on his right hand again. “I already told you—it’s a large array. At your current level, you don’t have enough mana to activate it.”
The Prince froze, his face reddening at the mention of his level. He quickly sheathed the sword and glared daggers at Alistair.
“How did you even know about the sword? Did you plant spies in my camp? I suppose I’ll have to do some cleaning when I get back.”
Alistair raised an eyebrow at the accusation. “Ha ha, wow, you’re even more foolish than I imagined,” he said with a chuckle. Before the Prince could react, he added, “Even if I knew the sword existed, how would I know about the array within it?”
The change in Alistair's tone startled the Prince. “Then how the hell did you—”
“It’s because I’m the one who commissioned the sword.” Alistair interrupted the Prince calmly.
“What? The sword was yours?” The Prince couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He tilted his head, scrutinizing Alistair, trying to discern any hidden meanings in his words.
Alistair found the Prince’s expression amusing as he struggled to process the information. He lifted his head off his hand and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.
“No, I ordered the sword as a gift for Marquess Hammond. It belonged to her father,” Alistair said, gesturing with his thumb toward the woman on his left.
The revelation left the Alliance group in shock. Perry, the old guard, was the first to grasp the implications. He turned pale and looked toward the woman on Alistair’s left. She met his gaze with a cold, intent stare. Unable to contain himself, Perry blurted out his realization.
“No way... Prince Dorian... He—”
“Oh? You’re quick on the uptake,” Alistair replied, smiling at the old man.
“Yes. Dorian, Frederick’s second son. He’s the commander of the Alliance Army, right? Not as competent or strong as the first Prince, but he likes to think of himself as smart,” Alistair said.
“The sword was taken from Marquess Hammond’s body after the battle, I assume. Your brother gave it to you knowing you would show it off when we met,” Alistair said, looking at the foolish Prince, whose mouth was agape.
“The idea was that if we were to harm you or your group during a diplomatic mission, it would give the Alliance the moral high ground and rally their soldiers. Not a bad idea, really. Not that it has any chance of success, but there’s nothing to lose,” Alistair explained calmly to the stunned Prince and his companions.
The Prince’s five personal guards quickly moved forward as soon as they sensed the potential danger. Perry swiftly pulled the Prince from his chair and positioned him behind the formation, shielding him from any potential attacks.
Seeing the Alliance group's aggressive response, the three members from Aenduil remained still. They didn’t budge as the Count started chuckling again.
“You were asking about my spear, weren’t you?” Alistair said, addressing the cowering Prince in the back. He picked up the saber leaning against his chair and waved it toward the Prince.
“This is not a weapon; it’s just an ornament, part of the uniform. I’m sure my men prepared me with a sturdy and sharp sword, but I’ve never actually unsheathed this one.” He placed the sword back down at his side.
“Every member of the Roettger clan undergoes training in spear combat, regardless of their class or whether they have one at all. Before they can serve in the army, they must master the spear to use it effectively within a minimal range of one meter from their body.
“This tent might seem cramped to you, but any squire in my army can easily maneuver their spear in this space. What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t bring my spear not because I can’t use it here, but because you lot are just not a threat.”
Alistair smirked as he paused, observing the gamut of expressions on his guests' faces.
“Ten seconds. That’s how long it would take for my great-nephew, Albert,” Alistair said, gesturing to the man on his right, “to kill all of you here, empty-handed.” He looked slowly at each of the men across from him before continuing, “That includes the time he would have to spend chasing you.”
Although the statement may have sounded ridiculous, the members of the Alliance group didn’t perceive it as a bluff. They stared at the tall man standing across from them, and he smiled in return, causing their backs to grow slick with sweat.
“I guess this is the end of this meeting. You can leave now,” Alistair said as he got up from his chair, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
“That’s it? You’re just going to let us leave? What about the sword?” Perry inquired, looking at the Count.
“The sword is yours now. It’s part of the loot you obtained from the last battle. We’re not robbers; you can keep the sword, at least for now,” Alistair replied, smiling at the group.
“Tomorrow, we’ll claim the sword back.” Alistair turned to the woman on his left. She looked back at him before nodding slowly. “So, just keep the sword safe until then,” the Count addressed the cowering group.
“Huh! You’re the stupid one!” The prince's voice trembled as he shouted from the back.
“I came here to offer you peace! To spare your life! And now you can forget it! Tomorrow, our army will obliterate you! We will—”
The prince stopped abruptly. His throat tightened, and his body trembled. A heavy pressure gripped the group, making them feel as though death was just a breath away.
The Count stared at them with cold eyes, his aura unleashed. He wasn’t smiling anymore; he looked at them like a predator eyeing its prey, contemplating whether he was hungry enough.
The aura emanating from the Count suffocated the group. Perry cursed himself for being conceited. If he were at his peak, could he have stood a chance? What a joke. Even in his prime, he would have been powerless to draw a breath. He couldn’t believe it. The Count was an ascended. Of course, Perry knew that Alistair was one of the strongest men in the kingdom, but that was decades ago. He should have peaked long ago. Yet he was still this strong?
“You’ve bored me enough, boy. I advise you to leave this place promptly before I decide to humor your brother’s foolish plan.”
After a moment, the Count restricted his aura. The six people across from him dropped to their knees. With a pale face, Perry stood up, shaking, and dragged the prince out of the tent, followed by the rest of the group. As they left, one of the guards wearing a bandana made sure to grab the prince’s helmet.
“Safe travels!” Alistair called after them, his voice dripping with sarcasm.