“Your Excellency… There’s no one, absolutely no one.”
Kirhas whispered softly as she scanned the surroundings. Her hearing sometimes surpassed even that of Diemonica in certain areas. Fernandez walked through the darkness, illuminated by scattered silver sparks and the flickering torches around.
She was right. Once again, there was no one. This campsite was completely abandoned. Just like the other settlements. Traces of people were scattered everywhere. A pot still boiling over the campfire and books fluttering in the wind, left open, were visible.
A half-empty liquor bottle rolled on the ground. Fernandez surveyed the area with cold eyes. There was one thing that set this campsite apart from the others.
“I smell something.”
The battle priests of Vaitas, especially the Inquisition Officers, had an instinctive sense of smell that detected the stench of dark magic and demons. It was so thick it felt like their noses would fall off.
“Come out, Manderson.”
Fernandez growled. The veins on the back of his hand gripping the sword hilt twitched. Anger gnawed at his heart, growing thicker.
‘It’s not Alver.’
Count Alver wouldn’t have sacrificed his own troops as offerings for dark magic experiments just for a trap, unless he had gone mad. It was a choice with more losses than gains, bordering on sheer folly.
Even if he had some deep-seated grudge against the Duke, he wouldn’t have offered his entire family and vassals to a dark mage just to politically disgrace the Duke. The political instincts of border nobles aren’t that emotional.
Therefore, all of this wasn’t the scheme of Alver and Manderson. It seemed the case was plunging back into a labyrinth.
That feeling was disgustingly horrifying. Fernandez stood in front of the massive tent with eyes blazing in anger. What set Fernandez apart from other dark mages, heretics, or demons was his monopoly on future information.
And the more he made different choices from the future, the advantage of his information dominance faded. The aftermath of the 50-year war was a prime example. The root of this incident was the Necropolis incident in the Dane Kingdom.
The Walker incident in Merlin Port, the Infermur incident that erupted during its investigation. The restoration of the Dane Royal Family’s maritime rights and the containment of the Phaeirn Kingdom.
The conspiracy of the Necropolis, which got entangled while intervening in the Dane Royal Family to stabilize the Eastern Alliance. Then, after destroying Mumto’s scheme, the 50-year war ended, the Great Wilderness turned into grasslands, and the specter lords of the Asit Empire arrived.
What was the result? Fernandez never predicted that the pitch-black Erik would expand his forces so quickly. Uncontrollable variables were proliferating in the process of changing the future.
Meticulously organizing every event according to plan and securing the flow through numerical battles—that was everything Fernandez was about. At this very moment, Fernandez was erupting in anger over yet another variable.
‘Annoying.’
Fernandez frowned and shouted once more.
“Manderson, Manderson of the Corpse Tower! Come out. There’s nowhere left to run!”
“How arrogant.”
The tent opened by itself. Inside, there was a massive wooden chair. A man leaned casually against the shadows of the tent, watching him.
“Who are you? Who are you to know me?”
“Count Alver… No. No, it’s what’s possessing you.”
Fernandez drew his sword and approached him. It was the face he had seen at the meeting. Count Alver. But beneath that pale face and icy blue eyes, remnants of magical energy could be felt.
“Ah. The Chieftain of the Beastman Nobles and her concubine. Quite the warrior-like fighter. I didn’t expect you to have any expertise in magic, let alone know me.”
“Dark Mage!! I won’t let you spill any more innocent blood!!”
Kirhas bared her teeth and charged toward the tent. Before Fernandez could stop her, she was already within striking distance of Count Alver, swinging her sword.
-Clang!
“Tsk!”
A knight clad in full armor emerged from the shadows inside the tent, deflecting Kirhas’s sword. Kirhas clicked her tongue and retreated, crouching low. Alver remained seated, laughing at her.
“In all my years, I never thought I’d see the leader of beastly creatures spouting such nonsense. Are you serious? Are you seriously talking about innocent blood?”
Clang! Clang! The sound of blades clashing echoed repeatedly. Kirhas swung her sword frantically, retreating until she stood beside Fernandez, panting.
“Your Excellency, they’re not ordinary.”
“Death Knights. Don’t engage them alone.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Like the Death Knights encountered in Altberth, Death Knights created while retaining their skills and spirit from life were extremely threatening undead entities.
Knights who could project all their skills solely into offense, disregarding threats of death or defenses for survival. Swordsmanship is fundamentally over 70% defensive, so those who use 100% of their power for offense become at least twice as powerful as ordinary knights.
Fernandez spun his sword and took a stance, surveying the surroundings. There were many. At least seven. No, ten knights were approaching them.
It was natural not to sense their presence since they weren’t alive. The lingering traces of dark magic everywhere had prevented him from noticing. Knights rising from the corners of the tent, exuding a menacing aura, were getting closer.
“Ugh, Your Excellency.”
“Pathetic.”
Fernandez narrowed his eyes and glared at Alver. Alver shrugged.
“Let’s see if you keep that bravado until your dying moment. I’ll definitely preserve your final expression as a specimen.”
“I have many questions, Manderson. Who’s behind you to make you act so boldly? Very, very curious.”
-Swish.
Fernandez gripped a greatsword with one hand and drew another sword with the other. Holding the Dane King’s sword in one hand and the Keyblade in the other, he coldly glared at Alver.
The tenant farmers of the border and some pioneer villages were working…
