**Chapter 24**
—
After that, Dale continued to break through the floor guardians one after another, focusing on the *completion of the Third Circle*.
He tested new spells, added improved formulas based on knowledge from his previous life, and experimented with combining different magical structures—freely exploring the realm that the Third Circle had opened to him.
Refining and polishing the interlocked triple circles with meticulous precision, he measured his abilities without the slightest exaggeration or delusion.
By the time he reached the 20th Floor, leaving behind opponents who fell before him like autumn leaves scattered by the wind, a foe worthy of his level finally appeared.
The *Headless Knight.*
A knight without a head, clad in pitch-black armor, gripping a massive greatsword.
It was an opponent incomparable to any he had faced before—a formidable enemy, especially given that the typical mage and knight were natural opposites in battle.
‘If everything went exactly as expected, it would be boring, wouldn’t it?’
With a faint smile, Dale extended his arm toward the Headless Knight.
*Whooong!*
From his outstretched hand, refined dark mana burst forth, swirling through the chamber like a storm.
And yet, contrary to what the audience anticipated—contrary to their breathless expectation of a bloody duel—no such battle unfolded.
In fact, no fight took place at all.
There was only—
*Thud!*
“W-What’s going on?”
“Look over there!”
To the astonishment of the onlookers, the Headless Knight knelt before Dale. Of its own will.
The guardian, whose duty was to defend its floor, had renounced that role and opened the path it was meant to protect—just as if swearing fealty before the lord it was truly meant to serve.
On one knee, the knight thrust its greatsword vertically into the ground.
An oath of *absolute obedience.*
Dale looked down at the sight and spoke coldly.
“End yourself.”
His voice carried not even a trace of emotion.
At that command, the Headless Knight reversed its grip on the sword and drove the blade down with all its strength—
straight into its own chestplate, without a moment’s hesitation.
Bone shattered beneath the armor, and the once-mighty body collapsed in ruin.
To those in the audience who had anticipated a spectacular clash, it was an anticlimactic conclusion.
But to those within the Black Tower who understood what had truly happened, it was a revelation beyond belief.
Even the elders of the Black Tower—the *Black Council*—who had been watching Dale’s progress with detached curiosity, could not conceal their shock.
For to *subjugate a being of darkness* requires a power of darkness even greater.
And now, a creation born from one of the Black Tower’s elders—a being forged of their own dark magic—had turned against its maker and pledged loyalty to Dale.
That could only mean one thing: Dale’s refined dark mana already rivaled that of a Black Tower elder.
A child not yet ten years old…
A mere Third Circle mage…
One who wielded both the elements of *Water* and *Darkness.*
*“Impossible.”*
And yet that impossibility was unfolding before their very eyes.
Every mage possesses their own “world,” and the path of a mage is the process of perfecting that inner realm.
None among them could even imagine the origin of Dale’s magic—
a void filled with cold gray ash and frigid darkness.
The power dwelling within Dale’s mana was the darkness of that winter night, and before that darkness, the Headless Knight had bowed in surrender.
A being of darkness can only be subdued by a *greater darkness.*
And Dale’s was a world of cold and shadow—so vast that not even a Black Tower elder could trespass upon it.
That was the true strength Dale possessed as a magician.
‘Perhaps I went a little too far.’
After forcing the Headless Knight to submit, Dale felt a flicker of unease.
This was no longer about proving himself—it had gone far beyond that.
‘…I suppose that’s enough for this year.’
He had achieved every goal he set for himself. His trial was complete.
So, turning his back on the path that the Headless Knight had opened, Dale began to walk away.
“W-Why is he leaving?”
“Why stop now?”
Ignoring the murmurs from the spectators, Dale strode toward the exit—signaling his withdrawal from the trial.
Even for him, there were limits he could not cross.
To climb any higher—to prove himself beyond this point—would be to step into something that transcended even the realm of monsters.
A realm that could not be explained by the title *Son of the Black Duke* or *the Empire’s greatest genius.*
—
—
Some time later, Dale’s trial came to an end, and soon after, so too did the Tower’s test as a whole.
The Grand Hall of the Black Tower—
“Make way for the Tower Lord!”
The Black Duke himself entered, radiating the majesty and awe befitting the one who ruled the Black Tower.
And behind him followed his son—Dale, the heir who had proven himself through the trials.
They walked together, commanding fear no one could defy.
That was the way of House Saxen.
Neither father nor son were exceptions.
The elders of the Black Tower, the members of the Black Council, all bowed deeply to the two of them.
Then the mages filling the hall lowered their heads in unison.
The entire Black Tower displayed its allegiance in a scene that resembled a military parade—
a public ceremony marking both Dale’s debut and the consolidation of Saxen’s succession line.
Unlike the hereditary aristocracy, in the meritocratic world of magic, power alone determined position.
Yet before the Black Duke and Dale, none dared even to imagine defiance.
In a sense, it was a structure not unlike the order enforced by the Red Tower—the tower that exalted power above all else.
—
—
At ten years old, Dale had attained the Third Circle.
And not only that—he had conquered the 20th Floor of the Tower’s Trial.
The overwhelming feats he displayed during the examination spread swiftly across the entire Empire.
The rightful heir of the Black Duke.
The Empire’s greatest prodigy.
Within the duchy, people spoke of *Young Lord Dale* with the pride of parents boasting about their own child.
And the loyalty the Saxen knights and vassals felt toward Dale went without saying.
The tales of his achievements swelled without end, gradually uniting the entire northern region beneath his name.
—
—
Some time after successfully completing the Tower’s Trial—
In the northern territories of the Empire, within the vast lands of the Saxen Duchy—
*Hiiing!*
Along the snow-white horizon, a squadron of cavalrymen in black armor and gray surcoats lined up in formation.
A single cavalry battalion—fifty riders strong.
And now, Dale himself commanded that battalion in his own name.
By order of the Duke, he was to lead his troops into battle against a small horde of orcs within the duchy.
Unlike in the past, when he merely accompanied others to gain experience, this time he bore full responsibility—his own name and command on the line.
For a noble heir, commanding soldiers was a necessary virtue.
But for a boy not yet ten, the responsibility was immense.
And yet, not one knight present dared to question Dale’s ability as a commander.
For to *Dale of Saxen,* age was merely a number.
In fact, the pride his knights felt under his leadership—and the loyalty they returned to him—were unmatched.
Even before this battle, the trust Saxen’s knights held toward him was extraordinary.
Every dawn, the heir himself would spar with the knights and seek instruction in person.
And his tale of leaping into battle against a horde of orcs to save one of his men—
what noble heir could behave more “nobly” than that?
To them, Dale was no longer just a successor to protect—he was another lord worth dying for.
To earn the trust of one’s subordinates—that was the mark of a true commander.
Thus, Dale’s knights raised their lances in unison, facing the orc phalanx with blazing resolve.
“For Young Lord Dale!”
“For House Saxen!”
“Charge!”
The black cavalry thundered forward.
Lances met shields. Shields splintered.
The orcs screamed, their green blood spraying into the snow.
Before the unstoppable charge of Saxen’s knights—
it was not a battle, but a slaughter.
For the knights of Saxen were not those Dale was meant to protect—
they were blades meant to be wielded *for* him.
—
—
“Young Lord Dale has returned!”
Saxen City.
The knights of House Saxen rode through the streets,
displaying their trophies—rows of severed orc heads, strung together as proof of victory.
“The Young Lord has cleansed the duchy of monsters once again!”
As Dale and his cavalry entered the ducal citadel, cheers erupted among the people.
He had already led several such expeditions to purge the monsters within the duchy, steadily building his record of military achievement.
And the citizens could not stop speaking of him.
“As expected of Young Lord Dale!”
The heir who personally led the hunts to rid the land of beasts—
it was indeed a duty befitting nobility.
But in this world, “noble duty” was rarely more than a phrase.
Then again, was it so different in any other?
In that sense, there was no need to explain how extraordinary Dale’s conduct appeared to all who saw him.
—
—
Ducal Castle of Saxen.
The Duke’s office.
“We report the elimination of one hundred forty-five orcs, Your Grace.”
“And the casualties among our cavalry?”
“Three lightly wounded. No fatalities.”
Dale reported calmly, and the Duke replied in his usual measured tone.
“Did you use magic to protect them?”
“The knights of House Saxen achieved this victory on their own.”
When Dale quietly shook his head, a faint smile crossed the Duke’s lips for the first time.
“Well done, Dale.”
“Young Lord, you already seem quite comfortable commanding a full battalion!”
As the father and son finished speaking, Sir Helmut Blackbear finally joined in, laughing heartily.
“It’s all thanks to Sir Helmut’s teaching.”
What Helmut taught was not merely swordsmanship.
He was not only Dale’s instructor in the blade, but also his mentor in strategy and tactics—the art of war itself.
The command of armies.
The path to victory.
Handling a single cavalry battalion of fifty men was not so difficult. Orders could be relayed quickly, and decisions made swiftly.
But when several battalions formed a regiment—and when two or three regiments combined into a division—
the task of commanding over a thousand knights became something entirely different.
And when the northern grand duke called upon his full military strength for war, the number of cavalrymen gathered would far exceed a mere thousand.
Moreover, war was never waged with knights alone.
“Truly, the speed at which the Young Lord learns is unbelievable.”
Even so, Dale’s rate of absorbing the military doctrines of this world remained astonishing.
After all, his sense for *strategy* was not something born overnight.
He had long contemplated himself as a commander—the synergy between tactical warfare and his necromantic arts.
“At this pace, the day you command a true territorial war is not far off!”
Sir Helmut’s booming laughter filled the room.
*A territorial war, is it?*
At those words, Dale smiled faintly, showing no outward reaction.
A new stage upon which to prove himself—he had always welcomed such things.
