**Chapter 27**
—
“Among those under your command… who is the strongest?”
The young Dale drew the knight’s sword hanging at his side. The blade’s edge caught the sunlight, glinting with a cold, blue sheen.
The heart of this battle lay in the clash of two Grand Powers—the Black Duke and the Holy Sword Knight—and the cavalry each commanded.
That, however, did not mean the forces of the two barons were meaningless.
“You called for me, my lord!”
At Dale’s summons, a tall knight stepped forward with a brisk voice.
He was the one who guarded the baron’s side most closely. A faint smell of liquor drifted from his mouth.
“……”
Dale did not reply immediately.
He dismounted, twirling the sword in his hand before driving it firmly into the ground.
At the same time, the hem of his surcoat began to flutter violently.
“Surely, Baron Greenbelt,”
he said evenly—though it was not a mere black surcoat, but the *Shadow Cloak*, an artifact that mimicked its appearance.
“You must be doubting my capabilities.”
His cloak rippled as he continued, his voice calm but cold.
“To entrust such a crucial battle to a mere ten-year-old child—without even a word of counsel—how could you not doubt?”
“Th–that is…”
Baron Greenbelt stammered, unable to hide his unease. Dale had struck the mark.
“Yet I, too, have my doubts,” Dale said coolly. His words were edged—nearly an insult. “And there’s only one sure way to clear those doubts.”
*Schring!*
“I understand, young master.”
As if accepting the provocation, the knight beside the baron drew his sword.
“I, Sir Harbuck, shall prove the honor of my lord’s blade in the name of knighthood!”
“Very well, Sir Harbuck,” Dale replied flatly.
An impromptu duel.
A moment later, aura—refined through breathing techniques—spread from Harbuck’s core throughout his body.
A sure sign that he was fighting in earnest as a knight.
Dale, too, began circulating the magical current within his body, revolving the circle in his heart.
Though weaker than a knight’s aura, a mage could still use mana to strengthen the body. And more importantly—Dale’s beloved sword was no ordinary blade like the one he had thrust into the ground.
“You’ve heard of my sword, haven’t you?”
“Haha! Of course, young master. I’ve long heard of your *peculiar blade*.”
Dale asked just to be sure, and Sir Harbuck answered confidently, without a trace of worry.
‘Does he really have that much faith in himself?’
Dale tilted his head slightly at the man’s composure.
Then again, Dale was far from a conventional knight.
‘All the better. Now I can go all out.’
*Tap!*
The duel began—and it was Harbuck who first lunged forward, kicking off the ground.
He was fast. But not at the level where his blade carried true aura. In truth, such knights were rare across the entire continent.
Even among Dale’s own retinue, only a handful could wield the *Aura Blade*.
And even those few did not resemble the fantastical “Sword Masters” of knightly legend who carved through armies single-handedly. A knight’s real power lay not in a single aura strike, but in the tactical might born of discipline and formation.
Still, to measure that discipline, there was no better test than an individual knight’s strength.
*Clang!*
Harbuck’s sword came slashing down—but a blade of *shadow* surged up from beneath Dale’s feet to block it.
Even if this were a mere spar, the knight was giving his all. So Dale, in turn, sharpened his killing intent to match.
A sword meant to kill—cold and merciless.
“……!”
Sir Harbuck hastily parried Dale’s murderous thrust, but already the shadow beneath Dale writhed again. Along the folds of his cloak, a dozen shadow-blades sprouted and began orbiting around him.
Blades of darkness—unbound by number, size, or form.
It might have sounded like a theoretical impossibility—unless one had the power to sustain it. But for Dale, it was no empty theory.
Maintaining his relentless assault, Dale mused dispassionately:
‘His skill’s mediocre.’
He hadn’t expected much from a mere baron’s knight, but still—
‘Then what’s he so confident about?’
While Dale remained calm and precise, Sir Harbuck was losing composure by the second.
‘This… this can’t be happening!’
Under the storm of shadow-blades converging from all sides, panic began to set in.
He hadn’t underestimated the boy. It wasn’t arrogance. But even so—no knight empowered by aura could imagine losing to a ten-year-old child.
‘Impossible!’
A knight who had invoked aura—now being driven to the brink in a pure contest of swordsmanship.
Even if it was through a dark artifact’s sinister power, how could a man who had devoted his life to the sword be *overwhelmed*—by a child?
‘A ten-year-old child!’
It was unthinkable.
──Yes, perhaps he had neglected his training,
──perhaps he spent too many nights drinking with his men,
──even skipping sword practice that very morning.
But still… in his mind, defeat was *unthinkable*.
*Puk!*
‘Huh?’
A strange sound broke the air.
“AAAAHHHH!”
Then came a scream.
“Aaaahhh! Aaaaaagh!”
“S–Sir Harbuck!”
Baron Greenbelt cried out in shock.
‘What…?’
Dale blinked, almost doubting his own eyes.
The shadow-blade had pierced through Harbuck’s shoulder and upper arm—jutting out the other side.
‘No way.’
The so-called *strongest knight* under Baron Greenbelt’s command—defeated in only a few exchanges.
‘He couldn’t dodge that? Seriously?’
Worse yet, the man lay incapacitated, howling and writhing in pain—a disgrace no knight could bear.
It was absurd. And yet undeniable.
“…Is this for real?” Dale muttered, dumbfounded.
He hadn’t expected much—but *this* pathetic?
—
—
“Y–Young Master Dale!”
Before the fallen “strongest knight” who could no longer fight—
“What in the world is the meaning of this?!”
Baron Greenbelt shouted, unable to contain his outrage.
“Right before a battle of this importance—our house’s elite knight has been rendered useless!”
He spoke as if to reproach Dale.
‘I’m going to lose my mind.’
Truth be told, Dale hadn’t expected this either.
He knew Harbuck was no elite—but a knight trained in aura, defeated this easily? Broken so completely?
“No matter your status, young master, such recklessness—!”
That was when—
“How dare you raise your voice before the young lord!”
A knight in black armor barked, his voice echoing with wrath.
He was one of the five hundred knights sworn to Dale—the Night Raven Order, proud vanguard of the northern Grand Duke of Saxen.
“Hi–hiieek!”
The baron flinched and fell backward in terror as the ground seemed to tremble.
Dale wordlessly raised his arm, motioning for his men to stand down.
“Baron Greenbelt,” he said coldly, “do you not yet understand your position?”
His tone carried no emotion—only biting clarity.
“You’ve sat idle, watching your blade rust and chip away, all the while relying on the Saxen name to protect you?”
There was none of his usual gentleness in that voice.
“Th–that is…”
“Is *this* the strongest knight you boast of?” Dale’s lips curled in something like a bitter smile. “A man who falls helplessly before a ten-year-old child?”
It wasn’t simple arrogance. Dale could accept losing because of a difference in *talent*. But this wasn’t that. Harbuck’s defeat was born of complacency and rot.
Dale, who had lived through a lifetime of battle, knew the difference.
“Our House of Saxen does not hesitate to serve as a shield for those who are loyal,” he said.
For a moment, relief flashed across the baron’s face—but Dale’s next words were as cold as ice.
“But that is no excuse for neglecting your duties as a lord.”
“……!”
“Until the day of battle arrives, our knights will retrain yours.”
He turned, the five hundred Saxen knights standing behind him like a wall of black steel.
“So for now,” Dale said, his voice cutting through the silence, “get on your knees.”
Before that command, there were not many choices left for a minor lord and his ragtag men.
—
—
That night, in the chamber of the baron’s keep—
‘Hopeless.’
That was Dale’s first impression after inspecting the troops under Baron Greenbelt.
‘…I was the frog in the well.’
And now he realized how miserable the world beyond that well truly was.
He had grown surrounded by knights of the highest discipline, men who never stopped sharpening their blades.
Becoming a knight, mastering aura—that was not the end. Each morning at dawn, Dale had crossed swords with Saxen knights in tireless practice. Such diligence was the true duty of a knight.
But not all northern knights were like those of House Saxen.
‘Still… I didn’t expect *this*.’
He wasn’t speaking of Harbuck alone. The rest were no better—each one a disgrace to the title of knight.
They skipped drills, drank daily, and wasted their strength on vice.
And the levied peasants who filled their ranks? Better left unmentioned.
‘An unexpected weak link…’
Even if the main battle would be fought by the great houses’ cavalry, the barony’s troops couldn’t simply be thrown away as cannon fodder. And when Dale thought of that, the realization struck.
*This*—this incompetence—was exactly what the enemy had planned for.
The Holy Sword Knight had chosen this very region after confirming its weakness.
He had targeted the weakest link under the banner of the North.
The Holy Sword Knight’s trap.
‘So that’s your game, huh?’
War was like that. The enemy was no fool.
Before swords ever clashed, schemes and deceptions collided first.
And one must always be ready for the unexpected.
At least for Dale—who had lived through countless battles—none of this was new.
