**Chapter 42**
—
Some time later, inside the council chamber of the Saxen Ducal Castle.
Receiving reports of the battle unfolding beyond sight, the Duke of Saxen gazed down at the table before him.
Between the Demon King’s Territory and the Duchy of Saxen lay a massive mountain range. Along the range’s narrow passes, multiple layers of fortresses formed a dense, multi-tiered defense line in depth.
Those were the mountain strongholds where the ranger unit *Winter Watchers* was stationed.
And even if, after fierce battle, the enemy managed to breach those fortresses and cross the mountains… they would find yet more fortresses within the duchy itself, constructed several kilometers apart, blocking every river crossing and key strategic route.
> “A report states that the northern lords who advanced earlier, along with the Winter Watchers’ garrison, have begun their retreat from the Ninth Mountain Fortress.”
>
> “Before withdrawing, they burned all supplies they couldn’t carry off.”
>
> “It seems the time has come to deploy the field army.”
Sir Helmut spoke, pointing at the map.
Some of the lords and troops already summoned by the Duke had joined the fortress defenders, and even now, intense fighting was underway.
Yet there was one reason only why the great lord—the *Black Duke*—remained silent.
Through relentless layered defense and scorched-earth tactics, he would steadily wear down the enemy’s momentum and endurance. Then, at the final moment, his main army—boasting overwhelming striking power—would annihilate the foe in one decisive blow.
A strategy of *defense in depth*.
Waiting, patiently and coldly, until the very end, only to strike with devastating precision when the time came. And now—that time was drawing near.
> “We will block the enemy’s main force from crossing the upper Saxen River… and annihilate them there.”
>
> “Understood, Your Grace.”
For that reason, the upper Saxen River was the absolute line that could not be compromised. If the enemy crossed the river and scattered into the duchy, rampaging through towns and villages, the devastation would spiral out of control.
> “Inform the lords to ready their forces for departure.”
Just as he had once stopped a thousand orcs there—though this time, the scale was beyond comparison.
—
—
Before the coming campaign, in the Duke’s study—
> “Separate from the main force, I am entrusting you with command of a mobile strike unit composed of three hundred Raven Knights.”
There, the Duke of Saxen conferred a grave responsibility upon the *Black Prince*.
A detachment separate from the main army—granted full independent command.
> “Moreover, Lady Sephia has agreed to assist you at your side.”
> “……!”
The words made Dale draw a sharp breath. Sephia—the *Sixth Circle* elf mage.
> “But the Blue Tower’s creed forbids involvement in worldly conflicts…”
> “She is already the Saxen family’s *chief advisor*,” the Black Duke replied calmly.
> “And opposing the demons to protect mankind’s territory can hardly be called a mere ‘worldly dispute.’”
> “Was that Lady Sephia’s own decision?”
The Duke nodded.
> “Once the large-scale engagement on both fronts begins, you will command your unit according to your own judgment.”
Such autonomy was granted only because the Duke trusted Dale’s strategic instincts—trust earned from the great victory of the *Black-and-White Battle*.
> “You can count on me, Father.”
Dale did not hesitate.
He was used to meeting the weight of trust with action.
> “One more thing, if I may ask.”
> “Speak.”
Dale lifted his head, recalling the figure of a girl who wielded the black sword of House Saxen with unmatched mastery.
> “Please assign the young *Divine Sword* to my unit.”
—
—
A girl clad head to toe in black armor stood ready.
It was a custom-made suit of the Raven Knights, fitted to Charlotte’s smaller frame—once modeled after Dale’s own. But in her hands was no rapier; she held the great two-handed sword of House Saxen.
> “Truly dependable,” Dale murmured.
> “Well, I am to guard the famous *Black Prince* himself, after all,” Charlotte replied with a faint grin.
Dale smiled quietly beneath his black helm. His face was hidden, as hers should be—her identity was best kept secret.
But Charlotte was no longer the helpless girl who merely needed protection.
She was another prodigy raised under Saxen tutelage. Under Sir Helmut’s mentorship, she had endured dozens of grueling real-battle exercises, reaching a level where even standing beside Saxen’s own *Aura Knights* was no shame.
A genius of the sword who could freely wield a greatsword larger than herself through the power of aura.
At least in pure swordsmanship, her talent surpassed even Dale’s.
The proof was in her blade—the jet-black sword of House Saxen.
An *ink-dark aura blade*, forged from loyalty that endured beyond death itself.
> “…Let’s make a promise,” Dale said, gazing at her.
>
> “Okay.”
>
> “Don’t die.”
>
> “…What?”
Charlotte tilted her head slightly at the unexpected words.
> “Isn’t it a knight’s duty to risk their life for their lord—”
> “A knight’s duty?” Dale interrupted gently.
> “Shall I tell you what the *true* duty of a knight is?”
He paused. Charlotte waited in silence.
> “It’s to never betray their lord’s trust,” Dale said softly.
> “And I don’t want you to die.”
There was no hesitation in his voice.
> “This isn’t the battlefield where you’ll die.”
Charlotte’s breath caught for an instant—but her resolve soon steadied.
> “…Understood.”
And as a knight who swore loyalty to her lord, Charlotte quietly knelt before him.
Her black sword of Saxen planted upright in the ground.
She was thankful—thankful that the helm hid her face from view.
—
—
The main army under the Duke of Saxen began its march—to meet the southern advance of the orc warlord.
The demonkin were a race hardened by the struggle for survival in the hellish climate of the Demon King’s Domain. They did not fight for some lofty evil ideology or grand design to conquer the world.
> *“Which only makes them all the more troublesome.”*
While their numbers didn’t match the apocalyptic scale once led by the being known as the Demon King, massive migrations of demonkin had still occurred from time to time thereafter.
Each time, the Duke had rallied the northern lords. And each time, at the decisive moment, to minimize casualties, he had wielded the power of *black magic*—as the Eighth-Circle Archmage who stood at the pinnacle of the Black Tower.
Now that very *Black Duke* was leading his main army personally.
Even if he had entrusted Dale with the mobile strike force, it was clear what that meant.
He intended to end this battle with his own hands—using the power that the entire Empire feared.
—
—
The upper Saxen River.
A few kilometers from where the Duke’s main force was entrenched lay the position of Dale’s mobile strike unit—three hundred Raven Knights.
As always, he was accompanied by Sir Vale of House Baskerville, his guard knight Charlotte, and the Sixth-Circle elf mage Sephia.
But here, Sephia was not his *teacher*. She was his *aide*, serving under his command.
That night, deep past midnight—
Sephia could not sleep.
She stepped out of the tent and walked aimlessly beneath the sky littered with stars.
Once, she had been the mentor to the most gifted child on the continent. Now, she found herself part of the ducal household, drawn into the tide of mortal affairs. It had been a decision born from her duty—to guide Dale on the right path.
> “Lady Sephia.”
Turning, she found Dale standing there—he, too, unable to sleep.
> “Dale.”
And at that moment, Sephia realized something.
She no longer regarded this boy merely as the *object of her mission*.
> “You cannot sleep either?” she asked softly.
> “Why did you accept my father’s request?” Dale asked in return.
> “I am only fulfilling my duty,” Sephia replied quietly.
This boy possessed a talent unlike anything she had ever seen—brilliant yet dangerously sharp.
As his teacher, she had wanted to guide him, to prevent his brilliance from consuming him.
That was her mission.
But before she knew it, she had realized—the world inside him was filled with a cold, desolate emptiness. A mental realm overflowing with endless void and despair… and that realm had begun to *yearn for her*.
A loneliness so deep it chilled her bones.
It was heartbreaking—so painfully beautiful she could hardly bear it.
And when she realized that she alone might be able to fill that void—
> “…Did I not promise to stay by your side?” she whispered.
> “Thank you.”
Her cheeks flushed faintly as she answered. Dale smiled quietly.
The night sky above was ink-black and endless.
—
—
The first battle began sooner than anyone expected.
Before the main army could complete its crossing at the shallows, a small orc detachment attempted to ford the river some ten or so kilometers upstream.
Such small forces could easily cross by makeshift rafts or temporary bridges.
And it was Dale’s *mobile strike unit* that intercepted them.
> “Charge!”
Command of four squadrons—fifty cavalry each—was given to Sir Vale of Baskerville, while Dale himself held two in reserve as rear guard, ready for contingencies.
The orcs, exhausted after a forced march of many kilometers, had crossed without support—isolated and exposed.
The cavalry charge crashed into them like a hammer. It was a slaughter.
Several more small-scale crossings followed, attempts by the orcs to sow confusion.
Each was swiftly intercepted by Dale’s strike unit.
But soon, the orcs realized such harassment would no longer work.
And so it began—
At the main crossing guarded by the Duke’s army, *thousands* of orcs launched a full-scale assault to force their way across.
Under the command of the *Orc Warlord* himself, the strongest and fiercest of all the tribes surged forward—mounted on enormous wolves that made even the northern warhorses seem like ponies.
> “GRAAAAHHHHH!”
The roars of orc riders and their wolves tore through the heavens.
The true battle had begun.
And as the two great armies clashed in a storm of blood and steel—
Dale’s three hundred Raven Knights were already across the river, behind enemy lines.
Having completed their crossing to the northern bank—
advancing unseen, toward the exposed rear of the orc main force…
Unaware that in those shadows—
*an ambush was waiting.*
