**Chapter 44**
—
The *Purifiers* of the Red Tower.
From atop his horse, Dale estimated their number — a little over a dozen. Those dozen “Purifiers” were channeling their crimson mana, their murderous intent blazing like wildfire.
“Graaaahhh!”
Alongside hundreds of orc riders, they pursued Dale’s cavalry — three hundred knights strong.
It was the worst possible situation.
To launch a cavalry charge against mages of the Red Tower, while maintaining formation, was tantamount to suicide. Against their overwhelming magical firepower, it was no different from shouting, *“Please, bombard us right here.”*
The true strength of knights lies in tactical destruction born from flawless coordination. And the Red Tower’s terror lay precisely in its ability to *deny* that coordination altogether. There was a reason Red Mages were called the “Gods of War.”
Yet if they broke formation and scattered, the pursuing orc riders would tear them apart.
*This is getting troublesome.*
As that thought flickered through Dale’s mind, he turned his gaze toward the “tentacle” constricting his heart.
“Dismount, Dale.”
It was the voice of the elven mage, *Sephia.* Calm and composed once more. Dale did not hesitate — he understood well what those words from a Sixth-Circle elf mage meant.
Leaving behind his dispersed cavalry, Dale leapt down from his horse — with his escort knight, *Charlotte,* at his side.
“Everyone else, continue to carry out my orders!”
Seeing their commander suddenly dismount, confusion rippled through the ranks. Dale shouted with all his strength to quell it.
At that very moment, the orc riders and Purifiers began their charge, aiming for the “Black Prince” standing unguarded on frozen soil.
“Ice Crystals.”
Before the oncoming horde, Sephia whispered softly.
Within the blessed frozen lands of House Saxen — as a snow elf and a water-attribute mage of the Sixth Circle — she steeled her resolve: to protect her disciple, and to face the enemy head-on.
“Unleash.”
Her voice rang out — pure, clear, and resonant, untainted by any impurity.
And at that instant, the world froze.
From beneath her feet, shards of ice swirled into a raging storm.
*Whoooosh—!*
Hundreds of wolves and orc riders charging toward the two were instantly caught in the blizzard and frozen solid — like fossils entombed in the glaciers of a bygone ice age.
Only a handful resisted her cold — those who shielded themselves with flaming armor: the Purifiers.
“Take your young knight and leave, Dale.”
Sephia’s voice echoed through the storm.
“I—I have a duty to protect Dale—!”
Charlotte tightened her grip on her sword hilt, understanding what Sephia meant.
“Charlotte.”
Dale shook his head quietly.
“That’s an order from your lord.”
“…….”
After a heartbeat of hesitation, Charlotte nodded.
“Mount up — and don’t loosen the reins for anything.”
With that, Dale lifted her onto his horse. Along with the burden she was to bear.
“Retreat to the crossing point and report our situation to my father.”
“…Understood.”
Charlotte nodded again, knowing full well the weight of that command.
As she galloped away, the “shadows of flame” emerged from within the blizzard. They stood on two feet, clad in blazing armor. Twelve Purifiers in total — not a small number.
By now, Dale’s cavalry had finished off the remaining orc riders scattered around.
“Why is the Red Tower cooperating with the demons?” Dale asked.
“……”
The shadows of flame gave no answer.
The *Purifiers* — zealots who worship the flame of the Red Tower, executioners of madness who burn even their own flesh without hesitation. Their only purpose: to incinerate the enemies of the Red Tower.
For them, magical study amounted to nothing more than *“how to burn the enemy in any given situation.”*
Any magic not meant for killing was a luxury.
They could well be called *“the knights of the Red Tower.”*
Individually, they could never compare to Sephia, the elder of the Blue Tower. But their true power lay in that collective unity — the hive-mind coordination befitting their epithet.
The shadows of flame raised their arms in unison. The crimson mana streaming from their hands intertwined, amplifying each other.
They were about to unleash an inferno powerful enough to obliterate Dale and Sephia in one strike.
“Resound.”
But Sephia snapped her fingers.
A pure, crystalline chord — beautiful, yet strangely dissonant — rang out.
“……!”
The fiery bombardment that should have consumed them like hellfire instead fizzled out, vanishing like candlelight in the snow.
Even at a glance, Dale knew what it was — the art of the Blue Tower, specializing in disruption and nullification.
*Dispel magic.*
Countless blue motes of mana radiated from Sephia’s hand, scattering through the air.
They slipped into the flow of magical formations, unraveling their structures and nullifying the spells at their core.
**“Blue Dissonance.”**
Seeing that, Dale did not hesitate.
“Knights of Saxen — now!”
With complex magic obstructed by Sephia’s dissonance, the enemy mages could do little against a charging cavalry.
“Charge!”
The black cavalry of Saxen, ranks realigned, thundered forward.
—
—
At that same time—
Across the river, orcs continued their relentless attempts to cross, clashing fiercely with the main army under the Duke of Saxen.
Armored knights formed a solid wall of steel, and the orcs hurled themselves against it in desperate fury.
From a slope overlooking the battlefield, the Black Duke and the elders of the Black Tower watched in silence, flanked by countless young necromancers.
“Eris.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Black Duke spoke softly, eyes fixed on the battle.
“Send the children to the crossing where Baron Kenneth and Captain Yones command.”
He had pointed out one of the weaker spots, where the orcs’ assault was fiercest.
“At your command, Tower Master.”
Eris, the secretary of the Black Tower’s Master, bowed silently.
*The children.*
The young black mages behind them began to move. To them, the battlefield was the greatest classroom of all — for death was everywhere, and truth could only be found within it.
Meanwhile, the lords who had gathered under the Duke’s banner fought desperately, the battle reaching a fever pitch.
“…It’s time.”
At last, the Black Duke turned toward the black-robed masters of the empire — the *Council of Black Robes.*
He was about to give the order to end this war.
“My lord Duke of Saxen—!”
But before he could, a young knight — Charlotte — arrived, breathless, bearing Dale’s message.
—
—
The cavalry charged in a wide line, and the twelve Purifiers moved to intercept.
Their feet struck the ground — and from all sides, torrents of flame erupted.
Quick, instantaneous incantations — too simple to be disrupted by Blue Dissonance — yet powerful enough to sweep away the charging knights.
“……!”
Flames burst from the Purifiers’ armor, engulfing the onrushing cavalry. Dale and Sephia quickly raised a wall of ice to block the strike. Though the sudden wall halted the charge, it was better than needless loss of life.
Two mages of water affinity — atop blessed frozen soil — had combined their strength to form a shield of ice strong enough to withstand even the Purifiers’ flames. They added rapid-cooling reinforcement sigils — and Dale, anticipating counterattack, inscribed fractures and fragmentation into the ice barrier.
The cavalry’s charge had been a feint all along.
**Shard Magnum.**
The ice wall exploded, scattering razor-edged shards like shotgun pellets toward the Purifiers’ flaming armor.
But before they reached, the shards melted away — swallowed by the searing heat.
*…!*
Flame — the product of heat, matter, and oxygen. And heat, in turn, was the measure of violent molecular motion.
Cold meant molecular stillness, approaching cessation — yet these flames melted even Sephia’s enchanted ice.
*Impossible.*
This wasn’t a desert battlefield. This was the frozen land of Saxen — and these flames could melt the ice forged by a Blue Tower elder? With what power?
The answer came swiftly.
As the ice wall vanished, the twelve Purifiers scattered. Many were exposed before the charging knights — but a few broke through the encirclement, rushing toward Dale and Sephia.
Then—
“Shadow Bullet.”
Bullets of darkness, immune to flame, rained down. One Purifier was riddled with holes, collapsing before Dale.
His robe fell away — revealing his charred, half-melted flesh, more ash than man.
“…What is your purpose?”
Dale asked the kneeling figure.
“Hee… heeheehee…”
He hadn’t expected a coherent answer.
“Soon… this whole world will burn!”
As expected.
“The world will burn… and from the ashes, *they* will descend—!”
Mad laughter echoed — and then—
*BOOM!*
An explosion erupted, engulfing everything around him.
*A self-destruction spell!*
Dale realized instantly. And in that instant, he understood. They weren’t *wearing* armor of flame.
The Purifiers of the Red Tower were burning *themselves.* Not armor — but their own flesh, blood, and bone.
The realization froze Dale’s blood.
The blast wave consumed everything within range — knights, mages, the frozen plain itself.
All that — from a single one of the twelve explosions.
