**Chapter 59**
—
Duchy of Saxen.
Night had fallen deep, and in the shroud of darkness, *they* moved.
The hardline elders of the Black Tower — those who did not hesitate to become monsters in the name of Truth — were on the march to carry out their Black Crusade.
> “For the Black Tower.”
> “And for the Master of the Black Tower.”
Their mission was singular.
The day their master had built a family — when he had married the woman he loved and when Dale was born — the man they had once known as the *Master of the Black Tower* had died. Along with his death, the very ideology of the Black Tower itself had perished.
And so, they would erase that warmth of family that had weakened their master and resurrect the monster he once was.
> “Elena of Saxen, Lise of Saxen, and…”
> “The Black Prince will be no exception.”
Even if Dale was said to be the most gifted talent in the Empire and the rightful successor to the Master of the Black Tower, he was also the one who most embodied the *weakness* of the Black Duke.
Having steeled their resolve, the hardline elders of the Black Tower spoke as one:
> “Veritas vos liberabit.”
> *The truth shall set you free.*
Behind them, rows upon rows of Death Knights adjusted their grips upon their swords.
The black blades of the Saxen family, now wielded by these undead knights, glimmered with a pale, deathly light — turned against the very lords they had once sworn to serve.
Abyssal black aura flared.
The Black Crusade had begun.
—
Under the cover of dawn’s darkness, the assault commenced.
—
**Clang, clang, clang.**
The bell of Castle Saxen — one that was almost never rung — tolled through the night.
An alarm. A signal of invasion.
> “Enemy attack! Enemy attack!”
> “Arm yourselves and prepare for battle!”
> “Form up! Draw your swords!”
An assault.
Not on the city of Saxen, but *within* the city — here, in the very heart of the ducal castle itself.
That could mean only one thing:
The enemy were those who could walk freely into the castle without suspicion.
The Elders of the Black Tower.
And their Death Knights.
The Black Ravens — the elite knights of House Saxen — raised their swords in grim determination.
Clad in their own black armor, they faced opponents who were once their comrades — now undead warriors who neither rested nor faltered.
They raised their blades against the very Death Knights who had once fought by their side.
—
—
There was a girl who continued to train her sword long into the night.
She was clad in full black armor, a perfectly fitted custom set belonging to the order of the Black Ravens, and in her hands gleamed a massive Saxen greatsword.
“……”
When the bells of alarm rang out, Charlotte did not hesitate for even a breath.
To think, to ponder — that was not the role of a knight.
A knight’s virtue lay solely in *execution.*
And so she tightened her grip on her sword.
It was time to fulfill her duty as a knight.
A girl of unmatched swordsmanship — the Empire’s greatest prodigy — ready to test the results of her discipline.
> “Wait for me, Dale.”
Charlotte Orhart, the daughter of the Divine Sword, whispered softly.
—
—
Why were the Elders of the Black Tower attacking Castle Saxen in the absence of their master?
And why were the Death Knights — who were supposed to be the most reliable guardians — swinging their greatswords at the Black Ravens of Saxen?
Clearly, the hardliners of the Black Tower, those who opposed the Duke’s leadership, had staged a coup.
But for *Sir Helmut Blackbear*, the “Mad Sword,” one of the Seven Great Swords of the continent and the strongest knight of the North, such matters were of little consequence.
Like Charlotte Orhart, he too did not think or calculate.
A knight’s duty was to wield his sword for his lord —
To drive back the enemy, to protect his master and his master’s kin, even at the cost of his own life.
*Execution.*
And so, Sir Helmut Blackbear gripped his beloved blade — *Madness.*
He turned toward the Death Knights pouring through the corridors of the castle, black swords of Saxen in their hands, followed by the Elders of the Black Tower themselves.
> “Helmut Blackbear…!”
> “You dare?”
The strongest knight of the North spoke, his voice cold and thunderous.
> “You dare raise the blades of Saxen against my lord —
> You dare defile the honor of our proud Black Raven knights—!”
Dark aura surged through his body like an explosion as Helmut muttered lowly:
> “You worms… You *dare*… *dare*… *DARE*!”
With a roar that split the heavens, filled with seething madness—
> “I’ll tear your flesh and bones to shreds!”
*Crunch! Crack! Rrraaaagh!*
Something began to twist.
His black armor groaned and buckled as the immense, surging power within his body warped its steel plates.
No — it wasn’t breaking.
The armor *and his body* were fusing together.
The black plates of his full armor warped, melted, and twisted around his growing flesh—
—until the body of Sir Helmut Blackbear and his black armor *became one.*
There is an old saying: *“Magic is the power to turn imagination into reality.”*
And that at the highest level of mastery, “a sword that reaches its peak is indistinguishable from magic.”
Thus, the power to shape reality through will is not the sole domain of mages.
Knights who reach the pinnacle of sword and aura can channel their very ideology through their blades and armor, achieving a transcendence akin to that of a sorcerer’s conceptual world.
Just as archmages manifest their *worlds of thought*,
Knights project their ideals into their *sword, armor, and flesh* — achieving the ultimate state of combat.
The **Armor of Ideation** —
The **Avatar.**
Just like the man who now stood reborn — a monster of black armor and berserk flesh fused with his greatsword.
A living tank in human form, emanating a storm of black aura.
The hilt of his greatsword *Madness* and his arm had fused into one.
> “Even death will not forgive your foolishness…!”
The black-armored behemoth roared as he lunged forward.
His greatsword — now a part of his body — swung with crushing force.
*Whoooosh!*
> “I’ll kill you! I’ll rip you all apart, flesh and bone alike!”
The Black Berserker bellowed.
*Thud! Thud!*
The ground shook under his charge, like a tank tearing through a field of infantry.
An unstoppable force of pure destruction.
And it was no metaphor.
Helmut’s body itself *was* a walking fortress of black armor.
The Death Knights — the pride of the Black Tower — were torn apart like paper before him.
Each swing of his greatsword *Madness* shredded their bones and armor into unrecognizable gore.
> “The Mad Dog of the Saxen Duke…!”
The Elders of the Black Tower clicked their tongues in disgust.
Even the overwhelming number of Death Knights they had unleashed could not stop him.
The dark spells they hurled in desperation failed to pierce his armor.
The body clad in that black armor — the body that not even the spells of Sixth-Circle mages could easily harm.
Before a knight who had reached the pinnacle, even the greatest of magi were nothing more than ordinary spellcasters.
And when a mere magician gave up distance to such a knight…
There was no need to describe the result.
Blood splattered in waves.
Bathed in crimson, the black-armored berserker roared once more.
Even the Sixth-Circle Elders of the Black Tower felt fear before that crushing presence.
Smashing through everything in his path, the black-armored monster advanced.
And before him, the Elders of the Black Tower unfurled their **Worlds of Thought** all at once.
The greatest monster of the North — the guardian of Castle Saxen.
From the very beginning, the role of the Elders here was not to *defeat* him.
They knew they would not survive.
Their mission was to *stall* this beast — to bind his steps long enough for their comrades inside the castle to complete their task.
They had long steeled themselves to become martyrs for the Black Crusade.
—
—
Dale was running through the corridors of the castle — toward what he had to protect with his own hands.
And then—
A familiar shadow blocked his path.
The adopted son of the Crimson Lord , heir to the Red Tower — was standing there.
> *“Ray Yuris…!”*
Of all times—
Dale clicked his tongue inwardly, his voice turning cold.
> “Are you here to block my path?”
> “Why would you think that? Are we not friends?”
Ray Yuris replied calmly, as if genuinely puzzled.
> “It seems the Elders of the Black Tower split their forces and infiltrated multiple points within the castle.”
“……”
> “Sir Helmut Blackbear is likely holding the main force below… which means perhaps three or four Elders are attempting to infiltrate the upper levels.”
He assessed the situation coolly.
> “And I am quite prepared to fight — for the sake of my friend.”
He revealed his bio-fusion artifact, **Dragon’s Jawbone**, as two glowing circles rotated around his heart.
*A mere Second-Circle magician, against the Elders of the Black Tower?*
The fight itself seemed absurd.
Yet the son of the Crimson Lord had not earned that title for nothing.
> *So, he has something up his sleeve after all…*
But now was not the time to think about that.
> “…Thank you.”
There was no room for hesitation.
Leaving Ray Yuris behind, Dale gathered deep-blue mana around his heart and sprinted down the corridor.
For the ones he had to protect.
For his mother — and his young sister.
—
—
At that very hour — in the Red Tower of the Imperial Capital.
At the very top floor sat the man known as the **Crimson Lord**, the supreme master of the Red Tower, the Empire’s greatest red magician.
> “I wonder how well Ray is doing.”
The woman beside him spoke softly as she swirled the crimson liquid in her glass.
A beautiful woman with hair the color of blood.
> “We’ll see soon enough, Lady Scarlet — my beloved sister.”
> “My, my. Sometimes I think, brother, that your expectations of Ray might be a little too high.”
At her remark, the Crimson Lord simply sipped the red liquid in his glass in silence.
It was not wine.
> “Hmm. Not a bad vintage.”
At the top of the Red Tower — as Lady Scarlet turned her gaze, she could see *meat* hanging upside down like in a slaughterhouse.
From hooks in the ceiling, blood dripped steadily into glass bottles arranged below.
At a glance, it might have seemed like the grotesque indulgence of an eccentric noble — the drinking of animal blood for pleasure.
But the beings hanging from those hooks were not pigs.
Nor were they dead.
They simply did not see a difference between them and livestock.
For just as it was natural for humans to slaughter beasts for food —
so too was it only natural that the predators who stood *above* humans should feed upon them.
It was, after all, the law of the food chain.
