**Chapter 70**
—
“For the Captain!”
“For the Black Armor Company!”
“For that vice-captain who got beaten like a dog by the Captain!”
“Shut the hell up, you bastards!”
It was an overwhelming victory—one that could not have gone any better against the Bandit Alliance and the mercenaries.
Afterward, they dismantled the toll station and the chains blocking the waterways, and what awaited the Black Armor Company was nothing less than the blazing fervor of celebration.
Here, in the Empire’s Free City of Hamburg—the main artery of continental trade—everyone cheered and praised the Black Armor Company’s triumph, shouting its name with wild enthusiasm.
Their valor, their might—and above all, the outrageous feats displayed by their captain, **Dale**.
The infamy and cruelty of the “Black Prince.”
It would not take long before that name spread across the Empire, carried by the merchants’ ships along the waterways.
Amidst the heat of celebration, Dale quietly fell into thought. Behind him, his men were busy clinging to two or three women apiece, devouring wine and meat with abandon.
He calmly replayed the battle in his mind—the results brought about by that day’s fight.
*‘The formula combination wasn’t bad at all.’*
The additional spell-formulas he had used: **“Black Barrel,” “Gatling-Type,” “20mm.”**
Weapons that were, in effect, centuries ahead of the era’s cavalry charges. Even high-circle magicians rarely displayed such destructive power so effortlessly.
On top of that, there was the performance of the *shadow parasites* born from it.
Though still incomparable to the so-called *out-of-standard monsters*, Dale’s own growth rate had already far exceeded the standard limits of any ordinary being.
It was then that someone spoke.
“Now that I think about it, Captain—I haven’t seen you drink.”
Sir Yones, thoroughly drunk, called out to him.
“How old do you think I am?”
At that, Sir Yones tilted his head in puzzlement.
“I made a promise not to touch alcohol until I’m twenty.”
“Oh? Any special reason for that?”
“None.”
He couldn’t very well explain the rules of *another world* to someone from *this* one.
“Hah! I see.”
Sir Yones chuckled, still not understanding, and drained his cup.
“Ahhh! This is what I live for! Hahaha!”
Watching him, Dale murmured indifferently.
“It’s the liquor that’s drinking the man.”
—
—
It was an impossible defeat.
The mercenaries who had so arrogantly promised victory had fled in utter rout. And in their flight, they pillaged and looted across the lands, leaving behind irreversible damage.
For Count **Robert**, lord of the Bandit Alliance, it was the worst possible outcome imaginable. The collapse and disintegration of the Alliance’s core was inevitable.
To think that he’d lose to a mere hundred mercenaries.
No—that wasn’t it.
He hadn’t been defeated by a hundred mercenaries.
It was *that monster*.
The infamous “Black Prince” the gossipmongers whispered about—none of it was an exaggeration.
Count Robert bit his lip as he led his beaten troops back toward his domain—when suddenly, a shadow blocked their way.
“Oh my, now isn’t this something.”
A figure stood in their path.
“Making a lady wait—shame on you, my dear Count. Hardly befitting a nobleman, don’t you think?”
A young woman with long, blood-red hair. She wore a form-fitting crimson robe and a pointed red hat—a woman drenched in the color of blood itself.
“I was starting to think I’d made the trip for nothing—but it seems my timing was perfect.”
Count Robert’s face froze as he looked at her.
“I was *so* bored waiting, I thought I might die of it, truly!”
The red-haired woman smiled sweetly.
“Y-you can’t be…”
Robert glanced around. Though routed, his remaining cavalry still had the strength to fight. His archers still had arrows to loose.
And so, atop his horse, Count Robert muttered—
“She’s the *Red Tower Witch*! Kill her—kill that witch immediately!”
He gave the order without hesitation.
It wasn’t hard to guess who she was—clearly a member of a *central government suppression unit*, an Imperial enforcer, and a red sorceress from the Red Tower.
“Fire! Kill her before she can cast!”
Robert shouted. The distance between them was barely a few meters. The knights charged forward; the archers drew their bows.
“A witch? My, how rude to call a lady such a thing.”
The red-haired woman raised her hand nonchalantly. At once, red mana swirled beneath her feet—
—and the world was dyed crimson.
But then they realized—it wasn’t the world that had turned red.
It was their eyes.
Count Robert’s retinas burst; blood streamed from his eyes like tears.
“Aaagh! Aaaaaagh!”
He screamed in agony.
“I—I can’t see!”
“It burns! It’s burning! Please, save me!”
All around him, soldiers writhed and screamed as blood poured from their eyes—their vision scorched or exploded in waves of searing pain.
“Ah, really now, brother…”
The red-haired woman sighed lightly, shrugging her shoulders as though it were nothing.
“To think you’d send *me* to handle such trash. Honestly, how cruel.”
—
—
The celebration continued for several more days.
And understandably so—an entire city had been spared from ruin. The Free City of Hamburg honored the mercenaries of the Black Armor Company with unrestrained generosity.
The mercenaries, too, were completely intoxicated by the kind of luxury they’d never experienced before.
To the heir of a ducal family, it was nothing unusual—but to them, it was another world entirely.
And so, Dale left the festivities behind, walking alone through the quiet streets of the city that night.
“Oh my, heavens!”
A woman’s voice called out. It was all too familiar—uncomfortably familiar.
“Could it be, the young Lord Dale himself?”
Dale turned.
There, on a bridge spanning the city’s river, stood a silhouette wearing a crimson pointed hat. A figure in a tight, blood-red robe, her hair flowing red like flame—a woman drenched in crimson.
*Lady Scarlet…*
**Scarlet Yuris**, Mistress of the Red Tower, and younger sister of the “Crimson Marquis,” Yuris.
There was no mistaking that notorious name—or the dread it carried.
“…May I have the honor of your name, my lady?”
“Oh my, how adorable.”
Feigning ignorance, Dale replied politely, and Lady Scarlet laughed with delight.
“I heard the Snow Elf was so smitten by a man that she’s lost her mind…”
Her voice dripped with amusement.
“To think she had such peculiar tastes—a mere boy, really. How very *Elven* of her.”
“…”
“Practically a crime, wouldn’t you say?”
At that, Dale’s expression hardened like ice.
“Do you have any particular business with me?”
“Oh, I do indeed.”
Lady Scarlet smiled, her gaze gleaming with mischievous delight.
“To think I’d meet the young heir of House Saxen here of all places.”
With deliberate sensuality, she loosened her robe, revealing glimpses of the skin beneath.
“I simply *had* to see for myself what sort of technique managed to captivate that uptight Snow Elf so completely.”
“…”
“Perhaps a man’s worth truly can’t be judged by appearances alone.”
Her gaze dropped, unabashedly, to Dale’s lower body. A sly, seductive smile curled her lips.
“Maybe it’s your *nightly skills* that are beyond your years…”
“I have no idea what you’re trying to imply,” Dale replied flatly.
“Oh my, isn’t there another *blue courtesan* fluttering about the Saxen house these days?”
“That’s enough.”
Only then did Dale’s voice turn cold, his eyes flashing.
“If you dare insult my teacher, I will not forgive it.”
“Your *teacher*, is it?” Scarlet laughed, genuinely amused.
“There’s nothing quite as dangerous—or as flammable—as the bond between mentor and pupil.”
“Watch your tongue.”
“Ha ha… I’ve heard the talk of the city, you know.”
Even his warning didn’t stop her.
“They say you led the Black Armor Company and crushed the Bandit Alliance’s main force single-handedly.”
Lady Scarlet exaggeratedly lifted her shoulders in mock admiration.
“A tale so gallant and dashing, no lady could possibly resist.”
Just like her brother.
“…”
“So I can understand why that elf of yours can’t think straight around you.”
Closing the distance between them, Lady Scarlet reached toward Dale’s cheek—her pale fingers moving with serpentine grace.
“I wonder who should really be called a *whore* here,” Dale said coldly.
“Haha… oh, any woman becomes a back-alley whore before the young lord of House Saxen,” Scarlet purred, laughing softly.
“Throwing away all pride and pretense, making the face of a bitch in heat before you… spreading her legs willingly.”
She nipped lightly at his earlobe, her voice dripping with honey.
“What do you say, my dear? A night of pleasure that makes that ‘blue courtesan’ seem pure in comparison—”
But the words never finished.
A biting wind howled around them, centered at Dale’s feet. In a flash, the icy edge of his mana was aimed at her cheek.
“Oh my, how cold,” she murmured, unfazed.
“I don’t mind cold men.”
Then, without hesitation, she leaned her cheek against the blade of frost.
“…!”
A crimson line bloomed across her skin. Blood dripped down, and Dale instinctively took a step back. Scarlet moaned softly, intoxicated by the sensation.
“The night grows late,” Dale said curtly. “I’ll take my leave.”
There was no point in exchanging any more words with her. Turning his back, he walked away, senses alert for any trace of her mana. When he finally looked back, she was gone.
Only then did he exhale deeply and mutter to himself—
“…What the hell is that crazy woman doing *here*?”
A blunt, honest truth.
—
—
Some time later—after the Black Armor Company’s grand victory in Hamburg, when they had safely returned to the Duchy of Saxen—
An unexpected visitor arrived.
An emissary, bearing the seal of the *Imperial Household*, had come to hire the Black Armor Company.
“Have you heard the rumors from the Isle of Britannia?”
The envoy asked smoothly, smiling.
“You mean the story of the ‘Holy Maiden’?”
The Duke of Saxen replied, and the envoy nodded.
“Ha… ‘Holy Maiden,’ they call her. How am I to believe that, when she’s never even spread her legs?”
The speaker wore a crimson pointed hat and a seductive smile.
“Our Emperor wishes to see that filthy little whore *pay her due price*.”
A high elder of the Red Tower, a 7th-circle sorceress—
**Lady Scarlet**.
And in that moment, only one thought ran through Dale’s mind.
*“…What the hell is that crazy woman doing here again?”*
Once more—a blunt, honest fact.
