Chapter 877

Chapter 877

Maintaining self-control was the fundamental requirement of any knight. Even when an arrow was aimed directly between your eyes, you could not simply tilt your head to evade it while keeping your gaze fixed forward unless you possessed true composure. To be more specific, it was the byproduct of valor and level-headedness working in tandem. That was the essence of a knight.

The two warriors from the Ruby Order of Knights had spent years cultivating this foundation, so the artificial rockslide orchestrated by their foes failed to rattle them. Matia of the Ruby Order, as soon as the thick plumes of amber dust erupted, produced a cloth, pressed it to her face, and secured it at the nape of her neck to create a functional filter. Her movements were executed with such fluid grace that a nearby observer might have mistaken the act for a sleight of hand performed by a master illusionist. She merely adjusted her hands, and suddenly, she was masked. Of course, no spectators were present to applaud her skill.

Once her breathing was protected, she unsheathed her weapon and struck. The massive blade that had been resting across her shoulders cleaved through a stone construct twice the size of a giant in a solitary swing. This was not a legend but a recorded fact. Following that feat, she had dubbed her weapon Rock-Cutter. The name was a tribute to her accumulated expertise and her ability to carve through solid mineral as if it were soft cream.

There was a time when magical entities made of living stone had overrun the southern Demon-lands. It wasn’t an illness, yet the swarms that moved in massive clusters caused no less suffering than a sweeping plague. Knight Matia was the one who had answered the call back then. The leader of that stony pack had been as massive as a cottage—large enough for a small family to inhabit—and yet it moved with terrifying speed. She had bisected that golem as well. Consequently, shattering boulders that were merely rolling down a slope with gravity on their side was a trivial task. At the very least, these inanimate stones didn’t fight back or attempt to sweep her legs.

She required no war cry or grand display of momentum. She simply brought the greatsword down in a vertical arc. That single motion was enough to dismantle a portion of the ambush Marcus had set.

*Whoosh.*

As the blade descended, the swirling dust was parted along the path of the steel. Simultaneously, the boulder was split in two.

*Crack—.*

“Excellent.”

Her partner was right there beside her. He was also a member of the Ruby Order. His name was Achilleunon, a man who had displayed extraordinary martial gifts since his youth. He spoke even as he shifted his long spear. For a knight whose soul was bound to a polearm, maneuvering a weapon that exceeded his own height as if it were a natural extension of his limbs was second nature.

He swung the spear, impacting the stone Matia had just divided. He utilized a technique where the spearhead struck like a blunt mallet. As the point bit into the rock, the shaft flexed elastically before snapping back into place.

*Boom!*

A thunderous explosion followed. The fragments of stone he had pulverized were sent whistling back through the amber haze. Matia delivered two more strikes, and twice more, Achilleunon used his spear to launch the debris. The stones they returned crashed into the positions where the enemy had been firing from. From a distance, the faint sound of a pained cry reached them.

“They’ve committed everything to this ambush.”

“Indeed, we were caught off guard,” Achilleunon replied to Matia.

“Commander.”

Matia immediately addressed the officer in charge of the local troops.

“Present!”

The commander, who had been coughing so violently it seemed he might retch, looked up. He was currently a mess of tears and exhaustion.

“Abandon those who were pinned. They are beyond help. Collect the survivors and reform your lines.”

“As you wish.”

Even a skilled leader would struggle to keep their wits in such chaos, but he held the rank precisely because he could project a facade of stability under pressure. He gave a sharp nod.

“We will be operating independently from here on,” Matia declared.

“I understand, Sir.”

The commander agreed reflexively, but as he realized the rain of boulders had ceased, he managed to claw back a bit of his dignity. Though he wasn’t on the level of a knight, his mental fortitude was respectable. Matia locked eyes with him and gave a firm nod. Such small displays of confidence provided much-needed stability to subordinates.

As Matia turned, Achilleunon was already moving, his long spear held perfectly vertical toward the sky. The weapon was so immense that any slight tilt made it cumbersome to transport. He had always insisted on a solid, single-piece shaft rather than a jointed one, believing that seams created structural flaws. It wasn’t just simple iron, either; the metal had been infused with rare alloys to grant it flexibility.

Without a single word, the two knights understood their objective. If a path was shut, they would carve a new one. Their purpose was to ensure that the families of any army bold enough to obstruct a knight would soon be preparing for burials.

*Whoosh.*

In the interim, a wall of flickering fire had been ignited at the primary exit, and beyond that, a trench of toxic vapor had been deployed.

*They’ve certainly been thorough,* Matia noted as she surveyed the area. Boulders had also sealed the rear. Even if the commander got his men in order, the way out was barred. How many would actually survive a charge through both the inferno and the poison? The heavy units might endure it, but the regular foot soldiers would likely be wiped out at a seventy percent casualty rate.

*A victory for them if they can just pin us down.*

That was the enemy’s strategy, and the environment was working in their favor. It wasn’t necessarily the commander’s blunder; even Matia had initially believed the terrain favored their own side, which is why the trap had been so effective. The fire out front and the remaining defenses represented the enemy’s prepared forces—their hidden edge, a blade honed to a lethal point.

However, Matia knew that being a knight wasn’t about acting like a mindless battering ram.

*Is there any reason to use the front gate at all?*

This wasn’t a conclusion she had to labor over. The Ruby Order of Knights was a sanctuary for those who had polished their innate talents since childhood. They weren’t just taught how to swing steel; they were taught the art of war. Above all else, their mentors emphasized the methodology of winning.

Using her vast experience and innate tactical sense, Matia made her choice. She glanced toward her companion.

“Let’s go through the side.”

“If the front is closed, see if the walls are soft,” Achilleunon recited an old training maxim. In the southern regions, the martial education in Rihinstetten differed from the rest of the world. Before earning their spurs, trainees endured over five hundred simulated engagements. The first hundred were scenarios devised by the finest military minds of Rihinstetten. The remaining four hundred were built upon that foundation of logic.

The regimen was so brutal that it claimed lives nearly every year—not the knights, of course, but the aspirants. Regardless, the results were undeniable.

The canyon was narrow. While even a knight couldn’t collapse a mountain range, these specific cliffs weren’t quite high enough to earn that title. The two warriors picked their spot.

*Bang! Bang! Boom!*

New clouds of grit rose above the dust of the initial rockfall. As the air grew thick again, a breach began to form in the side of the ravine.

*Bang—!*

Matia utilized her greatsword to shovel out massive chunks of earth, while Achilleunon drove his spear into the rock face. Through these repetitive, powerful motions, they tunneled through the barrier. Had the walls been any thicker, they wouldn’t have attempted it; no knight could survive being crushed by the weight of a mountain.

“Hand me some of your spears,” Achilleunon commanded the nearby infantry. He took twenty of their long poles and hammered them into the ceiling and walls to act as temporary braces. These makeshift pillars wouldn’t make the tunnel a permanent structure, but they would hold long enough for the escape.

The moment they stepped out of their improvised exit, Matia rotated her body. In that second, she felt an odd sensation.

*What is this?*

It felt as though invisible hands were clutching her limbs, trying to root her to the spot. It was a force designed to keep her stationary, preventing her from reacting. She shrugged it off instantly. The moment her intent flared, her Will surged, activating her supernatural power.

Matia of Superhuman Strength—that was her title.

Whatever the cause, she remained vigilant. No one breaks through a canyon wall and expects to find a peaceful meadow on the other side. This meant the mark she received wasn’t born of negligence.

*Tch.*

A small crimson bead flew from her cheek. It was a shallow cut from a passing blade.

*Even without my full plate…*

When her Will was active, her skin should have been nearly impenetrable. The fact that she had been cut was a testament to the enemy’s caliber.

“Should I call this bravery or folly?”

An adversary descended from above, landing directly in their path. The person blocking them was a soldier with vibrant orange hair. She wore no mantle, equipped only with light iron plating on her chest, arms, and legs.

*Rumble.*

A low groan, like a dying beast, echoed from the makeshift tunnel behind them as it began to cave in.

“Aisia of the Red Cloak Order of Knights,” the orange-haired woman declared. She was gambling her life. If she allowed these two to pass, her side would face a bloodbath. She stood her ground despite knowing she was outclassed. If she was the only one available to hold the line, then she would be the one to do it. Even if she only lasted for a few breaths, she realized that some moments demanded a sacrifice. Behind her lay everything she cherished, including her younger brother.

“Your resolve is noted,” Matia said, assessing the girl’s skill level. Achilleunon gave the newcomer only a passing glance before looking away. He was a man of cold logic who had little time for romanticized knightly stances. The girl facing Matia wasn’t a threat that required his intervention, so he saw no reason to let her delay him.

“Aisia the Reckless—I suppose that will be my legacy after today.”

If she fell here, it was a name that wouldn’t last long.

“Weren’t you known as the ‘suicidal hopeful’?” Matia asked, tightening her grip on her hilt. She mused to herself that if this apprentice managed to parry her blade more than three times, she would grant her a symbolic victory. It felt like a grimly amusing challenge.

—

Marcus observed the scene from his vantage point.

*The moment of truth.*

To stay or to fly.

Death was approaching in the form of a blade and a spear. A single orange spark was trying to halt an iron hurricane. Watching her, Marcus felt a heavy weight settle in his chest.

“Even if we prevail, history will remember me as a coward and a fool,” he muttered. The words escaped him, fueled by a mixture of regret and sorrow. If he was destined to be recorded as the greatest failure of the last century, so be it. He just wouldn’t be able to face the men who had stayed by his side.

“We knew the stakes when we signed up, so don’t start moping now,” an adjutant remarked from his side.

Marcus wasn’t alone; many others had followed Aisia’s lead. These were the stalwart retainers of the Baisar marquisate and those willing to die for the crown. Their numbers were thin—barely five hundred. A few had already perished near the siege engines.

“We stand our ground.”

Their role was to trade their lives for seconds. The sovereign had retreated south, and the capital was fortified; it wouldn’t crumble to just two knights. Was death the only thing left?

“I was born into luxury and lived a life of comfort. If this is where I fall, then even though I never had a grand ambition of my own, I should at least mimic the one who showed me what it means to live with purpose,” Marcus said, drawing his steel. He was the ‘War Freak,’ the current head of the Baisar marquisate.

Back in the capital, he had a wife and a small child. Inheriting the title meant ensuring the lineage continued. His wife was from a noble line under the Duke of Octo—a perfect political arrangement. He had married out of obligation, but he had grown to respect her deeply, and the sight of his child had stirred feelings he hadn’t known he possessed.

“Get it done, Crang,” Marcus whispered to the air. “Enki, I’ll see you on the other side. It was a good run.”

He raised his sword high for all his men to see.

“If you fear the end, leave now. I won’t hold it against you. If you value your life above this cause, walk away. We have no executioners here.”

The sun was past its peak. Clouds momentarily obscured the light, casting long shadows that looked like spears piercing the earth. Those shadows would soon be replaced by real steel seeking the lives of his men. Marcus thought of his toddler, who was just beginning to find his feet.

“We die on this ground!”

The commander’s shout echoed the sentiment of the unit. Even those who were terrified were swept up in the grim resolve.

“The flower of war is—!”

“Us!”

“Us!”

“Us!”

The reply thundered back. The knight with the spear didn’t flinch; he simply continued his heavy, rhythmic advance. He wasn’t rushing. He was moving slowly, systematically crushing their spirits as he closed the gap. Had he charged, they might have found the adrenaline to meet him. As they waited for the disaster to arrive, even Marcus felt the primal urge to flee.

The clouds shifted, and the sun returned, flooding the world with light. It was a gorgeous day. Marcus watched Aisia’s desperate combat. She evaded three strikes and attempted four of her own. In writing, it would seem a long engagement, but to Marcus, it was a flash. He couldn’t even keep track of the exchange.

For a moment, it seemed Aisia had found a miracle, but her stamina reached its end. Before the spearman could even reach the main line, Aisia collapsed. Her leg buckled, and a spray of blood painted the air. The source of the wound was invisible to the naked eye.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over Marcus again.

*Huh?*

But the shadow was localized, centering right on him. He thought he heard the rhythmic beat of wings.

“Begin there.”

A voice drifted down—a voice he recognized. He assumed it was a dying hallucination. A winged stallion, a rider on its back, the man jumping from the saddle—it all felt like a fever dream. It was a voice he never expected to hear and a figure he couldn’t believe was real. A Pegasus was the stuff of myths.

The knight with the spear halted. In a blur of motion, he hurled the second spear he held in his left hand. The reaction was instantaneous, his movement like a strike of lightning.

*Whump!*

The sound of the air being displaced hit Marcus’s ears a second later, and a shockwave rippled out from the spearman’s feet as he threw. The falling rider swatted the projectile away while still in midair.

*Boom!*

The man’s descent accelerated. His dark green mantle flared out behind him like a great sail, making him appear monumental. Marcus stood paralyzed, his eyes wide, watching the impossible unfold.