Easier to Fight to the Death Than to Lend a Path (6)
Orishin's grumbling mutterings, belittling Kriel's appearance for no good reason, had zero effect on him. At least, that's what Kriel himself thought.
'Don't think I didn't want to play the dashing knight on a white steed too...'
The real problem was his Dark Knight class, as always. He'd always loved anything cool. Dark Knight had been his favorite job precisely because it mashed together the two awesome words "dark" and "knight." Of course, chasing that "cool" factor in the real world as a Dark Knight would surely get him branded an abyss spawn.
So Kriel aimed for dignified gear befitting an upstanding knight. But his dream of becoming a paragon of knighthood always remained just that—a dream.
It started with his weapons. They'd look perfectly normal when he bought them, but after some use, they'd start darkening like they'd been scorched by fire. By the time he'd chopped up his hundredth foe, they'd fully blackened, oozing an ominous aura.
His armor was the same story. Kriel recalled buying his first set of proper knightly plate—shiny silver, gleaming with the pure reflective sheen of masterfully forged metal, etched with subtle, luxurious patterns. He'd shelled out a fortune for it.
Silver, my ass. It didn't take long before it was covered in bloodstain-like scars, as if it'd been rolling through battlefields. A few good hits that drew blood, and it'd darken like it was dyed, settling into a murky hue akin to crusted gore.
He'd tried bleaching the armor and swords a few times. Pointless thrashing about.
Swallowing his tears, Kriel had mentally won by telling himself, "True knighthood shines from within, not without."
After those repeated setbacks, Kriel had cultivated an ironclad calm toward anyone nitpicking his looks.
"Honestly, even Morgina would flinch seeing you, man."
That one stung a bit.
"You only say that 'cause you've never seen Morgina fight for real. Watch her grab a flail in each hand and smash skulls with dual swings—you'd think getting a knife to the heart was tame."
Back in the early days of campaigning, Morgina had kept her temper under wraps. She'd played the part of a normal priestess, her violent side completely unpredictable. Comparing himself to that girl?
Kriel brushed off the horse-head's nonsense and asked Tuon, "How's it looking? Getting a feel?"
"Faint, but I see it. In some dim underground..."
"Underground dungeons in these mountains? Plenty. Give more details. Or just project a vision straight into my head."
Tuon's blade vibrated at Orishin's prodding. A droplet of blood at the tip defied gravity, crawling toward the hilt. It soon absorbed more blood, swelling to the size of a small marble.
"Devour it."
"Me?"
"Master. Orishin is a ghost—he can't physically consume anything."
Tuon's tone carried a hint of 'You didn't know that?' Of course, Kriel hadn't actually forgotten; he just wore a subtle expression as he opened his mouth. The blood-red marble melted away on his tongue.
The magical afterglow in the wyvern's blood crystallized in Kriel's vision—a thin red line stretching deep into the mountains.
The mage scratched his hair furiously. Still no word from his idiot comrades. He'd left encrypted messages at the hideout as a precaution, but he had a bad feeling they wouldn't return.
'Did they run?'
Maybe accepting the abyss's power was one thing, but facing the Empire head-on had spooked them. Pathetic.
Once you'd dipped a toe in the abyss, there was no turning back.
'Idiot bastards. If things had gone to plan, we'd have seized key posts in the gateway city.'
Her herding the wyverns back to their habitat and concealing them was nearly done. With the commands imprinted, summoning the flock again would be easy enough.
Now, under cover of night, he'd slip out of the gateway city and head to another frontier. Bide his time, and another shot at the city would come.
Right then, agony lanced through his body.
"Gahk...!"
The illusion spell hiding the cave shattered by force. The mana circuit backlash rattled his frame. Gasping, the mage turned.
A knight in black plate approached without a sound.
"That illusion just now—wouldn't sneaking in without breaking it have been better?"
Orishin whispered softly. I shook my head.
Proper mages accounted for intruders slipping past illusions undetected. They didn't just veil entrances—they hid traps everywhere. Strutting after bypassing a secret door, only to get impaled on a hidden blade and croak? Common as dirt.
Better to let the mage spot the assault and focus purely on the fight than split attention dodging potential traps.
"Nah. I can spot that artificial mana flow easy. Spirits are sensitive to it, right?"
"Ah."
I humbly owned the mistake. Quick admission was a knightly virtue.
"No. Master made the right call. A true knight must always overwhelm foes head-on."
"Didn't you say the exact opposite when Master was beating wyverns?"
"Abyss swarms must obey whatever order Master gives. Whatever it is."
"What."
Tuon expounded her bizarre logic with confident gusto. Her voice echoed through the cave, booming grandly enough to fill the whole space. Distorted at a distance, sure, but still...
At this point, I realized even a perfect ambush plan would've gone sideways from the start. Even without Orishin's yapping, Tuon would've blabbed and ruined the mood. This girl—even back at Eve Kaha's cathedral. Does she hate stealth?
"Master desires honorable duels, yet these abyss fools failed to prepare. Ignorant wretches blind to their rightful sovereign—I am the blade of judgment upon thee!"
"Kriel, I'm scared of that one..."
Maybe she was just purely unhinged.
"Abyss swarms must obey whatever order Master gives."
The eerie voice boomed. The mage instantly pegged it as feminine—not male like the Kriel from the letter reports.
So what was this? A mad declaration that all abyss must submit to its master.
While prepping spells and eyeing Kriel, the mage probed the voice's source. Another foe besides the black knight? That'd force a rethink of tactics or escape.
The black knight advanced silently, footsteps inaudible. The woman's voice seeped through the cave like a choir's chorus, underscoring his steps. Amid the interfering echoes, one warning rang clear:
"Ignorant wretches blind to their rightful sovereign—"
The mage's sharp eyes caught the blue gem in the crossguard of the gray straight sword flashing each time the voice sounded.
An ego sword? He was flustered. He knew of self-aware weapons like ego swords. The Holy Kingdom's secret vaults held arms inheriting ancient priests' souls, or so the tales went.
But this sword's words were too irreverent for a holy blade. It styled its master like an abyss vanguard.
The ash-gray crossguard sword in the black knight's grip pressed an inexplicable weight on the mage. He forcibly reined in his fraying focus.
"Stay back! You're already in spell range!"
Bluffing to buy time. The spell wasn't ready. Letting the knight close further risked getting hit before completion. It worked—the knight halted.
Mulling the ego sword's words, the mage readied to unleash. Just a few more seconds.
Fireball to blind him—kill him if lucky—then summon the wyverns. Assault with the flock after, or ride one out if needed.
Now!
As he triggered the attack spell—
"Beast-kin, huh."
The black knight's calm murmur shattered his concentration.
"Half-baked demonkin, stirring pointless trouble."
"W-what are you—?!"
"Your little scheme. Tainted by demonic power, but never bloomed into spirit. Means you're a failed demonkin reject."
Through the knight's visor, blood-red eyes gleamed like burning embers.