The Nebra Rescue Mission
Everyone knew that Ben Bezarel had vanished alongside me. There had been far too many witnesses nearby.
The Nebra royal family was, of course, thrown into chaos. It was only natural—Ben Bezarel, who had comprised the bulk of the kingdom's military strength, had disappeared overnight.
Yet humans have a tendency to believe only what they want to believe. Even though every single person who had witnessed the event reported that Ben Bezarel had been defeated and taken away by the saint, the king refused to accept it.
The king of Nebra believed Ben had been forcibly abducted. Ignoring all pleas to the contrary, he assembled a rescue team and ordered a retrieval operation.
Whether the judgment itself was sound or not, it wasn't a wrong directive. Without Ben Bezarel, Nebra would revert to its former weakness and eventually join the ranks of fallen nations.
And so, Nebra's finest elites formed the rescue team and set out for Akasha Territory. Unaware that Ben was on the New Continent, they had little choice.
The elite soldiers and knights selected for the mission concealed their identities, passing through various territories and crossing borders. Even they doubted the operation's success.
The closer they got to Akasha Territory, the more intelligence poured in, painting their mission as all but doomed.
What kind of place was Akasha Territory? The most advanced domain on the continent, with public order on a level unmatched by anywhere else. Its territorial army was incomparable to others, and the mercenaries in its affiliated mercenary village functioned practically as a vigilante force.
Nor was the security around the lord's manor lax, where they suspected Ben was held. The Viscount of Akasha himself was renowned for his exceptional prowess, and two Master-level knights stood permanent guard. The rescue team's chances seemed vanishingly slim.
Still, they pressed on. They knew failure meant the kingdom's doom—they couldn't afford to give up.
And among that rescue team was none other than Princess Shartia of Nebra.
Her innate talent made her more than qualified; it wasn't unusual. When she volunteered for the mission, the king and everyone else tried to dissuade her. But Shartia's true motive was to handle the possibility that Ben might refuse to return.
Most eyewitnesses insisted he hadn't been taken by force. The king denied it, but it was the truth. Shartia had steadfastly refused marriage proposals until now, but she planned to offer Ben the position of consort herself to lure him back to Nebra.
"We've investigated every angle, but he's definitely not anywhere else."
"As expected, right?"
In an inn within Akasha Territory, Princess Shartia conversed with the rescue team's leader, a knight.
It was a solid plan. Fake identities, staggered arrivals at different lodgings, covert communications—they were confident they wouldn't be detected.
They were excellent. For a first infiltration mission, it was meticulously executed, rivaling the empire's intelligence bureau. Unfortunately, their opponent was me.
"Tomorrow, then?"
"Yes. No point dragging it out."
"The retreat is the problem."
That was where they always hit a wall. Even if they infiltrated the manor's depths and rescued Ben, escaping the territory was far from guaranteed.
"My men and I will buy time. Your Highness, focus solely on the rescue."
There were no other options. Akasha Territory was like a fortress crawling with vigilant ants. The security was so airtight and synchronized that once inside, escape seemed impossible.
This was their final—and best—plan.
"Sir Mallus."
Tears welled in Princess Shartia's eyes at the knight's resolve.
They were nobles from the empire's most prestigious house, where Masters abounded. Attacking the manor and staying behind meant laying down their lives.
"Don't cry. My lord saved my life once; now I'm simply returning the favor."
The knight comforted her instead. But the princess, tall and muscular as she was, leaned on his shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. Skilled with the sword though she was, she was still just a 16-year-old girl.
I had already issued orders to vacate the manor tomorrow at the time of their infiltration. No need to clash and cause casualties on both sides.
I had no intention of punishing them. If they searched for Ben—who wasn't here—and came up empty, they could just leave.
But the situation had shifted slightly just moments ago.
A day passed, night fell, and the 30 rescuers dispatched from Nebra infiltrated the manor.
"Something's off."
"We can't stop now. Maybe we're just lucky."
No one guarded the entrance, so they advanced warily despite the unease. Such a golden opportunity might never come again.
They roamed the manor freely, searching every corner for Ben. Careful not to break anything, they fanned out.
When they regrouped, dismay was etched on their faces.
"He's not here."
"No one's around at all. They must have evacuated after spotting us. Definitely."
Princess Shartia looked crestfallen at the report. She hadn't imagined this vital mission—her kingdom's last hope—ending so anticlimactically. She'd braced for a heroic last stand, at least.
I appeared before them in the manor's garden, where they stood in stunned defeat.
"You've had a hard journey."
Ching! Ching!
The rescuers drew their swords in unison, on high alert—but dared no further action. Behind me stood Jayke, Joseph, and Argin.
I could have handled them alone without issue, but a man of my station required such protocol.
Not that I cared much for ceremony.
"Sheathe your swords!"
Argin unleashed his killing intent with a roar. Instead of complying, they dropped their blades and collapsed where they stood.
I really should learn that technique someday. It seems awfully useful.
But outwardly, I chided Argin.
"Too much."
"My apologies, my lord."
Argin stepped back, his aura fading, but no one rose.
The rescuers seemed convinced half of them were already dead.
"Forgive our rudeness, Saint."
Princess Shartia recovered first, kneeling and begging forgiveness.
"You're forgiven. All of you, rise."
Surprised by my leniency, they stood with puzzled expressions.
"As you likely know, Ben Bezarel isn't here."
"Did you hide him knowing we'd come?"
"I knew you'd come. But he was never here to begin with. I stake my honor on it."
No lies.
Despair deepened on their faces.
"Why let us in if you knew?"
"Should I have posted guards and fought you? What do you take me for? No need for pointless sacrifices."
After all, I'm supposed to be a saint, right?
"Do you know where Ben Bezarel is?"
"I do, but even if I told you, you couldn't reach it. And I won't tell you. Besides, he's there by his own choice."
Shartia's expression soured further. But I had worse news.
"And I have regrettable tidings for you. Yesterday, Nebra's capital fell."
"What?"
It had been over a month since they'd left Nebra. They'd checked in twice, but mission secrecy limited contact.
"Hard to believe, I know. Verify it if you can."
Shartia pulled an artifact from her bosom—a direct line to her father, the king. She tried connecting repeatedly, but nothing.
"I'm sorry to deliver this, but my sources say no Nebran royals survived. Nebra has fallen."
My words struck like a final blow. Shartia collapsed, legs giving out.
"Who did it?"
Sir Mallus, the team leader, supported her as he asked.
"Barriantus."
"Those bastards..."
Mallus ground his teeth until blood welled from his gums.
Barriantus held the mightiest force in Neos Kingdom's civil war—not just troops, but a supremely powerful mage. Nebra had no counter.
Even without the mage, Nebra—minus Ben and its elites—couldn't stand against a powerhouse like Barriantus. Perhaps it was a mercy. The team staying behind wouldn't have changed the outcome.
At least the princess lived, preventing total royal extinction.
"What will you do now?"
No one answered.
Finding Ben was pointless now. And there was no home to return to.
"Stay in my territory and think it over at leisure. I'll support your endeavors as best I can. Dismissed."
I had no plans to formally vassalize them. They weren't the type anyway—fiercely loyal knights and a promising warrior princess.
Can't you picture it? Left alone, they'd succeed somewhere eventually. A little aid would just speed it up.
Days later, Princess Shartia formally requested an audience.
She'd grown immensely in that short time—not in height, already over 190 cm, but as a person. There's truth to the saying that children become adults in an instant. She'd endured that crucible.
"Greetings, Saint."
"Welcome, Princess Shartia."
"I'm no princess anymore. Just Shartia, please."
"Very well."
Shartia met my gaze directly, searching my eyes for something.
Far too early for that.
"Why help us, Saint?"
"No ulterior motives. I feel some responsibility since I contributed to Ben leaving Nebra. And you've heard the rumors—I'm known for gathering talent. But I'm not appointing you to any post. Doesn't suit you. Consider it an investment in promising prospects, thanks to my eye for people."
Shartia's eyes darted, thoughts churning visibly. Even after such growth, she wasn't fully seasoned.
"Just an investment, then. Leave Akasha Territory if you don't need it."
"No, forgive me. I gratefully accept your kindness."
She bowed her head. Born the daughter of high nobility despite her short reign, Shartia adapted remarkably fast. Circumstances forced it, but bending pride isn't easy for one raised gently.
"Shartia, I know you're not becoming my vassal and will leave someday. I can't offer much beyond funds, but I can introduce you to someone."
"Who?"
Without explanation, I took Shartia to Jayke.
Jayke was an exceptional swordsman, but an even greater teacher. Argin's rapid growth was largely his doing. Joseph claimed mentorship too, but paled beside Jayke.
"Sir Jayke, one of our territory's Masters. He'll aid your training."
Jayke could fully bloom Shartia's talent. No warrior refuses direct instruction from a Master.
The remaining 30 knights went to the mercenary school. They were knights no more—time to adapt to mercenary life for survival.
Thus, the princess of a fallen kingdom and her 30 knights settled in Akasha Territory.
The minor incident passed, and I returned to the New Continent, devoting most of my time to researching the elixir of immortality.
Progress was stagnant. A genius alchemist had devoted his life without success. A few months of my efforts wouldn't yield breakthroughs.
Today, too, as I combined hundreds of reagents for another attempt, someone spoke from beside me.
"Hello?"
A chill ran through my veins. No one could approach so close undetected.
Except them.