Chapter 27
Episode 27
The shockwave radiating from the point of impact overturned the earth and sent plumes of dust into the air.
"Guh—ack!"
The greatsword-wielding knight and the lance knight who had charged head-on collapsed in similar postures, vomiting blood. Before them stood Count Tesron's high-ranking knight, his face pale as he stiffly blocked their path. Meanwhile, the short-spear and longsword knights who had attempted to flank Patrick from behind were also forced back, gasping for breath.
"I barely made it in time."
"...Logan."
Patrick, who had been coughing up blood moments ago, turned his trembling gaze toward his eldest son, who had suddenly appeared beside him.
How did he get here?
He had seen Logan leading the mercenary band at the rear, but he never expected to find him here—at the heart of the battlefield.
To get from the rear to here...
Patrick's head instinctively turned, and within his limited field of vision, he saw an unbelievable sight.
The enemy's rear ranks had been torn apart in a straight line, as if a monster had rampaged through. Corpses—not just foot soldiers, but Tesron knights as well—were strewn left and right.
The gazes of those still standing were all fixed on Logan.
Among allies, there was awe. Among enemies, terror.
Only then did Patrick realize the atmosphere of the battlefield had completely shifted.
His son's presence here was no coincidence—no stroke of luck.
No, hadn't he seen it with his own eyes? Logan had intercepted the attack meant for him.
"When did you get so strong...? No, that's not important right now."
Suppressing a groan, Patrick forced himself upright.
"I don't know how the battle's unfolding..."
His face ashen, Patrick grabbed Logan by the shoulder.
"But if you're here, that means we have the upper hand, right?"
It was less a cold assessment and more a desperate hope.
Fortunately, Logan could answer that burning gaze with confidence.
"Yes."
"...Good. Well done."
Patrick gave his son's shoulder a few firm pats.
The awkward words and gesture somehow filled Logan with an inexplicable warmth.
Tesron's high-ranking knight, Raul, clenched his trembling hands, struggling to maintain composure.
The internal injuries from blocking Patrick's lance charge and the wound on his side were worsening, but now wasn't the time to dwell on them.
"Rix, Trombel. Get ready. Fast."
His growling voice snapped the attention of his two subordinates, who were bleeding from their mouths.
Patrick MacLaine was no longer his primary concern.
Between accumulated injuries and the recent clash, Patrick's condition was worse than his own—if not equal.
"No time! You four handle that bastard. I'll take care of the Baron."
The real threat was the enemy who had deflected the simultaneous attacks of Fanan and Ramston with a single sword stroke.
And the fact that this enemy appeared to be a mere youth in his early twenties was nothing short of absurd.
How is this possible?
Someone barely twenty deflecting the attacks of two mid-tier knights at once?
At that age, he himself had been...
Shaking his head, Raul forcibly dispelled the memories of his grueling training two decades ago.
None of that mattered now.
"That brat dies here."
Unconscious jealousy erupted into killing intent.
And that killing intent provoked an equally fierce response from his enemies.
"You're delusional."
Patrick sneered at the enemy radiating murderous energy.
Of course, his own injuries were severe.
His left side was drenched in blood, pain flaring with every breath. Internal injuries made his mouth taste of iron.
But even if Raul was less wounded, Patrick knew his own skill surpassed his opponent's.
He wouldn't lose easily.
And most importantly, his son had just demonstrated combat prowess far beyond a mid-tier knight.
How he had grown so much in such a short time was a mystery, but...
He's not high-tier yet, but regular mid-tier knights are no match for him.
Especially not four mid-tier knights—two of whom were already critically injured.
With that conviction, Patrick took a step forward.
But Logan blocked his path. His thoughts differed from his father's.
"I'll handle him."
"No. You're overestimating yourself."
Patrick grabbed his son's arm firmly.
No matter how much Logan had grown, his limits were clear to Patrick.
Even if Logan stood out among mid-tier knights, he hadn't yet reached the realm of a high-tier.
No matter how injured Raul was, Logan couldn't face a high-tier knight.
"I'm in better shape than you are right now, Father."
Thud.
Logan pressed lightly against Patrick's mangled side.
"Ghk—!"
The sudden pain forced an involuntary groan from Patrick.
"In this state, I could even beat you. Trust me."
Logan's eyes burned with determination—no hint of retreat.
"...Fine."
This wasn't the time for stubborn arguments. Reluctantly, Patrick yielded, though his mind raced with calculations.
Four mid-tier knights—even injured, the fundamental gap in skill couldn't be overcome.
I'll finish my fight quickly and help Logan.
The opposite of his initial plan, but not a bad alternative.
"Alright. Be careful, son."
"You said I wasn't your son until the war ended."
"..."
"Then let's end this fast, Lord."
A joke ill-suited for the battlefield. Or perhaps a jab at Patrick's earlier words. Logan smirked as he raised his sword.
Patrick chuckled dryly and lifted his own blade, turning his back to his son.
A sense of solidity—one he'd never imagined before the war—flowed through him at that contact.
The pain in his side felt just a little lighter.
"Right. Let's finish this."
Father and son swung their swords at the enemies before and behind them.
How dare this whelp!
Raul glared at the opponent charging toward him.
Unexpectedly, it wasn't the Baron blocking his path, but this brat.
The strength that had sent mid-tier knights flying was impressive, but not enough for him.
Raul, too, was a high-tier knight—his very aura revealed his mastery.
At best, he's a mid-tier Force user. His physical abilities seem exceptional, but...
He still couldn't defeat a high-tier like himself.
But the moment their blades—gold and crimson—clashed—
BOOM!
"Ghk!"
"Kuh—!"
The one sent staggering back was Raul.
What?!
Unthinkable. The gap in skill wasn't just about raw power or speed.
Even with equal force, a higher-tier fighter could wield it far more efficiently—more lethally.
Even accounting for his injuries, the brat's displayed skill and strength shouldn't have matched his own.
He's overexerting himself.
That was the only explanation. Raul poured more power into his blade and struck again.
CRASH!
But the moment steel met steel, his organs twisted. Blood surged up his throat.
Yet Raul couldn't show weakness—not when he, too, had been forced back.
Gulp.
Swallowing the blood worsened his internal injuries, but there was no time to recover.
If you're pushing yourself, so will I.
Eventually, the gap in skill would decide the outcome.
Gritting his teeth, Raul unleashed his full strength without hesitation.
But then—
CLANG!
SHIIING!
The deflected golden blade instantly changed trajectory, carving a deep gash across Raul's thigh.
He had no choice but to face the grim reality.
His strength was fading, while his opponent only grew faster and stronger.
"Tch!"
Even as he acknowledged the truth, resentment surged. If not for my injuries...
But he couldn't just surrender. Raul altered his approach.
Strength and speed aren't everything!
He had decades more sword experience than this brat had years of life.
That gap in skill was his only way out.
From then on, he avoided direct clashes entirely.
Setting aside his pride as a high-tier knight, he conserved energy, using minimal movements to bait openings.
CLANG!
SWISH!
Subtle deflections redirected the blade, and he relentlessly exploited every flaw.
But in a duel between Force users, avoiding clashes entirely was impossible. His injuries worsened, and he was gradually forced onto the defensive.
Still, Raul bided his time, waiting for his chance.
And finally, it came.
As their blades crossed diagonally, Logan's sword gleamed gold—clearly intending to overpower Raul's technique with brute force.
The corner of Raul's mouth twitched upward. This is what I've been waiting for.
The crimson aura around his blade intensified instantly.
"Wha—?!"
Using his Force, Raul yanked Logan's sword forward and lunged.
Exploiting the overextended force, he disrupted Logan's balance—
Got him!
Logan staggered, his sword now overextended.
Seizing the moment, Raul unleashed his decisive strike.
SHING!
A clean slash—but Raul's expression froze in horror.
His cloak?!
His body had slowed far more than he realized during the fight, while his opponent had only grown faster.
That miscalculation was fatal.
Logan's momentarily startled face twisted into a vicious grin as he renewed his assault.
Damn it!!
Raul cursed the lost opportunity but refused to despair.
Blades clashed again, and he gritted his teeth, repeating the same maneuver.
But his opponent wasn't foolish enough to fall for it twice.
"Die!"
With a savage smile, golden light erupted from Logan's blade.
Raul barely managed to retreat—
But it was futile.
Four golden waves surged forward, engulfing him completely.
"This... can't be...!"
BOOOOM!
Divine Sword Secret Art: First Form—Wave-Cutting Slash.
An ancient technique unseen for a millennium unleashed its full might without mercy.
"Pathetic. A high-tier knight resorting to tricks."
Logan spat to the side, steadied himself, and raised his sword again.
Then he severed Raul's head from his near-crushed corpse and impaled it on his blade.
"I, Logan MacLaine, have slain the enemy commander!"
Before Patrick could even finish his own battle—
That war cry echoing across the battlefield decided the war's outcome.
The moment Logan's shout resounded from the battlefield's heart—
A fracture split Tesron's last resisting forces.
But that fracture was also built on a grave misconception.
"The Baron is dead?"
"No way!"
"That's impossible!"
"Now that you mention it, his banner vanished earlier!"
The Baron's decision to lower his banner and hide when the battle turned against him had backfired spectacularly.
Logan had expected the high-tier knight's head alone to suffice—but the effect was far greater than anticipated.
"W-we surrender!"
"Are you insane?!"
"We have to save our lives!"
Even the most loyal troops, who had held firm despite the disadvantage, now descended into chaos with their leader seemingly gone.
"Surrender!"
"Don't attack!"
Over half of Tesron's remaining three thousand troops knelt and laid down their weapons.
The first to react were the MacLaine soldiers facing them.
Their stubborn enemies were finally surrendering.
Even those consumed by battle frenzy or terror couldn't ignore the shift.
And the loudest among them was Rick.
"Long live Prince Logan! Long live the Grand Prince!"
Tears streamed down his face as he shouted—excessive, perhaps, but many of the survivors, relieved to be alive, joined in.
"Long live Logan MacLaine!"
"Long live the Grand Prince!"
"The battle isn't over yet, idiots!"
A few voices tried to snap them back to reality, but even the remaining enemy troops had lost their will to fight.
They only held onto their weapons out of fear—unable to surrender like their comrades.
But the surviving elite knights reacted differently.