Chapter 65
Chapter 65
Clang! Crash!
Boom!
"Damn these bastards!"
Callian gritted his teeth as he faced three knights who refused to yield despite his relentless assault.
As a High Knight, his Force output far surpassed that of Intermediate Knights—he should have been able to handle three of them with ease. Yet here he was, completely stalled, forced to watch helplessly as his subordinates fell one after another.
"This makes no sense!"
BOOM!
Callian momentarily intensified his Force output, pushing the three knights back with a powerful shockwave.
But in that brief opening, a golden sword sliced through the wind and intercepted him.
"Leave him to me! Go help the others!"
The red-haired youth pointed his glowing golden blade at Callian, and without hesitation, the three knights withdrew.
The boy bore an uncanny resemblance to the giant who had forced Callian to instinctively dodge in their first clash.
The moment Callian recognized him, flames of fury flickered in his eyes.
"You're MacLaine's brat, aren't you?!"
Less than an hour into the battle, his forces were already on the verge of collapse.
Capturing this boy might buy them enough time to regroup.
Callian clenched his teeth and swung his crimson Force-wreathed sword.
But—
BOOM!
Whoosh—
"Guh!"
"Is this all a High Knight can do? Put some effort into it!"
The boy's aura suggested he was barely Intermediate-level, yet when their blades clashed, it was Callian who staggered back.
"You insolent whelp!"
How dare this lucky upstart mock him?!
Driven by wounded pride and rising panic, Callian abandoned caution and unleashed his killing intent.
Perfect.
Logan smirked as he watched Callian seethe.
A full-fledged enemy High Knight—
Just the opponent I need to break through my limits.
Having mastered the second form of the Divine Sword Secret Art, Severing Gold Strike, Logan had been knocking on the door of High Knight-level Force mastery for months.
The threshold was tantalizingly close, yet remained frustratingly out of reach.
Unlike Heinckel or his father—both practitioners of the Iron Blood Sword Technique—a High Knight from another territory was the ideal opponent to push him forward.
And with the battle turning in their favor, Logan couldn't help but feel exhilarated.
"Come at me!"
BOOOOM!
The duel began with a head-on collision—no finesse, no technique, just raw power.
"Tch!"
"Hmph!"
Whoosh—
Crimson and gold clashed, the shockwaves sending both combatants skidding back an equal distance.
But that mere parity was enough to unsettle Callian.
An Intermediate Knight matching a High Knight in strength?
No—that couldn't be.
Force amplification grew exponentially with each level of mastery.
This had to be due to his own carelessness.
"No more holding back, brat!"
"Quit your whining—"
Clang!
Slash!
BAM! CRASH!
Their blades crossed repeatedly, grazing armor and flesh alike.
Yet after another exchange, they were once again evenly pushed back.
Only then did Callian's rage-fueled glare darken into grim focus.
Logan grinned at the shift.
"Finally taking this seriously?"
"Damn you..."
Callian didn't understand how, but he accepted it now—this boy matched him in strength, speed, and every other aspect.
How at his age...?
Monster.
But there was one thing Logan couldn't replicate—experience.
Suppressing his fury and jealousy, Callian raised his sword with icy calm.
If he let emotions dictate his movements, he'd only endanger himself further.
Crack.
"Things will be different now."
With a low growl, his crimson blade swung—and two swords simultaneously slashed at Logan's upper and lower body.
The vivid red blades were so lifelike that even Logan's sharp instincts couldn't instantly discern the real one.
But—
The lower strike!
The hand gripping the sword was clearly aiming for his legs, while the upper blade merely hovered midair.
Just as Logan moved to block the lower attack—
No, that's too obvious a feint!
A sudden realization made him hastily redirect his blade upward.
Clang!
Slash!
Though slightly delayed, his parry intercepted the upper blade—which, to his shock, had real substance—leaving a shallow cut on his neck.
"Hmph. Lucky."
"...That's quite the trick."
Both blades were solid?
Callian answered Logan's genuine astonishment with a bloodthirsty grin.
"Enjoy the show while you can—right up until your last breath."
Flick.
Whooosh!
This time, three crimson blades materialized—one diagonally cleaving toward his shoulder, another horizontally slicing at his legs, and a third thrusting straight for his torso.
With no room to counter, Logan had no choice but to retreat.
"...But I know a similar technique."
Hummm.
As his golden sword gleamed, an eerie pressure radiated outward, subtly slowing the three incoming slashes.
The crimson blades veered slightly off-course.
Spotting an opening, Logan lunged forward—
"Tch! Don't mock me!"
With Callian's roar, the red blades multiplied to five.
"Ghk!"
Two new strikes, unbound by the Pressure Blade technique, forced Logan into a hasty retreat.
Once forced back, his footing grew increasingly unstable.
Seizing the momentum, Callian pressed forward relentlessly, his five crimson swords weaving a storm of slashes that made it feel like Logan was fighting five opponents at once.
Yet Logan remained composed, using Pressure Blade to bind some strikes while countering when possible.
Still, wounds accumulated on his body one by one.
Finally, sensing victory, Callian forgot his original objective and snarled:
"Die!"
At that moment—Logan's eyes flashed.
He charged into the deadly web of crimson slashes.
"HAH!"
BOOOOOM!
"Guh!"
"Kgh—!"
Another massive collision—but this time, it was Callian who was sent flying back.
Though his thighs and forearms dripped blood from numerous cuts, Logan grinned.
Found it.
Instead of binding all five blades, focusing on just one or two key strikes—even at the cost of taking minor hits—created openings in Callian's defense.
"Each individual strike is too weak. Is this all you've got?"
This wasn't just about winning—it was about using Callian as a whetstone for his growth.
Holding back his trump cards, Logan wanted his opponent to push harder.
And his taunt worked perfectly.
Crack.
"I'll carve you to pieces."
"Your head will roll before that happens."
Callian's eyes burned red with killing intent pushed to its limits.
Logan laughed and charged.
Clang! BAM! CRASH!
Slash!
For every dozen shallow cuts Logan sustained, Callian took one significant wound.
Then—
Splurt.
A strike Callian couldn't fully deflect tore through his side.
"Kuh... kgh..."
Staggering, Callian stared at Logan in disbelief.
He'd seen that final blow coming—yet couldn't block it.
Crossing all five blades should have been enough, but in that instant, Logan's speed and power had far surpassed his own.
There was only one explanation.
"N-no way..."
"Thanks for the spar."
Feeling the three pulsating cores in his heart, Logan smiled broadly.
The two new cores orbited the first, amplifying his Force output eightfold and flooding his body with power.
Even the dizziness from blood loss vanished as vitality surged through him.
Now, it was time to repay this generous opponent with a final gift—
As spectacularly as possible.
To rally his allies and crush enemy morale.
Guided by his will, the cores surged through his blade, erupting in a blinding golden radiance.
"It's over."
Divine Sword Secret Art: First Form—Wave-Cutting Slash.
Eight golden waves annihilated everything in their path, carving through seven to eight meters of space.
BOOOOOOM!
Callian was reduced to a bloody mist, armor and all.
As stunned gazes turned toward the spectacle—
"I've slain the enemy commander!"
Logan's thunderous voice echoed across the battlefield.
And at that exact moment—
"Soto Silvan has been captured! Kneel and discard your weapons if you wish to live! Surrender now!"
An even louder roar—his father's—shook the fortress walls, drowning out Logan's declaration.
The sheer impact of those words instantly diverted all attention.
"When did he get over there...?"
Splattered in blood, Logan scratched his head sheepishly.
The battle ended in mere hours—less than half a day after the declaration of war.
And the result?
An overwhelming, one-sided victory for House MacLaine.
Casualties:
- Silvan Barony: Knight Callian + 42 others dead. 1,223 soldiers dead.
- MacLaine: Knight Pames + 5 others dead. 0 soldiers dead.
A report so lopsided it would've been dismissed as fiction if heard secondhand.
The turning point came when Soto Silvan, fleeing the battlefield, was swiftly captured by Patrick after losing his guards.
The moment their lord's life was threatened, even the most defiant Silvan knights surrendered.
Now, standing victorious in Silvan Castle's grand hall, the MacLaine knights wore broad grins.
We've won. Decisively.
The pride they'd felt watching their territory flourish had become reality.
Though not without losses, their faces brimmed with relief and triumph.
In stark contrast, Soto Silvan and his family—stripped of arms and forced to kneel in plain clothes—were utterly broken.
But the conquerors had no reason to care.
"Soto Silvan. I'll grant you one chance."
Seated on the lord's dais, Patrick's voice filled the hall.
Soto, looking a decade older in half a day, lifted his haggard face.
"Apologize for your crimes, take only the barest necessities, and leave this territory with your family."
After losing everything and kneeling in humiliation, being told to apologize was salt in the wound.
No one could accept such terms easily.
"Th-this lawless declaration of war and occupation won't be recognized by the royal court!"
But to the onlookers, Soto's desperate protest was laughable.
As proven in the Tesron territorial war, the crown cared little for these rural borderlands—unless it involved outright rebellion.
Still, Patrick couldn't openly admit that.
Instead, he smirked down at the defeated lord.
"You insulted and threatened MacLaine, who acted with just cause. I merely defended our sovereignty. The crown won't fault us."
"Even if the crown turns a blind eye, Count Bifrost—the Lord of the Southwest—won't tolerate this! Especially from MacLaine!"
That gave Patrick pause.
If the fall of House MacLaine's earldom was due to its lord's misrule, the one who profited most was Bifrost—once MacLaine's vassal.
The fertile plains now known as Bifrost Plains were once MacLaine Plains, and their riches had cemented Bifrost's regional dominance.
Thanks to royal mediation and MacLaine's barren remaining lands, Bifrost hadn't forced them into subservience.
But for MacLaine, even hearing that name was galling.
"So you're refusing the offer? Choosing death?"
Patrick's voice carried lethal intent.
"I—I..."
Soto paled, realizing too late that his outburst had signed his death warrant.
"I'll li—"
Slash!
Before he could finish, his head tumbled through the air, blood arcing behind it.
"AAAH!"
"Father!"
"Husband!"
Soto's three wives and five daughters screamed in unison.
"In honor of his choice to die with dignity rather than submit, I ensured a painless end."
Wiping his blade, Logan bowed impassively to his father.
"...Well done."
Patrick's expression remained neutral—this outcome had been decided long ago.
Capturing Soto ensured minimal losses, and executing him severed any lingering loyalty among Silvan's knights.
Even if some had genuinely served the tyrant, this gave them a chance to switch sides.
Had he groveled to live, it'd have been messier. This works.
Soto's fate was sealed the moment he resisted.
The pretense of choice was for appearances—to control the narrative spreading beyond these walls.
Most importantly—
Bifrost...
An enemy House MacLaine couldn't yet face.
For now, they had to bide their time and prepare for the future.