Episode 43: Sir Dikedo

Ian, racing neck-and-neck with Sir Dikedo, shouted the moment the enemies drew close.

"Sir Dikedo! I'll buy us some time!"

"What?"

Ian could read the situation just fine with his own eyes. The enemies charging in with full momentum. In stark contrast, Sir Dikedo's men shuffling forward like they were off to die, looking utterly pathetic. It was obvious what would happen—no need to watch. They'd get torn apart like shanties in a flood. A dog's death, plain and simple.

The count wouldn't have sent his carefully nurtured subordinates to their actual graves (or so Ian ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thought, doing the count a favor). It was probably a half-hearted order, or just to stall for time. And Ian's judgment was spot on. As long as they bought enough time for the count and Lucy to escape, Sir Dikedo would have succeeded.

Thinking it over coldly, even Sir Dikedo realized Ian was right. Knights who only knew brawling had no choice but to throw their bodies at the enemy like idiots. But a mage was different. If it was the enemy's mage, they'd foam at the mouth yelling, "That bastard's using evil sorcery!" But on our side? "Heh heh, what wondrous magic from the mage, sir!" Pure praise for the same tricks.

"But how can you block them all alone?"

"Blocking them's impossible. But buying time? That I can do."

"...From what I know, the stronger the magic, the longer it takes to cast."

Sir Dikedo's words were plain common sense. Powerful magic required "appeasing" the mystery first. Whether with bribes, sweet talk, or a string of actions to put it in a good mood—a grand illusory circus show, you might say. Once the mystery was pleased, it lent extra power. That was rituals and grand-scale spells.

"But I have orders from His Excellency..."

"Sir Dikedo."

Ian spoke calmly. "Charging recklessly without grasping His Excellency's true intent, only to get captured by the enemy—that, dare I say, is the shame of a knight."

"...!"

Sir Dikedo looked shocked. "Shame? What do you...!"

"Do you truly believe His Excellency wants you to take down the Black Knight above all else?!"

Ian cried out in a voice thick with persuasive power. A mage's voice carried weight, honed from conveying "will" to mysteries. Unaware he was accidentally hypnotizing Sir Dikedo like some app, Ian poured his sincerity into the shout.

"He can't afford to lose you just to catch some Black Knight!"

"Th-that Black Knight is just 'some'? I'm not as great a knight as you think..."

"That's your thinking, Sir Dikedo! Don't you see how much His Excellency treasures you? He sees you as equal to that Black Knight—no, greater!"

"!!!"

Sir Dikedo fell under Ian's hypnotic app... er, persuasive voice. It made sense now. His Excellency told me to take down the Black Knight? That means... I'm on par with him, or better, right? The fact that he'd been relegated to escort duty because of younger knights? Long forgotten. Moved by his lord's faith in him as a knight, Sir Dikedo burst into hot tears.

"Sniff...! So my lord sees me as...!"

"Yes. You're not meant to fall here, Sir Dikedo. Go back and stick by that Sirg or whatever his name is. I'm dying of anxiety leaving that guy alone. I'll handle this."

"Understood! Ian! I'll never forget your sacrifice!"

"Hey, who're you calling a dead man? You think I'm gonna buy it here?"

Sir Dikedo wheeled his horse around, heading back to the count.

"Your Excellency! I'm coming! Your disloyal knight Dikedo is comingggg!"

'...He won't get chewed out for coming back too soon, will he?'

Ian shook his head. The guy's current state was beyond words. Most of the enemies had already vanished into the forest. Blocking just the Black Knight wouldn't cut it. In fact, Sir Dikedo returning at the right moment might even bring reinforcements.

Ian halted his horse and faced the foes. Enemy soldiers charging with high spirits. And in the center, the Black Knight riding forth in majestic glory.

"..."

Ian wasn't sure if his ploy would work, but he decided to stick to the plan. Taking a deep breath, he pulled a scroll from his robes. A magic scroll gifted by the count.

"Knight, sir. Look over there."

The Black Knight halted at the soldier's pointed direction. At the forest entrance, across a barren plain dotted with sparse grass, a man on horseback stood blocking their path.

"What the...?"

Neither the Black Knight nor the soldiers could make heads or tails of the man. Black hair. Black eyes. A traveler's robe. The odd bit? He was mounted and carrying a staff?

"Uh..."

Ian's battlefield look was downright bizarre. Like a total lunatic. No armor, no shield, not even a single sword—just a puny staff? Was the staff his sword? Why carry that?

Normally, they'd shrug it off as "What a nutjob." But the soldiers felt a chill unease twisting in their guts. As wuxia tales warn to beware women, children, and elders... in this medieval fantasy world, you watch out for lunatics. Or at least those who look like lunatics. You never knew if it was a real madman or someone who'd touched something beyond human reason and seemed mad.

That's right. Mages.

If you spot someone acting crazy on the battlefield... high chance it was a mage.

"A... mage, maybe?"

"..."

The Black Knight's silence was affirmation. The soldiers swallowed nervously. One glance, and it was clear this mage was no ordinary fool. Whoa... this psycho's really standing there to block us all alone? How insanely skilled must he be...!

Yep, in a world where "crazy mage = top-tier" was common gossip like urban legends about electric fans, Ian blocking the army solo looked like a goddamn archmage to them.

"Sir... charge?"

The soldier asked. Honestly, they wanted zero part of it. A ticking time bomb right there—who'd rush in barehanded like an idiot? Only their knight could they rely on now. The Black Knight was bus driver-tier, proxy knight-tier.

"Prepare the crossbows."

The Black Knight cheesed it with the all-purpose cheat key: crossbows. Enemy looks OP? Yup. Crossbows~. Snipe from afar, and they can't do shit.

The soldiers lit up like kids at the order.

"Right away!"

But this was a glaring miscalculation. They should've charged silently to fluster Ian. While they dawdled prepping crossbows, Ian started chanting the scroll without hesitation. Past the flattering preamble soothing the mystery's mood came the main body: "I'm about to get rude, 'kay?"

As Ian chanted, the enemies panicked. They couldn't understand a word—the Maronius language.

"Crossbows! Where are the damn crossbows!"

"Coming now!"

"[The millennium pact affirmed! O great wind! O storm that rends the skies! By mage Antricaji's name! Show thyself!]"

Ian spotted the enemies fiddling with something. Without hesitation, he tore the scroll.

That instant.

Krarrrrrumble!

"!!!"

The soldiers ducked as if the ground would swallow them.

"Th-thunder?!"

Once Ian finished the "great wind" scroll... thunder crashed from a clear sky!

And that was just the start. Winds howled madly, shaking everything on the ground. Crossbows included.

Ping!

'Those fucking assholes!'

Ian seethed, realizing someone had loosed a bolt. Lucky the wind deflected it—otherwise, it'd be medieval surgery time.

"[O storm that rends the skies!]"

Ian called the mystery's name from the scroll. Now just borrow its power...!

Krarrrrrumble!

"[Antricaji's name?! What filthy pest iiiis—!]"

BOOM!

"Gaaaaah!"

Earsplitting roar. Then... lightning spearing the earth!

'...Holy shit.'

Ian forgot what to say. That mystery... wasn't in talking shape? Pissed as hell!

The Black Knight and soldiers were equally dumbfounded. Mage chants from a clear sky? Lightning!

[Never utter that name before me again! Or dieeee!]"

"[S-sorry! O storm, I didn't mean—]"

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Ian didn't get the full picture, but standing firm meant lightning barbecue. He tried firing off an apology grovel combo to [Mystery - Sky-Rending Storm]. With eyes on him, he stuck to sorry... but his spine chilled. Total mad bastard... Way beyond Ian's league, top-tier mystery for sure. He vowed never to speak to it again, no matter what. Get too chummy without knowing your place? Zap~.

Mage's common cause of death: mystery rage.

"[Um, sorry. I just read what's written here...]"

[Read it all? Then get LOST!]"

"[Yessir! This has been mage Ian!]"

The lightning stopped as Ian finished. 'Fuck, defective scroll?' He nearly cursed the clueless count who'd gifted it. Ancient mysteries, high-rank storm ones, needed careful, cautious approach from Ian.

Skill points poured in, but Ian had no time for that. Bigger fish. He scanned around.

Snow... chi...?

'...Huh?'

Too busy groveling to the psycho mystery, he'd missed it. Countless soldiers were dogeza-ing to the heavens in his stead.

Ian got it. Ah! Taking my dogeza for me! Such good friends!

...Nah, lightning scared them shitless into forehead plants. Only one still stood on the plain: the Black Knight.

'What's with that guy.'

Passed out standing? Or guts of steel.

'Whatever... chance!'

Ian sized it up quick. Thought it was a wind scroll—turns out lightning. Who made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it? Mystery flipped at the name like a berserk button. Ian soothed and bailed fast... He hadn't zapped anyone himself, but folks were terrified.

Ian, being one of them, knew why. Lightning = heaven's wrath...! Church of the Sky God keyword!

"Fools! Hear me!"

Ian seized the moment, launching full mage mode. Mouth off.

"Your battle today enraged the great soul in the heavens!!!"

"Eeeeek!"

"N-no way!"

Soldiers already dogeza-ing trembled, gazing up at Ian like a heavenly apostle. Chase scene flipped to Passion of the Christ.

Enemies forehead-slammed, repenting imaginary sins.

"Ooooh! Heavens! Great heavens!"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry..."

'...Works like a charm.'

Religion: the one drug the state allows... Ian idly thought while bellowing on. Mage job, but oratory leveling up.

Who makes a mage speech all day?

"Followers of immoral Grame shall face heavenly punishment! Thus spake the heavens to me!"

"Ooooh!"

"...B-but betraying the captain..."

Grame's army stirred. Lightning from clear skies? Only nutjobs stay chill. The Black Knight was that nutjob.

'Good enough.'

Mission to tie their feet? Accomplished with flair. Ian turned without delay. If they chased, no real heaven wrath. All his show. Had to bolt before the lie unraveled.

"Fear heaven's wrath? Stay the fuck out of this forest!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Got it!"

Ian spurred his horse back to the count. His soldiers, hearing the... er, holy heavenly will, would fear the forest. But those who'd entered first? Still rampaging. Had to link with Lucy before trouble.

...
After Ian vanished into the woods, the steadfast Black Knight spoke.

"It's a bluff."

"...Huh?"

Ian'd mocked him as fainted or pissed himself. But the Black Knight neither collapsed nor soiled. He'd caught Ian tearing the scroll, the lightning, and that awkward voice snippet.

'Not intentional magic.'

Spot-on insight. Post-medieval logic.

"The fight's not over. Pursue the mage."

When all quailed and quit, the Black Knight pressed on.

"But... heaven's punishment...!"

"If I'm impure, lightning'll strike me dead."

With that, he stepped into the forest. No zap.

"???"

Grame's army stayed chaotic. But a scant few pursued Ian. The Black Knight among them.