Trap
Cael gauged the presence of enemies filling the inn's first-floor lobby and courtyard. Including those in hiding, their numbers easily surpassed a hundred. Among them, twenty could wield aura at the Adept level with some proficiency, and waiting outside the formation were no fewer than three who had reached Expert.
Stroking his chin, Cael quietly clicked his tongue.
Hmm. For a mere criminal outfit to possess this much force.
An aura Expert was the equivalent of a proper first-rate master by martial world standards, while Adepts straddled the line between second- and third-rate warriors. A force of this scale could easily establish a mid-sized sect even in the Central Plains.
Yet here they were, squandering that might peddling slaves in back alleys and fencing stolen goods, festering like tumors in the territory. The world's rulers had truly rotted to the core. With rot this deep, the only cure was to carve it out with a blade.
But purging that massive corruption single-handedly was beyond even Cael. In the end, he needed his own faction. Not some colossal entity like his previous Heavenly Demon Cult, but loyal subordinates who would serve as his hands and feet without fail.
And there was an even more crucial reason.
In the mid-to-late arcs of the original novel Cael had read, Sword Palace Chronicles, an event unfolded that plunged the entire fantasy continent into peril. A wave of catastrophe beyond human power to counter. It was far in the future, yet Cael's heart raced at the thought.
I can't miss an event like that.
To prepare for the coming apocalypse, Cael had to elevate his guardians to the pinnacle of this world.
Snapping from his reverie, Cael turned. Weger and Ella had emerged from their rooms, gripping their weapons with grim resolve. Beside them stood Roben Banis in silver armor, hand on his sword hilt, face tense.
Cael chuckled at the sight of Roben.
"You planning to join the fray too?"
Roben swallowed hard and barked with forced bravado.
"G-give me a shot, and I'll give it my all—even my life!"
"Commendable spirit. Very well, test your limits in the thick of it."
Cael beckoned his subordinates and cracked open the entrance to the Soul Exile Array leading to the first floor. To keep them from losing their bearings within, he briefly shared the energy flow for visibility and the formation's disruption method.
Before they descended, Cael swept a chilling gaze over them and warned.
"Heed this well. This method shields your senses inside the formation, but it doesn't make you invincible. Those trapped and flailing are vicious scum who've survived far harsher, bloodier worlds than yours. Slack off for a split second, and a blade finds your throat without mercy. Understood?"
Weger and Roben bowed in unison.
"Yes, sir!"
"Crystal clear, Young Duke!"
"That's the price of standing by my side. Far worse dangers than this await you down the line."
Ella, face pale, clutched her sword hilt like a lifeline and vowed.
"I'll overcome it, no matter what, Young Master!"
"Good. Go."
At Cael's word, the three plunged into the thick mist of the first floor without hesitation.
Then came a disgruntled whine from Cael's feet.
"Whine... grr..."
Oliver, who'd tried to bolt first when the Soul Exile Array activated only to be held back, gazed up with drooping tail.
Cael stroked the dog's fluffy head soothingly.
"Oliver, you stay here and watch with me today. Take it easy."
"Whiiiine..."
"Rush in there, and those three get no training. I'll let you cut loose soon enough."
Understanding his master's intent, Oliver finally wagged his tail obediently and barked.
"Woof! Woof!"
"Hah, what a prodigy this mutt is turning into."
Leaning on the terrace railing with Oliver, Cael leisurely observed his subordinates' brutal trial by fire in the lobby below. He had no intention of letting them die, of course.
The lobby, shrouded in thick gray mist, was a prison of terror where enemies couldn't see an inch ahead. But to Weger, Ella, and Roben—who had Cael's guidance—the foes' movements were crystal clear.
Yet as Cael had warned, clear sight didn't make the slaughter easy.
Clang! Cliiing—!
In the darkness, a terror-stricken assassin swung his axe wildly at phantoms. Poorly timed, Roben barely raised his sword to block the path.
"Nngh...!"
Roben's wrist throbbed; his sword nearly flew from his grip. The desperate strike from an Adept-level assassin, fueled by survival instinct, carried enough weight to shatter a novice knight's guard.
"Hah... hah... Damn it. Can't see a thing, and still this ferocious."
Roben retreated, sweating bullets. His opponents were gutter fighters who scorned knighthood or honor. Blind, they curled into balls and rolled to slash ankles, or used comrades' corpses as shields to close in.
To Roben, trained in formal academy swordplay, their erratic savagery was a nightmare to counter. He'd barely deflected blades from two or three Adepts going all-out, sustaining shallow cuts on his arms and thighs that now bled.
By contrast, the duo fighting nearby presented a stark difference.
"Dieee!"
Weger's roar split the air as his heavy iron sword cleaved down. Splat! An assassin's skull burst like a watermelon, trapped in illusion.
Circulating his Jung Nam Sect inner method relentlessly, Weger fully embodied the heavy sword insights gained in the slums yesterday. He wasted no energy, coldly analyzing blind foes' patterns before striking fatally with one blow at the first opening.
Something hot bloomed in Weger's chest.
I get it now!
Cael's prescription was spot-on. They sorely lacked real combat for their skill level. And in learning to wield power in battle, Weger grew stronger with every swing.
Ella's sword dance evolved dazzlingly too.
"Hya!"
Having shed some aversion to killing yesterday, Ella skipped flashy illusions today. Enemies were blind in the formation anyway. She maximized the thrusting forms of Plum Blossom Jade Maiden Sword, precisely slitting throats and hearts of groping foes in the dark.
She'd found her most efficient path. Each flash of her blade dropped assassins soundlessly to the cold floor.
Watching the carnage from behind, Roben gaped in disbelief. What the hell were they? Even as the greenest knight, being utterly outclassed by a lifelong guard and kitchen maid stung his pride raw.
But Roben didn't despair. Instead, their prowess ignited his will to shatter his limits. Gritting his teeth, he surged his aura and dove back in, shedding academy rigidity to etch desperate street tactics into his body—like rolling on the filthy floor.
Cael smiled at the trio's efforts.
They're honing sharp without complaint. Excellent.
While the inn's interior hosted a one-sided massacre, the outside scene unfolded differently.
Beneath the dense forest shadows encircling the courtyard, leader Hugo and his two Sword Experts glared tensely at the building.
"......"
Save for rustling leaves in the breeze, deathly silence reigned. An eerily chilling hush.
The dual-sword Expert couldn't hold back, licking dry lips.
"Boss... something's off."
Hugo roughly stroked his chin beard, face grim.
"I ain't blind, asshole."
Over a hundred armed men had stormed the inn. Even asleep, a hundred in a cramped wooden structure should've produced screams or crashing furniture. Yet nothing. They'd vanished like swallowed by a monster's maw upon crossing the threshold.
The other Expert mopped cold sweat, stammering.
"This... gotta be black magic or a trap. No way over a hundred just go quiet like that."
Hugo's eyes flashed venomous blue.
"Fuck it. Blow it sky-high."
"Blow it—what?"
At his subordinates' shock, Hugo gnashed his teeth and bellowed.
"The whole damn thing. Blast it to hell."
The dual-sword man stepped forward in panic.
"W-wait, Boss! We've got a hundred guys trapped inside!"
Hugo seized his collar and backhanded him.
"Who's gonna deal with that? You volunteering!?"
"Th-that's..."
"You dumb fuck! A hundred go in, no sound—not even breathing. You wanna crawl in knowing that and die like a dog!?"
His pragmatic call silenced the Experts. True to criminal form, he valued his own skin and mission success over underlings' lives.
Hugo signaled the remaining crew in the woods.
"Move out! Grab every mana bomb from the wagons and rig it tight. Young Duke or whatever—let's see if anything lives after it blows."
At the boss's order, the organization sprang into disciplined action.