Chapter 21
Chapter 21
The Empire's Supreme Commander Has Returned - Episode 21
Rubian grabbed Delam's wrist.
Then, she channeled mana through his pulse.
Krrrrrl!
The mana was violent in nature.
Yet, whether due to Rubian's earnestness or not, it thoroughly swept through Delam's mana roads without causing him the slightest harm.
"Haaah...!"
A moment later, Rubian exhaled sharply as she withdrew.
Mishandling a mana ceremony could, in the worst case, leave one a cripple.
Fortunately, there were no signs of that happening.
"I suppose that was something I shouldn't have done."
"You call that an excuse?! Mana roads are absolutely not to be tampered with! Even the slightest misstep can turn them into ticking bombs!"
Rubian trembled before shouting a beat later—
"You idiot!"
"Haha..."
Delam laughed awkwardly at the adorable rebuke.
That was probably the harshest insult she could muster.
The reason Rubian wasn't well-versed in curses was simple.
Why fight with words when you could fight with a greatsword?
Like her former fiancé, who had been reduced to a whimpering mess...
"First, let me explain how I modified it."
"Yes! Tell me everything in detail. Only then can I restore your mana technique to its original state."
Delam recited the Bistache—no, the Delam mana technique.
At first, Rubian listened with a face that screamed "This is a disaster."
But as Delam continued, her expression gradually turned blank.
Then, disbelief.
By the end, it had morphed into sheer astonishment.
"W-wait. Let me test it first, then we'll talk."
"Should I explain it again, just in case?"
"I've memorized it. Just a moment..."
Rubian hastily activated the mana technique.
As she examined it, the flow of mana swirling around her had subtly stabilized compared to before.
Given that the amount of mana being absorbed had also increased, it was clear she was testing the new mana technique Delam had described.
'This girl really is a freak too.'
Delam chuckled dryly as he watched.
He, of course, was certain it was safe—he had created it himself.
Even if something went wrong, it wouldn't matter.
His body had already mastered the safety of the Fleurex Arts, so even if one part were damaged, it would be trivial to repair.
But Rubian wasn't like that.
As she had just said, learning a flawed mana technique could twist one's mana roads, causing them to vomit blood from every orifice.
Yet she tried it without hesitation?
'I suppose this is what talent looks like.'
She must have felt it the moment she heard it.
That the modified mana technique was flawless.
That the vague discomfort she had felt during training—the part that grew more pronounced as her mastery deepened—had been perfectly resolved.
An intuition beyond common sense!
For an ordinary person, this would be an incomprehensible act even if they died and came back to life.
But talent—no, genius—was precisely that.
Which was why Delam had remained a mid-rank knight to the very end.
Flick—
It was a long while before Rubian opened her eyes.
As her eyelids slowly lifted, a golden mana light lingered in her pupils before fading away.
An unmistakable sign of enlightenment.
She was still far from becoming a high-rank knight, but she had undoubtedly taken a step closer.
"Boy!"
Rubian shot up and embraced Delam.
It was their second hug, but it was nothing like the first.
Given Rubian's much taller stature, the position was awkward—and the front of his clothes was getting damp.
Right.
Rubian was crying.
After a long moment, she pulled away and spoke.
"Thank you. You are my family's savior..."
"I'm not sure what exactly happened, but it seems I fixed the mana technique properly. And that it helped your family."
"Yes! More than you could possibly imagine. Is there anything you want? Anything at all—just name it!"
Rubian's eyes shone with a different light than before.
Blind faith, a desperate plea for him to ask—anything, everything.
'She's really happy. Maybe the family was secretly on the decline despite appearances? Well, with their mana technique in that state, it's no wonder...'
The mana technique had likely been flawed for about three generations.
Meaning, since before Rubian's great-grandfather.
'Come to think of it, was that why she was forced into an arranged marriage?'
The Bistache family had once been one of the kingdom's five great noble houses, renowned for martial prowess.
But if that foundation—their martial strength—had weakened?
Naturally, they would have had to compensate politically rather than militarily. And the best way to do that was through blood ties.
Hence, the arranged marriage.
—Hahaha! Master, what more could a disciple ask for? I'm simply honored to have been of help.
Part of him wanted to respond with humble modesty.
But Delam wasn't in a position to do that.
The weighty task on his shoulders—
To succeed in saving humanity, he had to exploit every advantage he could.
So he asked.
"Actually, I have a plan. There may come a time when I'll need the help of you and your family. When that happens, will you lend me your aid?"
"Of course! Your cause will be our family's cause. I swear this as the heir of House Bistache!"
"Huh? Isn't the heir your younger brother?"
"That brat will be—no, I'll convince him. Have you heard rumors about me...?"
Rubian asked cautiously.
Given that the rumors had spread throughout the kingdom, pretending ignorance would be pointless, so Delam nodded vaguely.
"About the arranged marriage, yes."
"It was my brother's doing. He whispered in Father's ear, and that's how it happened. So I was going to convince—no, have a serious talk with him, but then Father sent me off to war."
"Ah..."
"Once this war is over, I'll convince him properly. So my oath is the family's oath."
Murderous intent radiated from Rubian.
Delam continued to dangle the bait.
"So you'll help me?"
"I swear it."
"With anything?"
"Anything!"
"You won't regret it?"
"Never!"
Rubian's voice grew firmer with each response.
A knight's word was heavier than a thousand sacks of gold—Delam's repeated questioning seemed to have pricked her pride.
But inwardly, Delam wondered:
Would she really not regret it?
'What I'll ask for might border on rebellion...'
Getting such a firm promise without full disclosure made his conscience twinge.
In the end, Delam shook his head and said:
"Then, how about a notarized document with the family's seal?"
[Low-Rank Knight]
The starting point of knighthood—and the stage where one was treated as nobility.
Even in this very battlefield, the difference was stark.
Tens of thousands of common soldiers, but only 500 knights in total.
So it was only natural they received such treatment.
—Let's keep this a secret for now.
After some thought, Rubian cautiously suggested it.
How many years had Delam suffered as a commoner?
Now that he had finally become a knight and could turn his life around, hiding it would be a setback.
She likely expected him to refuse—
But of course, he didn't.
—I was planning to do the same.
Admittedly, revealing his rank would bring better treatment.
A private tent, a promotion in status—all that.
But that was precisely the problem.
If Delam continued operating with the Special Forces now?
He could achieve a 100% mission success rate and build his reputation.
But if he joined the ranks of the knights?
'I'd be the youngest.'
Among knights, rank mattered—but mastery was absolute.
And if he entered as the lowest among them?
It would be the start of endless hardship.
As the junior, he'd be stuck with all the grunt work, his training time would shrink, and he'd struggle to distinguish himself in missions.
And that wasn't all.
The knights were packed with scions of prestigious noble families.
Among them, Delam—a commoner—would stick out like a sore thumb.
Even if he earned merits, they might go unrecognized—or worse, stolen by other knights.
'Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a dragon.'
So his goal was simple: [His own unit.]
Even before his regression, despite his lower mastery compared to other knights, Delam had risen to the position of Supreme Commander through strategy and tactics.
With a unit he could wield like his own limbs, earning achievements would be child's play.
"Delam, your first mission."
"I've been waiting."
Delam grinned as he accepted the orders from the unit commander.
Halt the enemy reinforcements from the Fiore barbarians!
Five days later.
Delam completed his first mission flawlessly.
Without a single casualty—while wiping out an entire tribe.
Eleven months had passed since the war began.
Meaning, seven months since Delam enlisted.
"......"
"......"
A massive tent stitched together from beast hides.
At its center, around a fire pit, thirteen chairs were arranged.
And their occupants—
They varied in age, gender, and stature.
Yet they shared one common trait.
Their presence!
A wild, savage aura—like that of untamed beasts.
It emanated from all thirteen of them.
And for good reason.
They were the chieftains of the Sambala Tribal Union.
The atmosphere was as grim as the state of the battlefield.
The first to speak was a gaunt middle-aged man.
"Kuk-kuk, even Chieftain Rabata has graced us? It's an honor to meet the warrior whose name echoes among our ranks these days."
"...What?"
"I heard your tribe's eldest warrior disobeyed orders and slaughtered a flock of sheep. And that he was skewered through the neck by a lamb's spear, joining the ancestors. Quite the tale, no?"
"......!"
"Ah, don't glare at me like that. I know it's just a rumor. As if a warrior could truly fall to a mere whelp. Keuk-keuk."
"YOU OLD BASTARD!"
Rabata couldn't hold back—he drew his axe.
The aura shimmering clearly along its edge was unmistakable.
In an instant, he kicked off his chair and lunged!
Shiiing!
The axe descended toward the middle-aged man's head.
But the man's composure wasn't unfounded.
The axe didn't split his skull.
Claaang!
Instead, it rebounded with a resonant chime.
Rabata twisted midair and landed back in his chair.
A fluid motion, unbefitting his massive frame.
"[Rune Master] Tamuka..."
Rabata spat out the name with a growl.
Before him now stood an elderly man.
Sturdy in build, adorned with ornate feathers, the old man leaned on the staff that had just conjured the protective barrier.
He spoke.
"The situation is dire, Rabata."
"So I should just swallow this insult?!"
"Yes. Before the threat of our thirteen tribes being wiped out, even that is trivial."
"Grr...!"
Rabata gnashed his teeth but sheathed his axe.
Yet the middle-aged man who had provoked him didn't look pleased either.
Because the Rune Master's words were undeniably true.
The Sambala Tribal Union.
More a loose alliance of thirteen tribes than a true nation, bound by fragile ties.
The foundation of diplomacy was simple: befriend the distant, attack the near.
So what did that mean for thirteen neighboring tribes?
Naturally, they had spent centuries slaughtering each other.
Only the presence of the Rune Master, Tamuka, had brought them together.
The greatest shaman of Sambala—a true sage who had foreseen this war and united the feuding tribes.
He had but one flaw.
He had never encountered Delam before!