Chapter 19: Too Early for Night, Too Late for Evening
It was a time too early to call night, yet too late for evening. The distant horizon blurred into shadow, but nearby shapes remained visible in the dim light. Marhal turned to pinpoint the voice's owner.
Marhal had heard all sorts of tales from the Hero, the Thief, the Saint. But he was especially confident in identifying the origins of anyone from the Empire. The mage Mar Silanatiell hailed from imperial nobility and had memorized the roster of major houses, their crests, and the traits and specialties of every region—a true eccentric. And Marhal had absorbed all her knowledge.
Muet Empire, under the Kalaens Duke. Knight in his early thirties. Specializes in ambushes. Barely scraping mid-tier knight status, maybe.
With better training or solid experience, he'd climb to high knight and represent a whole region. Mid-tier wasn't weak by any means. Most knights stalled out at the basic level, dubbed low knights.
He's at a crucial crossroads as a knight. Not the youngest, but handling the baby brother's duties—enough to piss anyone off.
"What brings you here?"
"Hand over this land."
"No idea what you're talking about. This is unclaimed territory. Nothing to hand over."
"Then step aside. I'm planting my flag here."
"No."
The knight drew his sword. The campfire's glow spread to him, tinting the blade a faint crimson.
"Leave the woman and scram. I'll let you off with one arm."
"Sir knight, this isn't the Holy Empire, and there are no priests nearby. Lose an arm, and you die."
"That's your problem?"
Sensing the odd tension, others approached. Rebella's hand went to her sword hilt; Marin slipped both hands behind her back.
"You gonna try it? Teaching riffraff their place is a knight's duty. Fine. I'll send you to the heavens."
"Pfft."
He could stomach most bluster or threats, but that one nearly made him crack up. Even the Hero who cleaved the skies, or those inhuman freaks, didn't talk about the heavens like that. A guy who couldn't match the Hero's pinky spouting off about it? Hilarious.
"Mocking me?"
"Damn right. Like some mutt begging to be put down right in front of me."
Strekl drew his sword. A clean unsheathing, his cloak fluttering to reveal a glint of full plate armor.
"Armor...?"
Arrogance drained from the knight's face. Suspicion and doubt scanned Strekl up and down; his grip tightened fiercely.
"Why's a knight in full plate out here?"
"Wonder if a mid-tier imperial knight can cut iron."
He couldn't. Not even high imperial knights could. Only a select few ever managed it. A mid-tier ambush specialist? Zero chance against full plate.
"Weren't you gonna show us the heavens?"
"You've just poked the Empire. Know what that means?"
"Can you back that up?"
"Of course. I'll show you the Empire's might. What's that look?"
"Nothing. Just surprised a mid-tier knight from Kalaens Duke's lands thinks he speaks for the whole Empire now. Or are you some imperial envoy on special orders from the Emperor?"
"How...?"
"You're wearing the duke's crest. Weird if I didn't know it."
Impossible. Commoners barely registered noble crests, let alone memorized them. At most, the imperial seal and their local lord's. The knights and mercenaries he'd fought in the city hadn't recognized Kalaens' either. Yet this barbarian not only identified it but called him out.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Think you could handle knowing?"
"......"
The knight's horse backed away. His resolve crumbled too. This man knew him. But he knew nothing of this man. Who was the full-plate knight? The women? Why were they together, and who was the guy treating the armored one like a subordinate?
He knew zilch.
The crackle of the campfire broke the silence. Crackle, crackle.
A beat of quiet, then the knight spoke. "I was rude. I apologize. I'll return once I'm worthy."
As he wheeled his horse, Marhal grabbed the reins.
"You said leave the woman and go. What'd you mean by that?"
"......"
Cold sweat trickled down the knight's back. He wouldn't have said it knowing about the full-plate knight. But regret always came too late. Turn tail now? He'd have to grovel. He couldn't swallow that blow to his pride as an imperial knight, a promising mid-tier from a duke's house.
Report to the captain, and he'd come negotiate himself. No point clashing faces now. Grasping at a rational excuse, he ignored Marhal and spurred his horse forward.
A few steps in, the horse whinnied shrilly and collapsed. The knight twisted mid-fall, landing cleanly.
A cord...?
A thick leather cord bound the horse's rear legs. Job done, it slithered like a snake back to its owner.
"A mage...!"
More baffling by the second. Full-plate knight, noble lady, now a mage. As an ambush expert, his senses were sharp. Yet the cord fooled them, snuck in, and bound the horse—with enough strength to halt it. It could restrain or kill the unwary too. In a cluttered city, that thing darting around? Knights wouldn't stand a chance.
Full plate plus an assassin-mage. They could infiltrate and target the city. So why camp in an open field?
As confusion and fear peaked, Marhal's calm voice whispered in his ear.
"Apologize properly. Stake your name, your honor—show sincerity matching your insult, and we'll call it even."
"Sincerity?"
"You besmirched noble spirits and bodies. Bow your head at least. Or speak with your weapon like a true knight?"
The knight's eyes flicked to Strekl, who grinned like a serial killer, tapping his sword hilt.
"Head or steel?"
Slowly, the knight knelt. Knees to ground, then palms, finally forehead.
"Mid-tier knight Aul, sworn to Kalaens Duke. I beg forgiveness for my rudeness to the ladies and the shock to your noble selves. Please, grant mercy."
"That's how it is. Your call?"
Can I? Bayola's eyes asked. Marhal nodded.
"I forgive your rudeness. May this be fertilizer for your honor, growing you into a great knight."
"I'm humbled by your generosity."
Aul rose, mood lifted. True nobles with history and tradition carried an intangible force beyond even superhuman knights in their simplest words and deeds. Her forgiveness felt real; at least his apology reached genuine nobility. Enough to rationalize preserving his pride.
Aul saluted knightly, raised his horse, and departed.
Waiting till Aul vanished into the wall ruins, Strekl asked Marhal, "Seizing initiative matters. But did you have to reveal the magic? Hidden spells are your ace against anyone. That cord would probably work on me too. Next time, they'll come ready to kill me and counter it. Bad move showing your hand."
"What edge do we hold over them, besides?"
"Mid-tier ran the errand. High knights incoming, probably full-plate too. My armor's no advantage. Magic was our best shot."
"That's raw combat power. Our edge is everything except fighting."
"Everything?"
"No ladders... Jump as high as you can in place and look east."
Strekl powered his legs. He shot up like an arrow, spotting dozens of torches and hundreds of figures crossing from the east.
Thud.
He hit the ground. "Hyenas."
"Hyenas pace with the surveyors. They hate the grind of planting and holding flags. They want quick, easy scores."
"What's that got to do with this?"
"Surveyors nearby? Fast measurement. That's their game—kill the flag owner, surveyor comes, land's theirs. And surveyors hate crime in their zone. Disrupts the work."
"That's it! After those hyenas hit Marin, you planned this!"
Rebella shouted. The thrill of untangling a knotted puzzle burst in her mind.
"Surveyors close? Flag-holders defend like mad; others rush to plant. You've already cut deals with nearby owners. They won't sit idle while hyenas squeeze between. To them, city knights are just rivals too. And you taught flag-holders how to threaten the city owner. They just hold their land! Then... oh god! We just defend this spot!"
"Yeah, you're sharp. Now explain for us thick-skulls?"
Strekl grumbled. He executed plans, didn't make them. No talent for piecing fragments into the big picture.
"Kalaens' knights need two things to take the city. One: blanket the area with flags and hold till surveyors arrive. Two: plant here. Secures line-of-sight east."
"Anyone with tactics knows one's insane. Forces fights everywhere. You said no fights."
"Curious too. Perfect setup, but screams battle. If I commanded, I'd want this spot."
Marhal shrugged. "Depends who shows. That's the fun part."
Mid-tier knight Aul returned to the city. Inside, knights cleared trees and shoved stones, carving paths—even by torchlight past nightfall. Captain's orders: finish before any city-raiders struck again.
Aul passed them, heading central. Deeper in, the stench thickened. Unburied corpses dotted the gloom.
City center: a red flag planted, a full-plate knight atop a boulder. Armor blood-soaked, discarded helmet crimson too. Campfire before it deepened the red glow.
"Not the face of success."
Kalaens' Black Iron Knights captain Kaban fixed hollow eyes on Aul.
Aul dismounted sharply, standing rigid. He recounted the wall encounter.
Kaban's brows twitched through the tale; Aul flinched each time.
All heard, Kaban planted hands on knees and rose. Grasped his nearby sword.
"Finish by dawn. Then we meet them."
He swung. The boulder split clean.
High knight Kaban: couldn't cut iron, but stone? Effortless. A rock-cutter, not iron.