Chapter 79: Head Knight Claude [Claude POV]
As head knight, my official duties remain relatively straightforward. Train the soldiers and guard the territory.
However, the land granted to Mike sits dangerously close to the epicenter of the Mana Calamity, where destruction carved deepest into the world's flesh and left the most victims in its wake.
The scarred earth holds peculiar properties. Objects with deep roots, ancient trees and hardy grasses that burrowed their tendrils far underground, remained untouched by the teleportation magic.
The metastasis, it seems, could only affect what lay exposed above ground, its influence shaped like an enormous dome that carved away everything within its boundaries.
I kneel and grab a handful of struggling grass, feeling the brittle blades crumble between my fingers. "I don't understand what's missing from this place. Based on the underlying theory, this area shouldn't be a complete wasteland..."
The leader of Division G, our makeshift geological survey team, wipes sweat from his brow despite the cool morning air. "We've applied the geological knowledge you taught us, Master Claude, but it's insufficient to fully comprehend the Mana Calamity's effects. What we can confirm is that this location has the highest mana density we've ever recorded. That's precisely why monsters race toward this place faster than anywhere else."
Something analytical surfaces within me, fragments of scientific method and earth sciences bleeding through dimensional barriers. That knowledge feels incomplete here, like trying to solve an equation with half the variables missing.
Division G operates on principles I've taught them using inherited knowledge. While limited, it provides a foundation for understanding this transformed world.
Having them develop these concepts independently will prove invaluable for our future survival.
"I can sense the ambient mana here would be exceptional for training purposes." I feel the thick magical energy pressing against my skin like warm honey. "Extended meditation in this environment could significantly increase one's mana capacity."
"Surely you jest, Master." The division leader's legs visibly tremble as he speaks. "Even standing here for several minutes creates overwhelming pressure in my chest. Training or meditating in this concentration would cause serious internal injuries."
Of course. Without king-grade touki reinforcing your body, surviving this mana density becomes impossible.
The magical energy here doesn't just enhance. It crushes those unprepared to handle its intensity.
"Have the advanced and dual-class swordmasters test my theory. I'm confident they can improve their capacities here. You Division G members are still too weak. Intermediate-level touki simply cannot withstand this atmospheric pressure."
"Haha..." His awkward laughter barely conceals his relief as he retreats to escape the suffocating magical density.
I understand that intermediate grade represents considerable strength by most standards. However, necessity demands they grow stronger quickly.
The future promises darkness, and I cannot guarantee my own survival against the coming manifestations, let alone protect those weaker than myself.
I simply hope circumstances don't force such desperate measures, that we can develop our strength gradually while living in relative comfort.
GRAOOOO!
My contemplation shatters as another visitor arrives, drawn by the concentrated mana. A flying lizard locks eyes with me, radiating predatory bloodlust that would send most soldiers fleeing in terror.
I sneer at the pathetic creature. Weaker than a Charizard, hardly worth the effort. I draw the blade slowly, touki spiraling along its edge like liquid starlight.
SHINK
With a single fluid motion, I release a sword slash that cuts through the air itself. The technique bisects the wyvern while it's still airborne, its severed halves crashing to the barren ground in sprays of dark blood.
I sheathe the blade and settle cross-legged on the scarred earth to meditate.
The familiar rhythm of breathing and mana circulation begins, my consciousness sinking deeper into the enhanced magical environment.
[Narrator POV]
"No matter how many times I witness it, Master Claude's skill never fails to amaze me," observed the 100-man leader assigned to carcass dismantling duties. His weathered hands worked efficiently despite his awe.
"Seeing that wyvern sliced clean into two perfect halves..." Another soldier coordinated with his partner to handle the massive corpse. "We're the ones stuck dealing with the aftermath, though. Do you have any idea how much this thing weighs?"
"Don't complain. That's our wages lying there in pieces." His companion replied pragmatically. "Besides, we have item boxes now. It's not nearly as troublesome to process the parts as it used to be."
In this barren territory, devoid of residents capable of farming the magically-scarred soil, traditional taxation remained impossible.
As much as Claude preferred civilized city life, current circumstances made such luxuries unattainable. The Mana Calamity had created more losses than benefits, forcing unconventional solutions.
Monster subjugation provided their primary income source. The area's enhanced mana density attracted powerful creatures regularly, giving Claude's forces consistent hunting opportunities.
Combined with Division X's extraction and crafting expertise, they could transform monster materials into valuable equipment and trade goods.
Division X might consist of only five members, but each possessed creative minds that thrived on experimental challenges and novel applications of monster-derived materials.
"Let's deliver this to the X barracks crew," the leader decided, hefting his portion of the load.
"I hope they can craft protective equipment for us. Following Master Claude into dangerous areas keeps getting more challenging."
As the soldiers processed the carcass, their conversation flowed naturally between work-related matters and personal anecdotes.
Some shared stories about their children's latest achievements, while others complained about the complexities of newlywed life.
The friendly teasing continued as they worked, their camaraderie a bright spot in an otherwise harsh existence.
Meanwhile, Claude remained deep in meditation, striving to increase both his mana capacity and magical understanding.
Though the ceiling separating lower Saint from higher ranks seemed like an unbridgeable chasm, he refused to abandon his efforts. Instead, he focused on improving spell comprehension and battle visualization techniques.
In his mind's eye, he replayed his encounters with Ruijerd and Reida, analyzing every movement, every tactical decision. This mental training method came from a fighter's memories, a way to experience life-and-death situations without actual mortal risk.
Even in these visualized battles, Claude consistently found himself defeated. Against Ruijerd, he might achieve victory once out of a hundred attempts. Against Reida, who had been defeated by Orsted in a single devastating move, Claude couldn't win even when she held back significantly.
As consciousness gradually returned from his meditative state, Claude released a frustrated sigh.
"Even with all my accumulated arsenal, defeating someone with a God title or true Emperor rank remains nearly impossible. Eugene was simply too weak to represent genuine Emperor-level strength. This kingdom's ranking system is fundamentally flawed."
Eugene certainly possessed legitimate Emperor-rank abilities, but comparing him to warriors like Ruijerd, the Spear Emperor who had survived since the warring states period, or the genius Reida Reia, the Water God, revealed vast gaps in actual combat ability.
Eugene's achievements as Royal Knight leader couldn't be dismissed lightly. His ability to face Shirone's top masters in single combat and emerge victorious demonstrated considerable skill.
This comparison only highlighted Claude's terrifying potential. He had already surpassed the strongest fighter in the Asura Kingdom while still being defeated by truly legendary opponents.
The sword schools, Sword God, Water God, and especially North God, maintained strict neutrality from national politics.
This arrangement was necessary for their continued growth and development. While individual practitioners could leave and serve nations, the schools themselves remained unaffiliated.
Political entanglement would create power imbalances that would corrupt the pure pursuit of martial excellence.
Some masters could navigate such complexities, but most could not.
Claude sensed the familiar stirring that preceded another monster wave. His internal clock, honed by weeks of defending this territory, rarely failed him.
"Everyone, prepare for incoming waves of flying and terrestrial beasts approaching from the east!" His voice carried across the camp with practiced authority.
"Yes sir!" The response came instantly, sharp and unified.
As if responding to an unspoken signal, the soldiers transformed from relaxed conversation to combat readiness within seconds.
Shields moved to formation positions, arrows found their places against bowstrings, and cavalry flanked the archers with practiced precision.
Claude positioned himself at the formation's heart, feeling the familiar pre-battle tension settle over his troops like a comfortable cloak.
The ground trembled with approaching footsteps, dozens of creatures drawn by the concentrated mana, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger and magical corruption.
The first wave broke against their defensive line like water against stone.
Claude moved through the chaos with surgical precision, his blade finding gaps in scales and joints with practiced efficiency. Each strike was measured, economical. No wasted movement, no unnecessary flourish.
A behemoth charged from the left, tusks lowered to gore through the shield wall.
SLAM
Claude intercepted with a rising slash that severed tendons and sent the creature tumbling past their formation, blood painting the barren earth in arterial sprays.
"Archers, focus fire on the flyers!" he commanded, ducking beneath a swooping talon. "Cavalry, flank right and cut off their retreat!"
The soldiers responded with the coordination of a well-oiled machine. Months of training under Claude's harsh tutelage had transformed raw recruits into competent fighters.
A pack of wolf-like creatures attempted to break through the center. Claude gestured sharply, and a wall of earth erupted from the ground, channeling them into a kill zone where spears and swords waited.
The battle lasted perhaps twenty minutes, an eternity of blood and screaming, of steel meeting flesh, of magic and muscle working in deadly concert.
When the last monster fell, Claude surveyed the aftermath with critical eyes.
"Casualties?"
"Three injured, none fatal," reported the 100-man leader, his armor splattered with gore. "Johansen took a claw to the shoulder, Marius has a broken rib, and Petra twisted her ankle dodging."
"Get them to the healers. Everyone else, begin field processing. I want these carcasses stripped and stored before nightfall."
"Yes sir!"
As the soldiers moved to obey, Claude allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Three injured out of eighty combatants was acceptable, better than acceptable, considering the wave's intensity.
They were improving.
But the attacks were also escalating. Each wave brought stronger monsters, more of them, driven to madness by the concentrated mana that saturated this scarred land.
How long before they face something Claude can't handle?
[Claude POV]
Night fell over the camp like a shroud, stars emerging one by one in the darkening sky. I stood apart from the others, watching the soldiers celebrate another successful defense with rationed ale and tired laughter.
They think I'm invincible.
If they knew how close we'd come to being overwhelmed during that last wave... if they understood that my strength, while considerable, had clear limits...
But they couldn't know. Leaders didn't show weakness. Leaders didn't admit the dread that settled before each approaching wave.
I thought of Rudeus, grieving Eris's departure somewhere in the refugee camp. The boy's emotional fragility worried me more than I cared to admit. He had tremendous power but lacked the psychological fortitude to wield it consistently.
Eris, training in the Holy Land of Swords, pushing herself to exhaustion in pursuit of strength she believed she lacked. If she only knew how formidable she'd already become...
Paul, planning a suicide mission into the Begaritt labyrinth to rescue Zenith. Noble in its way, but likely to end in tragedy unless he assembled an exceptional team.
Ruijerd, wandering the continent, helping strangers one village at a time. The most stable of us all, perhaps, because his path was so clearly defined.
Mike and Ash, drowning in political maneuvering at the capital. Playing games with nobles who'd sooner stab them in the back than offer honest cooperation.
And me, standing here in this wasteland, trying to build a foundation strong enough to survive the coming storms.
The convergent memories surfaced, showing me fragments of other timelines, some where we reunited stronger than before, others where we never saw each other again, where death claimed us one by one until only echoes remained.
Which future awaited us? I couldn't tell. The paths had diverged too much, too many variables shifting with each decision I made.
All I could do was keep moving forward. Keep training. Keep building. Keep hoping that when the darkness finally descended, we'd be strong enough to face it together.
"Master Claude?" A voice interrupted my brooding. I turned to find the Division I leader approaching, a sealed letter in his weathered hands. "This just arrived via express courier."
I broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, recognizing the handwriting immediately.
Claude,
Situation in capital deteriorating faster than anticipated. Noble factions growing bolder. Sauros struggling to maintain control. Mike's position becoming increasingly precarious.
Recommend you return to Ars at earliest opportunity. Your presence may be necessary to prevent complete collapse.
Also: Received intelligence regarding Notos family movements. They're mobilizing faster than expected. The slavery operations may begin sooner than your projections indicated.
Time is running out.
—Ash
I read the letter twice.
I was needed everywhere. Here to defend the territory, in Ars to protect Mike, at the capital to navigate political minefields, with Rudeus to prevent his emotional collapse, with Paul to plan Zenith's rescue...
But I was only one person. Even with all my convergent memories, all my accumulated knowledge from multiple lives, I couldn't be everywhere at once.
Choices had to be made. Priorities established. Some battles would have to be fought without me, some people left to face their challenges alone.
"Prepare my horse," I told the Division I leader. "I'm returning to Ars at first light. Transfer command to the 100-man leader in my absence."
"Understood, sir. And the territory defenses?"
"Continue training rotations. Prioritize formation discipline and coordinated responses. If a wave comes that seems overwhelming, retreat to the fortified positions rather than engaging in open field combat."
"Yes sir."
As he withdrew to relay my orders, I looked out across the barren wasteland one final time.
The land here was broken, scarred beyond easy healing. But life persisted, grass struggling through the hardened earth, trees sending new shoots from damaged roots, people rebuilding homes from rubble and ash.
I just had to make sure the people I cared about survived long enough to see that persistence rewarded.
The horse was ready by dawn, a strong roan stallion with enough endurance to make the journey to Ars in two days of hard riding.
I mounted up, adjusting the sword at my hip and the pack containing essential supplies. The soldiers assembled to see me off, their faces showing mixed emotions, relief at my departure, anxiety about facing the next wave without me, determination to prove they could manage.
"Don't die while I'm gone," I told them, keeping my tone light despite the seriousness of the command. "I've invested too much training time to lose you to carelessness."
That earned a few nervous laughs.
"We'll hold the line, Master Claude," promised the 100-man leader. "You can count on us."
I nodded once, sharply, then spurred my horse into motion.
The wasteland blurred past as I rode, each mile taking me further from one set of responsibilities toward another. The weight never lifted, only shifted from shoulder to shoulder.
The sun climbed higher as I rode. Somewhere ahead, Mike and Ash were fighting their own battles. Somewhere behind, Rudeus was grieving. Paul was planning. Eris was training.
I could only hope that when we met again, if we met again, we'd all grown strong enough to face whatever darkness waited beyond the horizon.
The road stretched endlessly before me, and I urged my horse faster, racing toward the next catastrophe that demanded my attention.
Behind me, the sun rose over the scarred wasteland.
Ahead, shadows gathered in the places where politics and power converged.
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