*Crack*.
The barrier shattered.
Jorald dropped straight down. The moment his feet touched the ground, a sword swung at his neck.
At the exact same time, a thick cloud covered the moon. Total darkness.
*Slash*.
Jorald dodged the blade without breaking a sweat. He stepped inside the attacker's guard and threw a punch.
*Bamm*.
A man flew backward. Before Jorald could move, a fire arrow and an ice blast shot toward him from the dark.
He tilted his body, letting the fire arrow pass by, but took the ice magic directly on his armor. He didn't even flinch.
He drew his sword.
*Slash*.*Slash*.
*Thud*. *Thud*. *Thud*.
Three heads hit the forest floor at the same time.
Only one enemy was left. A man covered in a black robe. He was desperately chanting a spell, trying to cast magic.
Jorald didn't hesitate. He dashed forward, grabbed the man by the throat, and slammed him hard against a thick tree.
"Who are you people?" Jorald asked coldly.
The clouds shifted in the sky. The moonlight returned, falling directly on Jorald's face.
The robed man looked at him. His breath hitched. His eyes widened in absolute terror. He tried to speak, but no words came out.
Jorald pulled him back and slammed him into the tree again.
*Crash*.
*Cough*.
The impact woke the man from his shock. He coughed violently.
"Give me a straight answer if you want an easy death," Jorald said. "Or I will pull out your beating heart and show it to you."
The man trembled. A broken, terrified laugh escaped his lips. Blood leaked from his mouth.
"You... Monster," he choked out, coughing blood. "You're actually alive... Kill—"
*Rip*.
Before the man could finish the word, Jorald's free hand tore straight through his throat.
Blood and flesh gleamed under the moonlight. The man convulsed wildly for a few seconds before Jorald dropped his lifeless body to the ground.
Jorald looked up. He channeled his energy and swung his sword at the sky.
*Slash*. *Slash*. *Slash*.
Three arcs of black aura shot into the clouds.
A moment later, a terrifying scream echoed from high above.
Kiyaahhhkk!
It wasn't a human.
"Tch," Jorald clicked his tongue. "I need to tell Lord Rudious."
He turned and dashed back through the jungle. Any corrupted beast that got in his way was slaughtered instantly. He didn't even use his aura—just pure physical strength, slicing through them like butter.
When he finally reached the fort, the soldiers were still fighting the horde. They were exhausted. Jorald jumped into the fray. Because he had already killed more than half of them in the jungle, the remaining beasts were wiped out by morning.
The fort was flooded with energy crystals.
Seeing how tired the soldiers were, Jorald decided to stay for two more days to ensure the border was secure.
---
Far away.
In a dark room lit only by a single candle, a man in purple robes sat with his eyes closed.
"Tch. Another failure."
"What happened, Master?" his servant, standing nearby, asked. "Did your summon see anything?"
"No," the man said softly. "It was killed."
"What?" The servant looked shocked. "But there are only weak Baronies and Viscounties in the East. There shouldn't be any Knight of that level there."
The man in purple stood up slowly.
"It seems someone has caught onto us. We need to tread carefully, or the Lord's hard work will be ruined." He looked at the servant. "Send a message to the others. The Dark Table Council will convene soon."
From outside the door, the voices of other servants echoed. "Yes, My Lord."
Footsteps faded away.
Suddenly, the man in purple collapsed to the floor.
"My Lord!" The servant rushed forward to catch him.
The man wiped his mouth. In the dim candlelight, the blood on his hand gleamed.
"My Lord, you used too much of your power today," the servant pleaded. "You haven't fully recovered your strength yet."
The man raised a hand, stopping the servant. He slowly sat back down.
"Black aura..."
Those were the only words that left his mouth.
---
Two days later. The Viscount's Manor.
*Knock. *Knock.
"My Lord. It's Jorald."
"Come in," a voice called from inside.
Jorald opened the office door and walked in. He bowed slightly. "Greetings, My Lord."
"Greetings, Jorald," Rudious smiled, leaning back in his chair. "So? How was the trip?"
"It was fine," Jorald replied. "I've already sent you the full report."
"Hmm." Rudious tapped his fingers on the desk. "Someone who knows your identity. And a Dark Mage."
"Yes. A Dark Mage," Jorald confirmed.
Rudious raised an eyebrow. "How do you know for sure they were Dark Mages?"
"Because the last one was using a chant to cast his spell," Jorald said simply. "Not natural talent."
"Hmm. And he knew you."
Jorald puffed his chest out slightly. "Yes."
"Tch. These damn Demon worshippers," Rudious muttered.
"But I don't think they have an actual Demon with them right now," Jorald added.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because there was no demonic energy in the beasts. Only their hearts were corrupted. They didn't have any regeneration or magical powers."
Rudious sighed. "But they can still use summons. They are preparing their forces early."
Rudious rubbed his temples, looking genuinely annoyed. "Do these bastards have no self-respect? They get beaten half to death every time, and they still keep coming back."
Jorald chuckled.
"Anyway," Rudious waved his hand. "Go rest. Drake's monster hunt is the day after tomorrow. Is the jungle clear?"
"Yes, My Lord." Jorald bowed and left the room.
---
A few days later.
This time, there was no carriage. They were riding on horseback.
Jorald, Rudious, John, and the two trusted guards. And with them — Drake.
Veil had been left behind at the manor. He was slowly starting his classes — learning to read, write, and understand the world, along with basic physical training under Arthur.
The group left the manor early in the morning, heading straight for the western border.
Drake rode quietly.
Rudious looked at him. "Are you nervous, Drake?"
"No," Drake replied, staring ahead. "It's just... this is my first time holding a real sword."
Jorald, riding next to him, smiled.
"It's fine, Young Master," Jorald said softly. "From today, this blade is your very first friend. You have to accept it."
Drake looked down at the real sword hanging from his waist.
"My friend."
---
*Knock.*Knock.
"My Lord. The reply from Viscounty Velrend has arrived."
A butler stood with his head bowed, speaking to a slightly plump man sitting across from him. The room was decorated with expensive but gaudy furniture — gold trim, velvet curtains, too many candles. Wealth without taste.
"Good," the man said, not looking up. "Rimon, has Selom returned from the Academy?"
"Yes, Lord Pellamio," Rimon replied, his head still lowered. "He arrived this morning. He is resting in his room."
"Excellent... excellent."
Pellamio finally looked up. His face was round, soft, and pink — the face of a man who had never worked a day in his life. He leaned back in his chair, an arrogant smirk spreading across his features.
"I've heard their iron mines are quite famous. And their army too." He chuckled. "But their Lord? Just a merchant who got lucky. And his son? A twelve-year-old boy who has never held a real sword."
He picked up a glass of wine and swirled it lazily.
"Tell me, Rimon... who do you think will win?"
Rimon hesitated for a fraction of a second. His eyes flickered — doubt, maybe fear — but he quickly lowered his gaze.
"Of course... you will, My Lord."
"Hahaha! Exactly!"
Pellamio laughed loudly, slapping his thigh. He began muttering to himself, his greed completely taking over his senses.
"I am so brilliant... so clever. A few more mines and I will control the entire iron trade in this region. That fool doesn't even know what's coming for him."
He took a long sip of wine, his small eyes glinting with arrogance.
"A merchant playing Lord... hah. He should have stayed in his shop."
Rimon stood silently, still bowing.
Pellamio waved his hand. "Go. Tell Selom to prepare. The duel will be sooner than they expect."
"Yes, My Lord."
Rimon turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Pellamio sat alone, smiling at the candlelight.
"Velrend... mine soon."
---
[Chapter 29 — End]