It had been more than a week since the assassination attempt on Arthur. The
report of the assassin's death had already reached him. Although the
Intelligence Council found nothing but dead ends, Arthur had known from the
start who was behind it. Oculus—the supporting system bestowed by Remiel—had
revealed the truth: the Demonic Cult. From that day on, Arthur trained even
harder, sharpening his swordsmanship while weaving in supporting spells.
He was now lost in his own training. His determination was fixed on a single
goal: to create a new technique, a katana style unlike any other. He began by
trying to combine momentum from postures that seemed impossible to strike from.
Day after day he repeated the pattern, bending his body, twisting his waist,
then unleashing strikes from unlikely angles. For an entire week he failed—his
body drenched in sweat, falling and rising again—but at last he found the
perfect form.
The movement resembled a dance. Swift steps, a spinning body, and a katana
glinting like rippling light. He named it Blade Dance. A dance-like
style that allowed him to evade while simultaneously harvesting momentum to
unleash the most devastating strikes. To outsiders, he might have seemed to be
dancing with his sword, yet every motion carried the force to tear through
steel.
Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the Intelligence Council, its head grew
ever more frustrated. All personnel had been deployed, yet not a single lead on
the Demonic Cult had been uncovered. Thomas remained passive, as if unconnected
to anything. Panic, disappointment, and near-despair pressed down on the head
of intelligence, who even went out personally into the field, tracing lead
after lead—yet every path ended in nothing. It was as if the cult itself were a
shadow refusing to be caught by light.
Elsewhere, Valoria's new weapon was beginning to speak. Mana-powered
crossbows had been installed on the border walls and atop the city's towers. If
only such weapons could be carried onto the battlefield, they would surely
become the enemy's nightmare. Arrays of runes crafted by the mages locked the
pattern of a simple mana bullet, drawing energy from the world around
them, funneling it into the tempered projectile. When fired, it made its
distinct sound—cyut, cyut, cyut—three mana bullets launched every second, with
only a brief pause for cooling. Even the mages themselves were astonished; the
speed surpassed what they could achieve when chanting manually.
At the same time, deep in the forest, a young man ran for his life. His
breath came in ragged gasps, and the horror of what he had just witnessed still
haunted his eyes. More than a hundred men in black robes, their chests and
backs marked with an inverted sun, were herding thousands of undead and
red-eyed monsters toward Valoria. He ran heedless of branches whipping his face
or thorns tearing at his feet. He had only one goal: to reach the city and find
safety.
In his mind, Valoria under the new young king was different, like a dark
horse ready to defeat anyone. His breath was nearly gone, his chest seared with
pain, but at last the city walls came into sight. He screamed with all he had
left: "Help! Thousands of monsters are coming!"
Two gate guards who had been checking travelers' papers froze in shock. They
exchanged glances, then called to their companion atop the wall to confirm with
a telescope. As soon as the device was aimed, it slipped from the guard's
trembling hands and clattered onto the wooden platform below.
Moments later, the city's great bells rang out in rapid succession, their
rhythm unmistakable: danger was coming. The heavy tones echoed through the
streets, shattering the noonday bustle. The Defense Council scrambled,
abandoning their training and rushing to their posts.
Arthur, accompanied by Ren and Sebastian—newly joined assassins within the
ranks of the shadow guard alongside Ren, Reyna, and Akira—sped toward the
eastern gate. Each used their movement skills, bodies darting through the air
like wind. The head of Intelligence also raced there, while nearby nobles
hurried to the east wall, and those further away reinforced their own district
gates.
Atop the eastern wall, the atmosphere was heavy with dread. In the distance,
less than a kilometer away, the enemy's formation was already visible.
Hundreds, even thousands, shook the earth with their march. Arthur arrived, and
the soldiers saluted. "Your Majesty!" He simply raised his right hand, brief
yet commanding.
Soon after, the head of the Intelligence Council arrived and fell to his
knees. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I am unworthy to hold my position."
Arthur's eyes stayed fixed forward, his voice flat. "Save it for later. Focus
on what lies before us."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," the man replied, trembling as he rose again.
When the enemy was only seven hundred meters away, Arthur gave the order.
"Fire the crossbows!"
A thunderous roar erupted. Dozens of mana bullets streaked through the air.
Cyut! Bang! Cyut! Bang! Explosions tore into the enemy ranks, undead shattered,
monsters hurled backward. Some creatures were obliterated instantly, an ogre
collapsed with a hole the size of a shield blasted through its chest, and a
cultist attempting to finish an incantation burst apart before the spell could
form. Within ten minutes, thousands lay dead. But then one crossbow overheated
and exploded, gravely injuring its operator. Seeing this, Arthur immediately
commanded a ceasefire. The soldiers stared wide-eyed. In mere moments, the new
weapon had bared its fangs.
Arthur gauged the distance. It was impossible to continue striking with
magic from the wall. He called the captain of the Defense Council. "Advance the
troops. We meet them with steel."
The cavalry surged forward first, Valoria's banners unfurling, and the clash
began. Steel rang, screams echoed, monsters roared. Ren slashed down a cultist
charging at him, his dagger slicing the throat before severing the arm of an
undead reaching for a rider's horse. Reyna spun her spear, skewering two undead
in one thrust, then hurled a fire talisman into the horde, immolating three
red-eyed beasts. Sebastian appeared from the shadows, his blade sinking into
the back of a cult general, though he staggered himself, blood soaking his
wounded shoulder. Nobles too joined the fray: Lord Halbert cleaved a troll's
head with his axe, while Lady Celene unleashed icy arrows from her crystal
staff, piercing three cultists in a line. Soldiers trained in the Heavenly
Valior Technique felt their strength surge—slashes that once cut lightly now
toppled hulking monsters, their stamina lasted longer, and their instincts
sharpened, guiding them through deadly chaos.
Soon, hundreds of black-robed men emerged behind the monsters. The
battlefield turned to chaos. Dark sorcery gnawed at soldiers' bodies, and
self-detonating cultists took dozens of lives in bursts of fire. The shadow
guard moved swiftly: Akira pierced a cultist's chest from within the haze of
dust, vanishing before the enemy could counter. Generals, shadow guards, and
nobles all pressed forward, locking the cultists in battle.
And behind them all stood a figure Arthur knew well: Zagan. A thin smile
played on his lips, his crimson eyes fixed on Arthur. Rage ignited in Arthur's
chest. Without hesitation, he leapt from the wall.
His body shot forward, katana drawn. A blast of black magic fired by Zagan
split apart under Arthur's swing. The ground trembled—their second battle had
begun.
"An anomaly like you is dangerous to our cult," Zagan declared coldly. "The
energy you radiate is our eternal enemy."
Arthur gave no reply. He pressed harder, his Blade Dance weaving
deceptive steps and unpredictable strikes. His katana spun, carving a cut into
Zagan's shoulder. Zagan retaliated with shadow chains lashing out to bind
Arthur's wrist, but a single slash severed them. He hurled a black fireball the
size of a wagon wheel, only for Arthur to split it into fragments that vanished
in the air.
Their duel raged. Magic clashed with steel, explosions shook the ground, the
screech of metal drowned out the cries of soldiers. For twenty minutes they
exchanged blow for blow. Then the moment came—Zagan faltered, his balance
slipping. From the narrowest opening, Arthur struck. He spun his body, katana
sweeping in a lethal diagonal arc.
The blade cut through Zagan from right armpit to left shoulder. A deafening
sound echoed as his body collapsed. The remaining black-robed cultists shrieked
in madness, rushing to self-detonate. Blast after blast swept across the
battlefield, throwing Valoria's soldiers into disarray.
When the smoke finally cleared, the field was strewn with corpses. More than
forty Valorian soldiers lay dead, and two hundred more were gravely wounded.
Yet thousands of monsters had been destroyed, the cultists decimated, and Zagan
slain.
Arthur stood amidst the fading haze, his breath heavy. "If not for the
crossbows, these walls would already have fallen," he murmured.
The Intelligence Council wasted no time. Tracking hounds were brought to
sniff Zagan's corpse, then released to follow the trail. Their direction was
clear—toward the hidden lair of the Demonic Cult.
The battle had ended. But the war had only just begun.