Count Tamos fidgeted nervously, shaking his leg as he anxiously glanced at the battlefield. His soldiers couldn’t approach the fire, so only the wounded who had escaped were being moved. At first, there had been a decent number of survivors, but now hardly anyone was making it out.

“Damn it, they’re all wounded! What am I supposed to do with this?”

The first wave of escapees had been in relatively decent condition, but now it was mostly those on the brink of death. And even then, the total survivors didn’t amount to 500 soldiers.

“Victor, that damned idiot! He boasted about his strategy, and now look at this! Leading such a massive army to defeat!”

While Tamos cursed Victor, Lowell, who had been keeping a sharp eye on the battlefield, broke into a cold sweat.

“This doesn’t make sense. Even if the flames are intense, we’re on flat plains. They should be able to escape, even if they’re badly injured. Something’s off,” he thought, heart sinking as dread crept over him.

Desmond had sent well-trained knights and soldiers. There was no way they’d fall into panic this easily.

“Was it because they were packed too closely together? If they got in each other’s way and the fire spread too fast...”

He had expected at least a thousand soldiers to escape, but the number was far too low. Meanwhile, agonizing screams continued to echo from within the inferno.

“Even with all that screaming, why aren’t they escaping?”

Lowell’s stomach churned with unease. He immediately scanned the eastern and western sides of Peridium.

“There’s no dust cloud!”

If the enemy were pursuing them, they’d be using cavalry, and a dust cloud would be visible by now. But there was nothing.

“What’s happening in there?”

His whole body tensed with fear. Gritting his teeth, he turned to Tamos and shouted, “My lord! We need to retreat immediately! Gather the remaining soldiers and knights and flee!”

“Huh? But what about the wounded?”

“There’s something wrong in there! We need to get out of here, now!”

Tamos, who had already been itching to flee, lit up at Lowell’s words. “Yes! Let’s run! Everyone, retreat! Get out now!”

But it was too late.

Figures in black armor emerged from the flames, running toward them. The sight was terrifying, like demons emerging from hell itself.

“Th-those uniforms...”

Both Tamos and Lowell paled. Smoke billowed continuously from the black armor as they moved.

Tamos wasted no time turning his horse around. He didn’t care how those soldiers had made it through the flames.

“Stop them! Stop them, now!”

With that final command, Tamos spurred his horse and fled.

“W-wait, my lord! I’ll follow you! I’ll take care of everything!” Lowell shouted in a desperate attempt to keep up, scrambling after Tamos. Even the few remaining knights followed their lord in retreat, leaving the leaderless soldiers in disarray.

“L-let’s run too!”

“What about the wounded?”

“We’ve lost! If we stay, we’re dead too!”

The soldiers, now leaderless and terrified, began to scatter, abandoning their weapons and wounded comrades in their desperate flight.

Even the soldiers Desmond had sent to reinforce them lost their will to fight. They too fled, hoping to survive.

“Everyone, retreat! Just make it back to the estate alive!”

The mercenaries, driven by bloodlust, chased the fleeing soldiers relentlessly.

“Get them! Kill them all!”

“Hahaha! Where do you think you’re going?”

“Slaughter them!”

The mercenaries, drunk on the thrill of the kill, mercilessly cut down the retreating soldiers.

“Aaargh!”

The screams of the dying filled the battlefield as the mercenaries hunted them down. Even those hobbling away with injuries were not spared, their heads separated from their bodies with brutal efficiency.

Crunch! Slash!

“Please! I surrender! I’m surrendering!”

“Stop! Please stop!”

“I’ve thrown down my weapon! Spare me!”

But their pleas fell on deaf ears. The mercenaries were in no mood for mercy.

“Our boss doesn’t take prisoners! Hahaha!”

Of those who fled, only a handful managed to escape. Tamos’s bodyguards had all but been wiped out.

“That’s enough! Stop the chase!” Gillian called, raising his hand to rein in the bloodthirsty mercenaries.

If they pursued any further, even their own forces would become scattered.

“Phew, a shame to stop here.”

“I had a good warm-up, though! Hehe.”

“Is it really over? Let’s search the bodies.”

The mercenaries began to loot the corpses, looking for rings, necklaces, or anything else of value.

As they rifled through the bodies, Gillian approached them with a growl.

“What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t I say we’d distribute the spoils fairly after the war?”

“Come on, you know how it works. Finders keepers.”

“You can join us if you want.”

The mercenaries shrugged off his reprimand, only to find themselves staring down the blade of Gillian’s axe as he held it to one of their throats.

“Do you want to lie down next to these corpses? Who told you to act on your own?”

Intimidated, the mercenaries backed off, fear etched on their faces.

Gillian might have shown loyalty to Ghislain, but at heart, he was still a ruthless mercenary, and they all knew how brutal he could be during training. The mercenaries feared him more than they let on.

Reluctantly, they let go of their loot, though dissatisfaction was clear on their faces.

Knowing that pushing them too hard would only lead to further discontent, Gillian added, “Don’t forget what the young lord commanded. Even as mercenaries, we should respect the dead. You’ll get your fair share of the spoils later.”

“Ugh...”

“Yeah, I guess...”

Grumbling, the mercenaries relented. Normally, they might have rebelled against such an order, but not under Ghislain’s command. Not here.

Gillian kept a wary eye on them but couldn't shake the uneasy feeling creeping over him.

‘Where is Ghislain?’

It didn’t make sense. The mercenaries had easily killed the retreating soldiers, but Ghislain hadn’t emerged yet.

Gillian checked his armor. The Dirus Ent hide they’d been using had already shriveled and lost most of its protective capabilities. Much of it had fallen off, leaving only ragged patches. His helmet wasn’t faring much better.

In this state, he wouldn’t last long in the fire. The flames still raged across the battlefield, showing no signs of dying down.

Ordinary flames could be withstood by wrapping his body in mana, but this fire was made of magic. Even Gillian wasn’t sure he could survive in that inferno.

‘Still, I need to check.’

Gillian knew he couldn’t just stand idle. If Ghislain needed help, he’d have to act quickly. If not, then he could retrieve him and retreat.

As he prepared to move, Kaor, standing beside him, cocked his head in confusion.

“Hey, old man. You thinking of going back in there?”

“Yes. The young lord hasn’t come out yet.”

“Hahaha, you’re actually worried about that crazy guy?”

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll kill you right here.”

Gillian raised his axe, and Kaor threw his hands up, feigning exhaustion.

“Next time, okay? I’ve had enough for today. I’m worn out.”

Gillian glared at him before turning back toward the flames.

“I’m going in. Keep the mercenaries in line.”

“Look, if the boss isn’t out yet, it’s probably because he’s got a reason. Don’t go getting in his way.”

“What?”

Gillian turned, frowning at Kaor’s words.

“I’m just saying, let him handle it. We just do what we’re told. Am I wrong?”

“Hmm.”

Kaor had a point. Ghislain always preferred moving faster than anyone expected, sometimes even leaving his own men behind. It was possible that he was doing something unpredictable right now.

Still, Gillian couldn’t just leave him. Ghislain always danced on a knife’s edge, teetering between victory and ruin.

He didn’t fear making mistakes that could cost him everything. That’s why Gillian saw it as his duty to support Ghislain in every way he could.

‘I’ll wait a little longer.’

Though Kaor had made a valid argument, Gillian decided to give Ghislain just a bit more time. But not too long.

Clang!

Victor staggered, barely avoiding a fatal strike. Had he been a moment slower, his head would have been cleaved from his shoulders.

He was shocked. Was there really someone in this land capable of threatening him?

Instinctively, he thrust his sword forward, forcing his opponent to retreat.

“You’ve got some skill!”

Victor, regaining his composure, widened his eyes as he finally got a clear look at his opponent.

“You...!”

Dressed in black armor and a black helmet, this was one of the enemies who had interfered with him throughout the entire war.

“So, you’ve finally come before me!”

Victor gripped his sword tightly, his voice seething with fury. Yes, this one would die, just like all the others. But just as he was about to take a step forward, he noticed something strange.

Sssssssssss

Steam continuously rose from the armor of his opponent.

"...That’s not ordinary armor?"

Focusing his vision, Victor noticed that what appeared to be black armor was actually some other material layered on top, absorbing the heat and releasing steam.

“That armor... it’s protecting him from the flames.”

The realization made Victor’s skin crawl.

“D-don’t tell me you set this trap from the beginning...”

From the very first day of the war, the enemy soldiers had been wearing that armor. This meant that they had been ready to unleash this fiery trap at any moment.

They had waited for him to gather his forces, guiding him right into it to maximize the damage.

“You... you...!”

Victor, overwhelmed by the enormity of what had just dawned on him, couldn’t even finish his sentence.

The man before him tilted his head slightly and replied in a calm, condescending tone.

“Yeah, it’s an expensive trap I set up. Do you like it?”

“You... you did all this? Who are you?”

Even now, with the man’s face obscured by his helmet, Victor couldn’t place him. A man with such capabilities wouldn’t be unknown to him, would he?

“Ghislain Peridium,” the man replied, his voice dripping with arrogance.

“...?”

“Don’t recognize me?”

“Ghislain... Peridium? The wastrel prince Ghislain?”

“That’s right. I’m the one and only.”

With a smug grin, Ghislain lifted his chin in pride, finally revealing his identity.

Victor’s breath came out in ragged gasps. The name alone was enough to send his mind spiraling.

The wastrel prince... The man known as a good-for-nothing. The laughingstock. The swordmaster who never left his estate. North’s biggest disgrace.

Victor had never considered Ghislain a threat. He hadn’t even appeared on his list of potential dangers. How could someone like him possibly bring Victor to this point?

To be humiliated like this by someone so insignificant—his body trembled with anger and disbelief.

The heat in his head flared up, making him feel dizzy. Victor staggered but managed to regain his balance.

“The greatest knight of the North... defeated by a wastrel?”

“That’s right. And now your life ends here, Victor.”

“...!”

Victor snapped back to his senses, his eyes narrowing.

“How do you know my name?”

Victor’s identity had been kept a secret. He was a hidden card of Count Desmond, an unknown force in the North. Hardly anyone should have known who he was.

So how did this wastrel, of all people, know?

There’s a traitor. Someone has leaked everything to Peridium. That’s the only explanation that made sense to Victor.

It wasn’t his fault he’d lost this war. It was because Desmond’s plan had been compromised. Someone had sold them out. That’s how Peridium had set up this grand magic trap and learned his name.

He clenched his teeth.

“All I need to do is kill you and escape. Then I’ll set things right.”

Victor's blood boiled as his murderous intent surged. His two eyes locked onto Ghislain with an intense focus.

“You think a wastrel like you can take me on?”

A murderous glare filled Victor’s eyes, and his body trembled with barely contained rage.

“How dare you, a mere wastrel, think you can stand against the greatest knight of the North!”

Boom!

Dozens of sword strikes rushed toward Ghislain like a storm.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Ghislain defended with his massive two-handed axe, but he was slowly being pushed back. Despite being injured, Victor’s swordsmanship was flawless. His precise strikes aimed directly at Ghislain's weak points, forcing him onto the defensive.

Even though Ghislain’s axe was larger, Victor’s relentless assault left him no room to counterattack.

Clang!

Ghislain’s axe deflected another strike, but in that instant, Victor’s sword thrust forward.

Puhk!

The sword pierced Ghislain’s shoulder. The heat from the flames surged into the wound, burning his flesh as smoke rose from it.

Victor’s lips curled into a satisfied grin as he prepared to strike again. But then Ghislain’s icy voice pierced through the tension.

“You enjoying yourself?”

“What?”

Whoosh!

A powerful swing from Ghislain’s axe narrowly missed Victor, forcing him to lean back to dodge it.

Slash!

The blade of the axe sliced through Victor’s chest armor, drawing blood.

In the same moment, Ghislain spun and landed a fierce kick to Victor’s abdomen.

Thud!

Victor staggered back and fell to the ground, gasping in shock.

“How... How can a wastrel like you...!”

Victor quickly scrambled to his feet, expecting another immediate attack, but it didn’t come.

“You! You dare fight me on equal footing?” Victor’s voice was thick with disbelief.

Though he was injured, the thought that someone like Ghislain could hold his own against him was infuriating.

With a heavy thud, Ghislain dropped his axe to the ground. He reached up, tossing aside his helmet, revealing his sweat-soaked face beneath.

“You’re not bad, I’ll give you that. But is that all it takes to be the greatest knight in the North?”

He slowly unsheathed the sword at his waist, pointing it directly at Victor with a smirk.

“Get up. I’ll show you who the real ‘greatest’ knight is.”