"Hurry and move along. Only bring valuables and leave any unnecessary items behind."

The soldiers were directing the residents of the Somerset estate, guiding them towards the manor. The villagers’ faces were filled with anxiety as they followed the soldiers' instructions on this unexpected evacuation.

"What on earth is happening?"

"I overheard the soldiers saying that Sleepy Estate has already been laid to waste."

"Our lord wouldn't evacuate us without good reason, so we should follow along!"

Since the founding of the Borus Empire, it had always been the invader, never the invaded. For the estate residents, this was their first time fleeing, a situation wholly unfamiliar.

Despite the circumstances, however, the residents followed the soldiers’ orders with remarkable discipline. Though visibly anxious, they remained orderly for one simple reason.

They trusted that their lord, Earl Bradley, would never put them in harm’s way. That assurance was enough to keep them moving as directed.

“There are signs of enemy infiltration along the eastern and northern edges of the barrier.”

“They’re slower than expected.”

“Yes. Judging by their typical speed, they should have arrived much sooner.”

The allied forces’ barrier was reactive only to the creatures of the night. Positioned along the estate’s perimeter, the barrier’s late alert suggested that Sleepy Estate had resisted far longer than anticipated.

The final stand of Baron Sleepy and his warriors had effectively slowed down the night creatures, holding them at bay.

“Allow me to share our view of the situation.”

The mages of the Tower began channeling magic, projecting images from the barrier's perimeter for the allied forces to see.

“What’s with these numbers? This isn’t the size of an ordinary unit!”

“This many! If we’d encountered them while on the move without preparation, we’d be doomed.”

“Wait! I can spot some of Satanail’s twelve direct subordinates mixed among them.”

The night creatures, typically hiding to avoid the Empire’s watchful eyes, rarely engaged in open warfare within imperial lands. The members of the Crimson Warden, noticing this unusual behavior, felt an increasing sense of dread.

And their suspicion was well-founded.

The projected image revealed an overwhelming number of dark elves, easily numbering over a thousand.

Considering a typical unit consisted of 50 to 100 creatures, the number gathered here seemed to represent nearly their entire fighting force.

“They’re going all out.”

Sifris glanced at the barrier stretching across the estate boundary and recalled Earl Bradley’s earlier insistence on extending it. At the time, she’d thought it excessive, but now it seemed like a stroke of foresight.

Had they only placed the barrier around the manor, the flood of night creatures would have overrun Somerset just as they had Sleepy Estate, possibly wiping out most of its inhabitants.

“Prepare for battle. Once the people are safe, we’ll face them here.”

At Alexander’s command, one of the allied mages voiced a concern.

“With the barrier in place, might they not retreat?”

“Their numbers suggest their leader is likely here. If so, it’s only a matter of time before the barrier falls.”

The allied forces fell silent at Alexander’s words, knowing exactly whom he referred to.

The former Elven Warden, a pure-blooded creature of the night, the slayer of the Swordmaster—these titles all pointed to one individual: Satanail.

“A triple barrier… how annoyingly troublesome.”

A faint crackling sound filled the air as Satanail’s hand touched the invisible barrier, sparking as though electrified, blocking his advance.

“My lord Satanail, our men are tracking the barrier’s focal points and sources. We’ll dismantle it as soon as possible…”

“No need. I don’t expect much from you in the first place.”

Satanail answered without even glancing back at his subordinate.

The standard way to break a barrier was to locate its central components or magical inscriptions and deactivate them.

With three layers, each barrier required its own method of dismantling. Waiting for each layer to be taken down would only give the enemy time to escape.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to exert myself.”

Since slaying the Swordmaster years ago, Satanail had rarely needed to engage personally.

As a dark elf reborn as a creature of the night, Satanail wielded his enhanced body with unmatched mastery.

Ordinarily, no being could utilize their physical capabilities at full capacity. For instance, elves famed for their speed could, in theory, outrun an arrow, but sustaining such speed would overwhelm their muscles, allowing only brief bursts.

Satanail, however, had no such limitations. Physical strain posed no hindrance.

With blinding speed, he charged toward the barrier.

Boom!

The sound was deafening, like a cannonball smashing into a fortress gate.

Crack.

A small fissure appeared in the sturdy barrier.

“Once isn’t enough, it seems.”

Satanail remarked casually, though his subordinates were stunned.

“We can barely approach that barrier, yet he’s cracked it with a single hit.”

Though immensely powerful as creatures of the night, they retained a vulnerability to natural and holy forces. Satanail, however, showed no concern for these forces, breaking through a barrier they could not even touch.

It was a different level of strength, unique to Satanail, the pureblooded progenitor of their kind.

Witnessing this, his subordinates realized that if Satanail obtained the Blue Flower and transcended even his current state, nothing could possibly stop him.

“Could I borrow a sword?”

Edric asked Krun.

“I actually made this as a hobby…”

Krun discreetly retrieved a sword he’d crafted in secret and showed it to Edric.

“This is excellent. The balance is perfect—no need for even minor adjustments.”

Edric remarked as he lightly swung the sword, and Krun’s pride was visible in his expression.

“A sword? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

Creating new items was a source of joy for Krun, but crafting weapons like swords held an irresistible allure.

Yet every time he attempted such a creation, Rupert’s incessant warnings about material costs forced him to craft in secret. Now, seeing someone appreciate his hidden work, Krun couldn’t help but be pleased.

“The core of the sword is made from northern steel! I mixed in some mithril on the surface, so it stays sharp for ages.”

“Impressive. And the leather on the handle—isn’t this dragonhide?”

“You noticed! You have a good eye!”

The leather came from a wyvern, commonly called a drake in the local dialect. This material was renowned for its adaptability, highly prized in armor.

Dragonhide could conform to its environment, making it an ideal choice for the grip, allowing users a consistent feel no matter their hand position or grip strength—a subtle but significant benefit known only to the user.

It was a technique only a skilled artisan could execute with dragonhide.

“With this, I think I’ll manage.”

Edric was relieved to have found such a fine sword, given he’d come to Somerset to study art without bringing a weapon.

“Sir Edric, perhaps you should seek shelter….”

“I’d rather die than live like that.”

Kyle, who had been preparing for battle alongside Edric, tried to persuade him, but it was futile.

“My master’s killers are here; my place is here as well.”

Edric, Kyle, and Adrian had all been asked by Rupert to seek safety. Considering Edric, the Empire’s third prince, Kyle, the second son of the northern Marquis, and Adrian, a foreign prince, any harm coming to them would lead to serious repercussions, without question.

Yet none of them chose to leave Somerset, surprising Rupert.

“In the North, food shortages often lead to monsters raiding human settlements.”

As a member of the Prius family, the Marquis of the North tasked with defending the Empire’s frontier, Kyle felt that fleeing in such a situation would result in his father disowning him.

Adrian, meanwhile, stated,

“I’ve stayed here without paying rent all this time; I can’t just leave.”

While Adrian himself wasn’t much of a fighter, the royal knights who accompanied him were elite warriors chosen from Silvania, sure to be valuable allies.

And as for Edric—

His first master, who taught him swordsmanship,

“This should be sufficient for your aspirations, Your Highness. Teaching you has been a pleasure. Take care of yourself.”

Swordmaster Carl Oregon had departed unexpectedly after bidding him farewell.

It was hard for Edric to believe that his master was gone, but he recognized the only tribute he could now offer.

“I shall play a requiem for my master with the screams of my enemies.”

For the first time, Edric, usually calm and composed, revealed his anger in front of others.