A flash of crimson light streaked through the shadowy forest.
Clad in heavy, pitch-black armor, the figure crept low to the ground, its form concealed beneath a thick blanket of bushes and weeds. It watched the encampment in the distance with wary, unblinking eyes—hundreds of fully armed soldiers busied themselves tidying the grounds and pitching tents, patrolling back and forth beneath the glow of crackling torches. The armor's blood-red gaze lingered on the tents for a moment, then vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, swallowed once more by the darkness.
Black raised an eyebrow, turning to the spirit warrior before him.
"Not bandits?"
"They appear to be regular army troops, Your Excellency," the warrior replied quietly. Now that they had absorbed enough soul energy, the spirits had not only undergone physical transformations—they could now speak as well. While telepathic communication was convenient for simple messages, complex reports required words.
"Regular army, huh…"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Black's lips. He glanced toward the distant forest, where torchlight still flickered between the trees. According to the spirit warrior's report, the force numbered around a hundred men. Yet despite their size, they moved with remarkable silence through the woods—a clear sign of strict discipline, far beyond the capabilities of a typical noble's private army.
"Same objective as us?"
"Judging by their direction of travel, it would seem so."
Contrary to its clunky, menacing appearance, the spirit warrior's voice was surprisingly clear and melodious, like the song of a forest bird.
"Any banners?"
"None visible, Your Excellency." The warrior shook its head. "The only identifying marks are the silver armor worn by the soldiers, and the eagle emblem emblazoned upon it."
"The Pale Eagles?!"
Ofalil's eyes flew wide with shock, her voice betraying her disbelief.
"You know of them?" Black asked.
"Of course I do, my lord!" Ofalil replied, her expression a mix of tension and solemnity as she explained. "The Pale Eagle Order is one of the three most prestigious knightly orders in the Kingdom of Wester. They answer directly to the royal family, their strength is unmatched, and they bear the sacred duty of defending the capital. Every single one of their soldiers is a master of combat. Especially their Grand Master, Duke Baron—if I remember correctly, before I died, he had already attained the rank of High-Tier Swordsman, and rumors were swirling that he was on the verge of being granted the title of *Knight-Errant*…"
Black thought for a moment, ignoring the many points in the princess's words that begged to be teased. Ofalil knew little about combat, so it was hard to judge the knight-commander's true strength from her description. Still, if a man could reach High-Tier Swordsman by the age of thirty, earning the title of Knight-Errant seemed well within his grasp.
"Should we take him on first?" Black muttered to himself.
Ofalil's face paled dramatically. "My lord—surely you don't mean to…?!"
"Relax, it was a joke. I have no intention of starting a rebellion *right now*."
To wage war against the royal army was tantamount to declaring open rebellion. Even if he killed every last one of them to cover his tracks, the disappearance of a royal knightly order would immediately attract the crown's attention. Black had no desire to be hounded by investigators skulking around his territory. True, no one would suspect a lord with only a dozen warriors under his command—but Black had always hated unnecessary trouble.
*So… he means to do it someday?*
Faced with Black's innocent, harmless smile, Ofalil felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. She opened her mouth to say something, then quickly closed it. It would be futile, anyway.
"Retreat. Our target is the bandits—we have no time to play with these boys."
After tossing off the quip at Ofalil, Black lost all interest in lingering. The appearance of the knights had been an unexpected twist. To ensure he left no trails behind, Black had stationed two spirit warriors as rear scouts to track any pursuers. But he had never imagined the Kingdom of Wester would be bold enough to dispatch a knightly order to hunt down bandits. In a way, it was quite a compliment to the outlaws' notoriety. Even in the war-torn era Black had once lived through, the bandits of Duskwood had only been policed by local militias. While many knightly orders had passed through the forest, none had ever bothered to waste their time on such petty criminals.
*Truly, the wheel of fortune turns. If these bandits' predecessors could see them now—drawing the attention of the royal army's elite troops—they'd be weeping tears of pride, wouldn't they?*
Black had originally planned to rest for the night before continuing their advance. But the sight of the knights changed his mind. Over the past ten days, they had eliminated several bandit gangs, drawing ever closer to the lair of the so-called "strongest bandit on the Golden Trade Route"—Daros the Moon Wolf. If Kelly was telling the truth, they would reach his hideout by dusk the next day. Black had intended to rest, make full preparations, and then launch their attack. Now, however, he had abandoned all thoughts of rest and resolved to press onward immediately.
With his current strength, Black was confident he could defeat the "Moon Wolf" without fail. But his forces were woefully outnumbered. Even after devouring countless souls, the spirit warriors' power was only just beginning to manifest—and quality could never fully compensate for quantity. According to Kelly's intelligence, Daros's gang numbered nearly a hundred men. Even if the spirit warriors fought without restraint, the battle would take time. And hot on their heels were these troublesome knights. While they likely lacked a guide as familiar with the bandits' routes as Kelly, their ability to keep pace through the forest meant they must have some trick up their sleeves to navigate Duskwood so quickly.
Though he was also a noble of the realm, Black had no desire to meet with them. Ofalil's concerns about overstepping his authority were valid—but more importantly, Black had no intention of revealing his true power under these circumstances. His plan was simple: finish the job quickly, then retreat to Duskhold Castle. If he could avoid crossing paths with the knights entirely, that would be ideal.
Even in the pitch-black forest, Black's footsteps never slowed. Guided by the faint glow of starlight filtering through the canopy, he moved with his usual fluid, agile grace, weaving effortlessly between the trees. The spirit warriors, too, revealed an unexpected side of themselves. Their bulky armor seemed to pose no hindrance whatsoever—they stretched their arms, twisted their joints, and ducked beneath crisscrossing branches with ease. When faced with a thick tree trunk blocking their path, the warriors even bent their waists at a ninety-degree angle, sliding through the narrow gaps without breaking stride.
Of all of them, however, Ofalil had the easiest time of it. She was currently nestled in the arms of one of the spirit warriors, being carried securely forward. The princess had no experience with wilderness travel—if left to walk on her own, she would have slowed the entire group to a crawl. So Black had ordered a spirit warrior to carry her, ensuring they maintained their swift pace.
At first, Ofalil had resisted the arrangement, feeling awkward and self-conscious. But she quickly realized this was no time for maidenly modesty, and resigned herself to the situation. While being held in the embrace of such a massive, imposing suit of armor had felt strange at first, her unease had faded when the spirit warrior had spoken—and she had discovered her carrier was a young woman.
Now, Ofalil sat half-upright in the warrior's arms, watching Black's figure darting ahead of them. Most of the spirit warriors lacked Black's speed and agility, but her carrier was different—she kept pace with Black effortlessly, all the while shielding Ofalil from harm.
The princess blinked in confusion, then turned her head to look up at the spirit warrior holding her.
"Miss Judy… will this next battle be dangerous?"
Chatting during a march was generally considered reckless, as it could distract the warriors and lead to mistakes. So Ofalil had initially kept silent. But over time, she had come to realize that her "common sense" meant nothing to this group. Both Black and the spirit warriors were so accustomed to moving through the forest that they could converse freely without losing focus. More than once, they had stumbled upon bandit patrols mid-conversation—and yet, they had never made a single misstep. Ofalil had finally accepted that her notions of caution were irrelevant here.
Which was why she felt comfortable asking the question now.
"Dangerous?" The crisp voice that emerged from the pitch-black helmet sounded like that of a lively, energetic young girl—an absurd contrast to the nearly seven-foot-tall suit of armor surrounding her. "Why would you think that, Miss Ofalil?"
"Because…" Ofalil frowned, hesitating as she searched for the right words. "Because I heard the leader of these bandits is a High-Tier Swordsman, with incredible power. But from what my lord has said, you and the others are only at the Mid-Tier level, aren't you?"
"That is correct," Judy replied with a soft laugh, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch as she continued to follow Black's footsteps. "Our current strength allows us only to wield the Spirit Shield. A High-Tier Swordsman, however, can freely channel their soul energy into their weapons, unleashing attacks of far greater power and range. Moreover, High-Tier Swordsmen are not limited to using ordinary soul energy—those with exceptional talent can even awaken the *Attribute* within their soul power, making them even more formidable foes."
Ofalil didn't fully understand Judy's explanation, but she was not completely ignorant. Before her death, at the age of fifteen, she had witnessed Duke Baron—the Grand Master of the Pale Eagles—compete in a tournament. The young warrior, already a High-Tier Swordsman, had faced off against ten of the royal guard's elite soldiers simultaneously, defeating them all in record time without sustaining a single scratch. To the trained eye, it was a masterclass in combat; to the layman, a spectacle of raw power. While the spirit warriors were undeniably strong, in Ofalil's mind, they paled in comparison to the memory of Baron's prowess.
If Black knew what she was thinking, he would probably sigh and lament that women always relied on their emotions to judge things. Combat between swordsmen was never just about numbers or speed. A warrior wielding a Spirit Shield could easily dispatch twenty ordinary soldiers without breaking a sweat. Perhaps Black should have held back his spirit warriors during previous battles, sending only one or two to fight instead of all ten. If he had, Ofalil might not be so worried now.
But history was written without "what-ifs." So after hearing Judy's explanation, Ofalil's concerns only deepened.
"Then… if the bandit leader really *is* a High-Tier Swordsman, how will you fight him, Miss Judy?"
Ofalil's worry was genuine—but Judy's answer caught her completely off guard.
"There's no need to worry, Miss Ofalil. We won't be the ones to face the High-Tier Swordsman. He is *His Excellency's* prey. Naturally, it will be His Excellency who defeats him."
When the spirit warriors spoke of "His Excellency," there was only one person they could mean.
"But… does my lord possess that kind of power?"
Upon hearing Judy's words, Ofalil's confusion grew even stronger. She glanced toward Black's retreating figure ahead. Over the past few days, they had fought side by side in countless battles—but Ofalil had observed something strange: while the spirit warriors had displayed incredible combat prowess, Black himself had never lifted a finger. In every skirmish with the bandits, he had stood by as a spectator, just like her. If Ofalil's inaction was due to her lack of combat training, Black's refusal to fight was far more intriguing. She knew the young lord possessed strange and mysterious abilities—but she still found it hard to believe he could defeat a High-Tier Swordsman in open combat.
"It seems you do not yet understand His Excellency," Judy said, her voice gentle, with no hint of offense. "While a High-Tier Swordsman is considered an unparalleled powerhouse to most, to His Excellency… he is merely a stepping stone. In truth, the reason His Excellency intends to fight him personally is not just because we lack the power to defeat him. It is because His Excellency needs the High-Tier Swordsman's soul energy to *awaken his sword*."
"His sword?"
Ofalil blinked in surprise. Black *did* wear a sword at his waist—but what did that have to do with fighting a High-Tier Swordsman?
"But his sword is already hanging at his waist, perfectly intact…"
"You will understand when the time comes," Judy replied, offering no further explanation. "Rather than hearing it from me, it would be better for you to see it with your own eyes. I believe that is precisely why His Excellency brought you along on this journey."