Firelight flickered across the pitch-black study, casting dancing shadows on the walls. A soft breeze drifted through the room, causing the inky darkness clinging to every corner to twist and shudder as if it had a life of its own.
The old man reached out a gnarled right hand, removing his gold-rimmed spectacles. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes to avoid the sight of the letter spread out before him—the urgent dispatch Viscount Wen had sent racing back to the family estate by fast horse.
To Old Byrd, every word written on that page was nothing short of inconceivable. That upstart young lord had actually dared to make such outrageous demands, laying claim to territory that rightfully belonged to the Byrd family. For a noble house of their standing, such insolence should never have been tolerated. But the matter was far more complicated than a simple territorial dispute. Buried within the viscount's report was a detail far more worthy of his attention. According to Viscount Wen's account, the young lord had a pure-blooded royal maiden serving as his subordinate. What's more, the two girls who had attacked the family checkpoint had been identified—and they were far from ordinary.
**Two High-ranked Swordsmen.**
Such a thing was unheard of, not even in the wildest of rumors.
Old Byrd had never imagined he would receive such a response. He had initially dismissed the checkpoint incident as a minor annoyance, nothing that couldn't be smoothed over with a few choice words and a bit of political maneuvering. But now, the scales of power had shifted dramatically. If the young lord truly commanded the strength described in the report, then his demands were no longer the empty threats of a reckless upstart—they were a display of raw, unbridled *deterrence*. To put it plainly, this was nothing more than extortion. Submit to his terms, and the Byrd family would be left in peace. Refuse, and they would face the wrath of three High-ranked Swordsmen and a royal scion.
But what if they *did* refuse?
A single High-ranked Swordsman was more than enough to spell disaster for most noble houses. Three of them? Even if the Byrds rallied every last soldier and mercenary under their banner, it would be nothing but a futile gesture. And that wasn't even taking into account the royal maiden at the young lord's side. To this day, Old Byrd had been unable to uncover the true identity of that girl. With all his influence and connections, he had managed to confirm that word of her presence had indeed reached the royal capital—but for some reason, the royal family had made no move to summon her for questioning, not even through secret channels. That fact alone was deeply suspicious.
In the Wester Kingdom, the royal family's features were unmistakable. Impostors claiming royal blood were a common enough occurrence—but every single one of them was eventually tracked down, summoned to the capital for interrogation, and then executed without mercy. Yet this girl was an exception. The capital had shown no interest in summoning her, nor in sending investigators to verify her identity. That could only mean one thing: the royal family had *acknowledged* her as one of their own.
But who exactly *was* she?
The old man pressed his fingertips against his temples, a deep frown creasing his brow. Among the members of the royal family, information traveled fast. If a maiden with that distinctive cascade of violet hair had truly existed, word of her would have spread like wildfire through the noble courts. Ever since King Wester V ascended the throne, no new "Violet Descendant" had been born into the royal line. In fact, whispers had begun to circulate among the nobility, expressing fears that the royal bloodline was growing weaker with each passing generation. If this girl truly possessed the pure royal bloodline, she would have been the subject of endless gossip and speculation among the kingdom's elite.
Yet for decades, there had been not a single whisper about her. Where on earth had she come from?
Old Byrd's fingers tapped thoughtfully against the surface of his desk, but he quickly pushed the question aside. As the patriarch of a great noble house, he knew better than to pry into matters that did not concern him. If this girl truly was a member of the royal family, and if the crown had chosen to keep her existence a secret—while allowing her to serve as a subordinate to a provincial lord, no less—then there was undoubtedly a tangled web of intrigue behind it all. Old Byrd wanted no part of that. He understood perfectly well that every ruling class had its secrets—and anyone foolish enough to dig too deeply into those secrets, be they a powerful noble, a warlord, or a wealthy merchant, would soon find themselves facing the full, unrelenting force of the crown's wrath. Even a family as powerful as the Byrds would not be spared.
But that did not mean he would roll over and accept this "deal" without a fight.
Or rather, this *threat*.
The old man thought for a moment, then pushed the viscount's report aside. He reached for a clean sheet of parchment from the stack beside him, picked up his quill, and began to write rapidly.
When Viscount Wen was led into the drawing room by a maid for the second time, Ophelia cast a curious glance in his direction. She quickly noticed that his demeanor seemed subtly different from the day before. When he had left the castle yesterday, he had been putting on a brave face, but his eyes had betrayed the terror lurking beneath the surface. Today, however, he was calm—almost unnervingly so, with no trace of the anxiety or conflict she had seen earlier. As a former royal princess, Ophelia knew the nobility well. She refused to believe that the Byrd family had simply caved to Blake's demands. So why was the viscount so composed? Had they already devised a countermeasure?
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Ophelia's lips as a realization dawned on her.
"Good day to you, fair lady," Viscount Wen greeted her with a graceful bow, straightening up to meet her gaze before producing a sealed letter from the inside of his coat. "I have come to speak with Lord Blake. Might I inquire as to his whereabouts?"
"I apologize, Viscount Byrd," Ophelia replied, her eyes lingering on the letter in his hand for a split second before she schooled her features into a polite expression. "A minor matter has arisen within the Duskwood Forest, and Lord Blake has departed to attend to it personally. I'm afraid he will not be returning for some time. If you have business to discuss, you may speak with me instead. Before his departure, his lordship granted me full authority to act on his behalf in all matters concerning the territory."
"Oh?"
Viscount Wen blinked in surprise, studying the young woman before him with renewed interest. There was a quiet resolve in her beautiful eyes, no hint of deceit to be found. He was growing more and more confused about the nature of her relationship with Lord Blake. In a backwater territory like this, a royal princess would certainly have the authority to overrule a minor lord. But yesterday, their dynamic had been clearly that of a master and his subordinate. While he had not interacted with Ophelia extensively, Viscount Wen's instincts told him she was not the type to play double games behind someone's back. Which meant the young lord trusted his subordinate implicitly.
From a rational standpoint, that made no sense at all. If Ophelia were just an ordinary maiden, Blake's trust would be understandable. But she was *royalty*. The divide between the royal family and the nobility was an unbridgeable chasm. How could he possibly place such blind faith in her?
A thought suddenly occurred to Viscount Wen, and he found himself staring at Ophelia from head to toe, a look of disbelief spreading across his face.
*Could she be his fiancée? No, surely not. Could that young upstart really be that lucky?*
It wasn't that the viscount was slow on the uptake—rather, the checkpoint incident had left him mentally exhausted, leaving him with no energy to spare for observing the nuances of their relationship. Moreover, once he had realized Ophelia's royal status, he had never considered the possibility of a romantic connection between them. Marriages between the royal family and the nobility were extremely rare. More often than not, the royals preferred to form alliances with foreign kingdoms through marriage, rather than wedding one of their own to a provincial noble. Such unions were only ever arranged to win over powerful, unruly lords who posed a threat to the crown—and Blake was certainly not one of those.
Thus, Viscount Wen had completely dismissed the idea until now. But the realization that Ophelia had been granted the authority to make decisions regarding the territory's future made him reconsider. Their relationship must be far closer than he had initially assumed.
After all, no lord—no matter how trusting—would ever entrust a matter as critical as territorial sovereignty to a mere "outsider."
"Then I beg you to accept this letter, my lady," Viscount Wen said, his tone growing even more deferential. He did not dismiss Ophelia simply because she was a woman. Blake's demands had been nothing short of audacious—so much so that even Viscount Wen himself had struggled to fathom how he could possibly convince his family to agree to them. The fact that the lord had entrusted such an important negotiation to this young woman spoke volumes about his trust in her abilities. This was a matter involving five villages and a yearly income of nearly one hundred thousand gold coins, after all. If the negotiations fell through, the losses to Blake would be catastrophic. A transaction of this magnitude would never be left in the hands of an inexperienced girl.
But Viscount Wen couldn't help but wonder—with the negotiations still hanging in the balance, what could have been so urgent that Lord Blake would leave at a time like this? Had some kind of crisis truly erupted in the Duskwood Forest, forcing him to depart immediately?
"What is this?"
Ophelia reached out, taking the letter from his hand. She broke the wax seal with a single, elegant motion, extracting the parchment inside. Her movements were so graceful that Viscount Wen found his eyes drawn to her slender, delicate fingers as they moved, as if mesmerized by a work of art.
*She is undoubtedly a girl of impeccable breeding.*
At that moment, Viscount Wen was one hundred percent certain of Ophelia's royal lineage. No ordinary noble household could hope to raise a daughter with such poise and refinement. That kind of elegance could only be cultivated through the rigorous education reserved for members of the royal family.
"I see," Ophelia murmured, a faint smile playing on her lips as she finished reading the letter. Just as she had suspected—the Byrds had resorted to this tactic. No wonder Blake had insisted on leaving the two young ladies behind. He had been preparing for this very moment.
The letter in her hand was an invitation from the Byrd family. It stated clearly that to celebrate the upcoming Midsummer Festival in two days' time, the Byrd family would be hosting a grand banquet—and the family patriarch himself was personally inviting Blake, Lord of the Duskwood Forest, to attend.
"I extend my sincerest thanks to your family for this kind invitation," Ophelia said, carefully folding the letter and tucking it away. She turned to Viscount Wen with a warm smile. "Please convey my lord's gratitude to your patriarch. On his behalf, I accept the invitation to attend the Midsummer Festival."
"I shall deliver your message personally," Viscount Wen replied, bowing deeply—a gesture reserved exclusively for nobles addressing members of the royal family.
Summer was in full bloom.
Bright sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, dappling the forest floor with patches of light and shadow. Up here in the highlands, the heat was not nearly as oppressive as it was in the low-lying plains. The crisp mountain air, redolent with the scent of pine and fresh grass, was wonderfully refreshing. Blake tilted his head back, shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the trees, savoring the warm rays that caressed his skin and brought a sense of peace and relaxation.
"Is this truly wise, my lord?"
Following behind him were the spectral warriors—their armor glinting faintly in the sunlight, like empty husks waiting to be filled. Originally, Blake had planned to provide them with the "nourishment" they needed to regain their physical forms. Unfortunately, a minor hiccup had arisen. The "food" he had prepared for the spectral warriors had been reassigned to serve as his personal security force, tasked with maintaining order throughout the Duskwood Forest. Thanks to the devastating campaign Blake had led with the spectral warriors on the forest's outskirts a few days prior, the bandit and brigand populations had been decimated—leaving precious few targets for the warriors to feed on. Thus, the plan had been put on hold for the time being.
Not that Judy and the others particularly minded. After all, they had been spectral beings for centuries, trapped within the walls of Duskwood Castle. They were perfectly content to spend a few more days as empty suits of armor. But Blake felt differently. When they had been spirits, the girls had at least been able to move freely around the castle in their incorporeal forms. Now, as suits of armor, they had lost even that small measure of freedom—and that weighed heavily on Blake's conscience. What's more, the battles to come would be far more dangerous. Judy and the others currently lacked the strength to face High-ranked opponents—but the battlefield Blake was heading toward would be teeming with peril. For that reason alone, enhancing their power had become a top priority.
"Wise in what way?" Blake asked, turning to look at Judy, who had spoken up.
"You have been so occupied with the territorial dispute over the Duskwood Forest, my lord," Judy explained. "We sisters all understand how important this matter is to you. That is why we believe you should focus your attention on resolving it first. Our own predicament can wait a little longer."
"No need," Blake replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I have complete faith in Ophelia's abilities. She will most certainly succeed in the task I have entrusted to her. Besides, Messiah and Semia are there to assist her—not to mention Charlotte. With their help, our princess will face no difficulties whatsoever. The Byrd family chose the wrong opponent if they think they can pressure me. I have no interest in wasting my time haggling with those tedious nobles. Instead of sitting around negotiating with them, I would much rather set off as soon as possible and claim that *Source* for myself. That is what truly matters."
"But my lord," Judy said, pausing to consider her words carefully, a note of confusion in her voice. "We have been traveling for quite some time now. This was once your territory, was it not? And yet, there was no mention of a *Source* here back then."
"It must be a newly formed one," Blake replied with a shrug, appearing unconcerned. "I'm not sure if this Source possesses enough power to fulfill my plans—but I have a feeling that luck is on my side."
The *Source* was a concentration of raw mana energy, but it was not a permanent fixture. According to the accepted theories, a Source would only form when the concentration of mana in a particular area exceeded a critical threshold. Such phenomena were most commonly found in remote, uninhabited regions—which was why the royal family, the church, and the Mage's Guild all regularly dispatched patrols to these areas, searching for newly formed Sources. But the birth of a natural Source was an extremely rare occurrence. On average, only one would appear every few hundred years. As for artificially creating a Source? That was still beyond the realm of possibility for human magic.
"By the grace of the Divine, I have no doubt that you will claim the Source successfully, my lord," Judy said, her voice filled with conviction.
"I hope so," Blake replied, pulling a silver pocket watch from his pocket and checking the time against the position of the sun.
The rest of the day passed without incident. Summer was the season when wild beasts were most active, and the forest was teeming with them—but the spectral warriors emitted an otherworldly aura that kept the animals at bay. Unlike humans, the beasts possessed an innate instinct that allowed them to sense the warriors' non-mortal nature, and they dared not approach. This allowed Blake and his companions to travel at a much faster pace than usual. Thanks to the coordinates Blake had recorded during his previous hunt for the giant boar, they did not lose their way. By the time the sun began to set, they had reached the general vicinity where Blake believed the Source was located.
"We're almost there," Blake said, scanning the surrounding forest. "We need to go a little deeper."
The sun dipped below the horizon, and darkness descended upon the land once more. Using the glowing "Mana Stars" twinkling in the night sky as his guide, Blake quickly determined their exact location. Based on the distance they had traveled, they were now roughly the same distance from the forest's edge as the village they had departed from earlier. Since they had approached from the opposite direction, the Source should lie somewhere within the radius they were now about to explore.
"You are correct, my lord," Judy confirmed, standing just behind him. A faint red glow flickered inside her helmet. As spectral beings, they possessed a far more acute sensitivity to mana than Blake himself. "We can sense that the concentration of mana in the area ahead is slightly elevated… well above the normal levels."
"Excellent," Blake nodded. He turned to glance at the spectral warriors standing silently beside him. Though he was tempted to press on through the night, he decided against it. Admittedly, the prospect of claiming a Source was exciting—Blake had seen them before, but he had never possessed one of his own. The chance to acquire such a powerful source of energy was certainly alluring. Even so, he chose to proceed with caution. Now that Judy and the others had detected the elevated mana levels, it meant they had entered the "forbidden zone" surrounding the Source. Any animals within this area would have been mutated by the Source's influence, transformed into dangerous aberrations. With the sheer variety of creatures inhabiting the forest, the mutations could manifest in countless unpredictable ways—making them extremely dangerous opponents. While Blake was confident that he could defeat most of these aberrations, he had no desire to advance under the cover of night. During the day, they would have ample time to react to any attacks. But at night, the mutated nocturnal creatures would be at their most dangerous. They might not possess overwhelming strength, but they were often cunning and elusive. Blake had no intention of losing any of his spectral warriors due to a moment of recklessness. After all, they were his most trusted and reliable fighting force.
"Then we will make camp here for the night," Blake announced. "We will resume our journey at first light tomorrow."
At Blake's command, the spectral warriors made no further objections. They immediately dispersed, clearing away the underbrush and preparing the campsite. Of course, despite the order to "rest," the only one who actually needed to sleep was Blake. The spectral warriors did not possess physical bodies, so they knew neither fatigue nor the need for rest.
The warriors did not build a campfire—and Blake had no intention of doing so either. While a fire might keep away smaller, weaker animals, it would also attract larger, more powerful predators that feared neither flame nor man. That was the last thing Blake wanted. Besides, the spectral warriors' inherent aura was far more effective at warding off beasts than any campfire could ever be. There was no need for unnecessary risks. Even though the mountain air was cooler than the plains, it was still midsummer. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it a refreshing coolness that made the evening quite pleasant.
Blake leaned against the trunk of a large tree, pulling a water skin and a loaf of bread from his pack with a wry smile. The scene before him reminded him of a time long past—when he had been forced to flee from enemy armies, hiding alone in the forest for half a month. Back then, he would have devoured even the most stale bread and brackish water as if it were a feast fit for a king. Now, as he held a soft, fresh loaf of bread in his hand and sipped cool, clear spring water from his skin, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude.
"What are you thinking about, my lord?"
Judy approached him, tilting her helmet to the side as she watched him staring at the bread and water skin in his hands, a faint note of amusement in her voice.
"Just reminiscing about old times," Blake replied, smiling as he shrugged his shoulders at her. He took a bite of the bread, savoring the sweet, nutty flavor that filled his mouth. "I was thinking about the days when we fought side by side—when we were lucky to have even grass roots to eat. I suppose it's good to reflect on hard times every now and then. It makes even a simple loaf of bread taste like a delicacy."
"Those were certainly difficult times, my lord," Judy agreed, a soft chuckle emanating from within her helmet—evidently, she too was recalling their shared past. "But to be honest, I sometimes feel that our purpose in this world is only to fight alongside you."
"That's not such a bad thing, is it?" Blake replied, finishing the last of his bread and taking another sip of water. He narrowed his eyes, studying his loyal subordinate before him. Even though Judy was now nothing more than an empty suit of armor, Blake could still vividly picture the young woman she once was. In the heat of battle, this red-haired girl had always led her soldiers fearlessly at his side, charging forward without hesitation wherever his sword pointed.
"When I first made the decision to revive you all, I even wondered if I had lost my mind," Blake said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "But now… I have to admit, I'm rather enjoying myself."
"Indeed," Blake said, stretching lazily. "Still, sitting around doing nothing all night is rather boring, isn't it?"
"It is a pity we do not have physical bodies to entertain you with, my lord," Judy said, her tone taking on a playful lilt. "Though if you don't mind the cold touch of metal…"
"My tastes have not descended to the point where I find armor attractive," Blake interrupted with a roll of his eyes, dismissing her rather outrageous suggestion with a laugh. "How about I tell you all a story instead? What would you like to hear?"
At the mention of a story, it wasn't just Judy who perked up—all the other spectral warriors immediately gathered around, their helmets turning toward Blake in unison.
"I want to hear the story of the Titanic again, my lord!" one of the warriors called out excitedly.
"I want Little Red Riding Hood! Please tell us Little Red Riding Hood again!" another chimed in.
"You still remember those stories after all this time?" Blake asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I've practically forgotten them myself."
"Please, my lord! Tell us Romeo and Juliet!" a chorus of voices pleaded.
Blake looked around at the sea of nodding black helmets before him and couldn't help but laugh. Even though the girls had not yet regained their physical forms, and could no longer gather around a campfire, their eyes shining with excitement as they listened to his tales of Earth's most famous legends and fairy tales—it seemed they didn't mind in the least. Still, there was something undeniably surreal about seeing a group of empty suits of armor huddled around him, mimicking the posture of eager young girls. It was a sight that never failed to make Blake feel a little overwhelmed.
"Very well then…" Blake began, clearing his throat as he prepared to recount the story he had told countless times before.
But before he could utter a single word, Judy suddenly stiffened, her body going rigid. The red glow inside her helmet flared brightly as she turned her head, staring intently into the inky blackness of the forest. The other spectral warriors reacted instantly, their hands flying to the weapons at their waists as they adopted defensive stances. Blake's reaction was noticeably slower by comparison. He took his time finishing the last sip of water from his skin, then slowly stood up, carefully tucking the empty container back into his pack.
"There is the sound of battle, my lord," Judy reported, her voice transmitted directly to Blake's mind through their spiritual link. "It is very close by."
"Spread out and investigate," Blake ordered, his gaze fixed on the dark forest ahead. "Let us see who is foolish enough to be fighting in my territory."
Would you like me to help you **expand the battle scene** that Blake and the spectral warriors are about to stumble upon, or **add more details about the mutated forest creatures** to heighten the sense of danger?