Meanwhile, under Blake's leadership, the group pressed onward toward the depths of the Duskwood.
The concentration of Mana in the air grew thicker with every step they took—so thick that even the mage apprentice in the mercenary band could feel it tangibly. Spells that usually required long minutes of preparation and chanting could now be cast with effortless ease, and their power far exceeded their usual potency. But even so, this boon proved to be of little practical use. For as they ventured deeper into the forest, the Aberrations they encountered grew stronger by the mile. At first, they had only faced Low-High Tier Aberrations, but soon enough, Mid-High and High-High Tier creatures began to appear in droves. Fortunately, these powerful Aberrations no longer hunted in packs like the weaker ones they had encountered on the forest's outskirts—and this made perfect sense. In the natural order, beasts flocked together out of instinct to protect themselves. But once an individual possessed the strength to survive on its own, there was no longer any need for a pack. This small mercy lightened the group's burden considerably; they no longer had to fear being swarmed by hordes of Aberrations—a silver lining amid their otherwise dire predicament.
As for the members of the Azure Feather Mercenary Band, after witnessing Blake's true power firsthand, they had been left utterly speechless. During these past few days of constant combat, they had all seen with their own eyes the full extent of his might: High-High Tier, with Attribute Affinity. This young man was nothing short of a monster! By the Saints, when had such a prodigy ever appeared on this continent? It was simply beyond comprehension. What's more, Blake's performance suggested that he was far more than just a High-Tier Swordsman. After all, even if he wielded High-High Tier power, the Aberrations they faced were his equals in rank. Fighting creatures of that caliber should have been a grueling struggle, even for him—but the mercenaries watched in awe as every Aberration that crossed his path was dispatched in the blink of an eye. Some fell in mere seconds, none lasted longer than a minute. It was a brutal, one-sided slaughter. Those poor Aberrations were High-Tier monsters—creatures that could have laid waste to half a city if unleashed elsewhere. But in the face of Blake, they were as helpless as lambs before a wolf, utterly incapable of putting up any real resistance.
Though the mercenaries themselves were only Low-Tier fighters, they had spent their entire lives in the trade. They had seen countless duels between High-Tier warriors—not life-or-death battles, but sparring matches between peers. And even those bouts often dragged on for hours, with neither side able to gain a decisive advantage. Humans were not beasts, of course; they possessed far greater combat intelligence and strategy. But when two warriors of equal High-Tier strength clashed, how was it possible for one to defeat the other so quickly?
This question fueled endless speculation among the mercenaries about the young noble's true rank. Some even dared to whisper that he was not a Swordsman at all—but a **Knight**.
Once, such a claim would have been met with nothing but ridicule. But these were not ordinary times. In the Sith Empire alone, there were four **Innate Knights**—individuals who had attained the legendary rank through sheer natural talent rather than years of grueling training. The "Silver Princess" was barely sixteen years old, and the "Puppeteer" was no older than thirteen or fourteen, yet both could lead armies into battle and crush elite troops without breaking a sweat. With such precedents, the idea of a twenty-year-old Innate Knight was no longer so inconceivable.
This realization transformed the mercenaries' attitude toward Blake completely. No longer did they dismiss him as a spoiled young lord; instead, they vied to curry his favor, eager to ingratiate themselves with someone so powerful. After all, mercenaries had no loyalty to any nation or kingdom. Though the Sith Empire's aggressive territorial expansion posed a threat to neighboring realms, that danger was felt only by kings and nobles, not by the common folk. War was a tragedy, of course—but for mercenaries, it was also a business opportunity. Since the Sith Empire was not some evil horde bent on destroying humanity, there was no reason to oppose them. But mercenaries like the Azure Feather Band could never hope to rub shoulders with the likes of the Four Scourges—the Sith Empire's most feared knights. Now, however, they had a chance to align themselves with a young noble whose power was just as formidable. If they could forge a bond with him now, the benefits would be immeasurable.
If the Azure Feather Mercenaries had harbored any resentment toward Blake before, those feelings were now gone without a trace. The truth was, without Blake's protection, their small band would never have made it this far into the Duskwood. They would have been torn apart by Aberrations long ago, their bodies serving as nothing more than food for the forest's monstrous denizens.
As the group ventured deeper, the grizzled old mercenary leader began to suspect that their mission was far more than a simple investigation into the Duskwood's strange anomalies. He had been watching the young lord closely, and he noticed that no matter what horrors they encountered, Blake never seemed surprised or fazed. By all rights, the sheer density and frequency of Aberrations in this area were completely abnormal. In a lifetime of adventuring, the old mercenary had never seen anything like it. A handful of Aberrations could be dismissed as a fluke—but dozens? That was unheard of. If even a seasoned veteran like him found this situation baffling, why did the young noble seem so unfazed? It was almost as if everything unfolding before them was exactly what he had expected. If that was the case, then this "investigation" was nothing more than a cover story. Clearly, the noble was searching for something specific—and he knew exactly where to find it.
To test this theory, the old mercenary had approached Blake directly to ask about his true purpose. And to his surprise, the young lord had answered without the slightest hint of evasion.
"I am looking for something that is of great use to me... but of no value whatsoever to you," was Blake's cryptic reply.
It was an answer that told them nothing—and yet everything.
Even so, the old mercenary knew better than to press the issue further. After all, Blake was a High-High Tier Swordsman; compared to him, the mercenaries were nothing more than cannon fodder, barely worth his notice. The fact that he had deigned to admit he was searching for something was already a show of extraordinary goodwill. If he had chosen to remain silent, they would have been powerless to make him speak.
Blake, for his part, paid little mind to the mercenaries. As they ventured deeper into the forest, he had officially relieved the Azure Feather Band of their scouting duties. Though they were seasoned adventurers, they were still only Low-Tier fighters. Their limited strength meant they could never hope to hide their presence from High-Tier Aberrations for long—and their chances of being killed were far too high to risk. Moreover, now that Blake had reached the High-Tier realm himself, he no longer needed anyone to scout ahead for him. Beasts were not humans; they did not know how to conceal their auras. On the contrary, they marked their territories by exuding their Mana, making it child's play for Blake to sense their presence from miles away. Thus, the Azure Feather Mercenaries had no choice but to abandon their scouting mission and take over the camp chores that Jody and her spectral warriors had been handling until now.
"It seems we are drawing ever closer to our destination, my lord," Jody's voice said softly from behind Blake.
He had been standing beneath the night sky, checking the time on his silver pocket watch when she approached.
Unlike mages, who relied on intricate spellwork to manipulate Mana, the spectral warriors had an innate, primal connection to the energy that permeated the world. During their journey into the Duskwood's depths, the constant exposure to the forest's dense Mana had begun to accelerate the restoration of their powers. Jody had already regained her High-High Tier strength, and she was now only a hair's breadth away from fully reclaiming her former power as a Knight. Even the weakest of the spectral warriors had advanced from Mid-Tier to High-Tier—a feat that would have been impossible for ordinary humans. For the spectral warriors, however, this was not "gaining" power—it was "reclaiming" what was rightfully theirs, restoring the strength they had lost when they became spirits.
Now, the spectral warriors were finally able to focus all their energy on meditating, absorbing the ambient Mana to reconstruct their physical bodies. But this process would take time—a great deal of time—and progress would be agonizingly slow, provided there were no outside interruptions.
"What is it?" Blake asked, closing his pocket watch and turning to face her.
After assigning the camp chores to the mercenaries, the spectral warriors had spent every waking hour meditating to absorb Mana and rebuild their bodies. This had not aroused the mercenaries' suspicion; they simply assumed that the black-armored warriors, like mages, required meditation to replenish their elemental powers. As their leader, Jody was responsible for overseeing the entire group—but for her, regaining her physical form was a matter of utmost urgency. Thus, she would not have disturbed Blake unless something important had happened.
Jody's obsidian helmet glinted with a faint red light as she spoke—a telltale sign that her spectral form was beginning to solidify. Her voice, once muffled and hollow by the helmet, now sounded clear and melodious.
"According to the mercenaries' report, it seems some uninvited guests have gotten ahead of us."
"Is that so?" Blake raised an eyebrow, then followed Jody back toward the camp.
When they reached the southeast edge of the camp, they found the mercenaries gathered in a tight circle, muttering anxiously among themselves. The moment they spotted Blake, a half-elf woman—their leader—stepped forward and bowed deeply to him.
"Greetings, honored sir," she said respectfully.
"What has happened?" Blake nodded in acknowledgment, cutting straight to the chase.
The half-elf leader hesitated for a moment before answering. "We were out gathering firewood and herbs to repel insects when we stumbled upon the corpse of an Aberration... two corpses, to be precise. Judging by the wounds on their bodies, they were killed very recently—no more than twelve hours ago."
Blake's interest was piqued. He strode forward to examine the two Aberration corpses that the mercenaries had gathered around. One was a massive white bear, its fur matted with dried blood. Though the corpse had already begun to rot, emitting a putrid stench, Blake's sharp eyes immediately spotted a deep, jagged wound on the bear's right abdomen. This was no wound inflicted by another beast; it was clearly made by a weapon. The sheer number of injuries covering the bear's body told a clear story: it had fought fiercely for its life before succumbing to its attacker.
For adventurers, this was a common enough sight. Encountering and slaying wild beasts was part and parcel of exploring forests. Most adventurers would never waste such a valuable kill—unless they were severely injured and in urgent need of medical attention, they would skin the beast, butcher its meat, and make use of every part of it. The fact that these Aberration corpses had been left untouched was highly unusual.
Of course, this was no ordinary forest. This was the deepest heart of the Duskwood, where the beasts were not mere animals but mutated Aberrations with High-Tier strength. To kill a creature like this white bear, the attacker must have possessed power far beyond that of an ordinary warrior.
Only a High-Tier Swordsman could kill a High-Tier Aberration—that much the mercenaries had learned firsthand from traveling with Blake. Thus, the moment they had discovered the bear's corpse, they had immediately reported it to Jody, hoping that the young High-Tier Swordsman would come to investigate. After all, there was a world of difference between facing a beast and facing a human. Every adventurer knew that the greatest danger in the wilderness was never the monsters or the harsh weather—it was one's own kind. No enemy was more cunning, more ruthless, or more dangerous than a fellow human being.
Blake knelt beside the white bear's corpse, his fingers brushing gently against the jagged wound on its abdomen. The speed and precision required to strike such a fatal blow—only a High-Tier Swordsman could have pulled it off... yet Blake frowned, a look of recognition flickering across his face. He leaned closer, his senses honed to their limit, and then he nodded slowly, as if confirming a suspicion.
"Sir Blake?" the half-elf leader asked tentatively, her voice laced with curiosity and unease. The other mercenaries watched him nervously, waiting for his verdict.
Blake stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands, and shrugged indifferently. "Do not concern yourselves. It was nothing more than a Low-High Tier Swordsman. Hardly a threat worth worrying about."
The mercenaries let out a collective sigh of relief. They exchanged grateful glances, then scattered to resume their chores. To Blake, a Low-High Tier Swordsman was indeed "nothing more"—but to the mercenaries, such a warrior would have been a formidable opponent. But with Blake, a High-High Tier Swordsman, on their side, they had nothing to fear. Reassured by this thought, they quickly put the incident out of their minds.
They never noticed the cold, unadulterated disgust that flickered in Blake's eyes as he stared down at the Aberration's corpse.
"So it is them, then," Jody said. Her tone was not a question, but a statement of fact. They had been enemies for decades—even a single trace was enough to identify them.
Blake nodded, a faint, regretful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Unfortunately, it seems these dogs never learn. No matter what era we are in, they refuse to play by my rules. How disappointing."
"But this is no great problem for you, is it, my lord?" Jody asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Blake's smile turned cold, sharp as a blade. "No, it is not. If they insist on coming after me, then I have no reason to show them mercy..." He paused, his gaze locking onto Jody's helmeted face. "Go inform the others. I think they will be more than happy to cross swords with their old enemies once again."
"As you command, my lord," Jody replied, bowing deeply before turning to leave.
Blake turned his gaze back to the white bear's corpse, a low, cold chuckle escaping his lips.
The moment he had felt the faint, residual Mana lingering around the wound, he had known exactly who their uninvited guests were. Only one group of people possessed the strength to kill High-Tier Aberrations—and left such a distinctive trace behind.
The Guardians of the Holy Grace Church.
The **Holy Grace Knights**.
On this continent, the rank of Knight was the highest honor a warrior could attain—but not all Knights were created equal. There were three distinct types:
First, there were the **Innate Knights**—prodigies like the Silver Princess and the Puppeteer, who were born with the power of a Knight etched into their very souls. Their talent allowed them to master the art of Knight Swordsmanship with terrifying speed, surpassing what ordinary warriors could achieve in a lifetime of training in mere years. For them, the path to Knighthood was not a grueling climb but a simple step over a small hurdle.
Second, there were the **Soul Knights**—warriors who lacked innate talent but attained Knighthood through decades of relentless training and unwavering resolve. They were the most orthodox of all Knights, forging their power through sheer hard work and dedication. Though far fewer in number than Innate Knights, they possessed a profound understanding of their own strength and a mastery of swordsmanship that was second to none. They had not been granted their power by fate—they had seized it with their own two hands, and this gave them a resilience and determination that Innate Knights could never hope to match. They were formidable opponents, feared by all who crossed their path.
And third, there were the **Holy Grace Knights**.
Among true Knights, they were known by another name: **False Knights**.
Both Innate Knights and Soul Knights shared one fundamental trait: their power stemmed from their own souls, their own unshakable convictions. Whether they fought to protect the innocent, to destroy their enemies, to uphold justice, or to conquer the world—their power was a manifestation of their innermost beliefs, a reflection of their purpose in life. It was this connection to their own souls that gave Knights their pride, their honor, and their unbreakable will. Even when two Knights stood on opposite sides of a battlefield, locked in mortal combat, they would still regard each other with a grudging respect—for they recognized the same unyielding conviction in their foe that burned within themselves.
This uniqueness was the very source of a Knight's dignity and glory.
The Holy Grace Knights were different. They existed solely within the ranks of the Holy Grace Church—and their power came not from conviction, but from **faith**.
The Holy Grace Church worshipped the sacred power of Mana, claiming that Mana was the very essence that had created the world. The Church, they declared, was the chosen vessel of Mana's will, tasked with protecting the world from chaos and destruction. At least, that was what they told themselves.
Thus, the Holy Grace Knights' beliefs were rigid and uniform. To them, the soul was not the source of power—but a barrier to be overcome. They believed that the "soul barrier" was a test bestowed upon them by the sacred Mana; only by overcoming this test could they earn Mana's favor and be granted its power. In other words, the Holy Grace Knights did not forge their own power—they begged for it. They prayed to Mana to lend them strength, and in return, they swore to use that strength to defend the Church's dogma and protect the world as the Church saw fit.
True Knights regarded this practice with nothing but disdain. A warrior's conviction was a deeply personal thing—whether it was to slaughter every living thing in the world or to sacrifice oneself to protect a single loved one, it was *their* conviction, forged from their own experiences and desires. Even in the heat of battle, true Knights would respect an opponent's resolve, no matter how twisted or evil it might be.
The Holy Grace Knights' "shortcut" to power was seen as a betrayal of everything that it meant to be a Knight—a cowardly, dishonorable act that defiled the very spirit of Knighthood.
Of course, this did not mean that the Holy Grace Knights were weak. Though their power paled in comparison to that of true Innate or Soul Knights, it was still more than enough to defeat High-Tier Swordsmen. This was why true Knights scorned them as "False Knights"—and why almost every Knight, regardless of allegiance, regarded them with nothing but contempt.
But despite the disdain of true Knights, the Holy Grace Church wielded immense power. While individual Holy Grace Knights were no match for true Knights, their sheer numbers made them a force to be reckoned with. And they left a distinctive mark wherever they went: when they attacked, their strikes would leave behind a faint, residual trace of borrowed Mana—a signature that no true Knight would ever leave. A true Knight, even one on the cusp of attaining the rank like Blake, would leave only traces of their own soul power, never of external Mana.
In his previous life, Blake had fought the Holy Grace Knights countless times. He and Jody had slain hundreds, if not thousands, of them. Thus, neither Blake nor Jody had any love lost for the Holy Grace Church or its False Knights. And now that these fools had dared to come looking for trouble, Blake had no intention of letting them leave the Duskwood alive.
Still, Blake was not surprised by their presence. Rumors of the Duskwood's Aberrations had spread far and wide—it was only a matter of time before the Holy Grace Church, with its spies and informants scattered across the continent, would send its agents to investigate. The Church had always been obsessed with hunting down "sources" of concentrated Mana—places where the energy of the world pooled in unusually high densities. No doubt they had assembled a team to find the Duskwood's source and claim it for themselves.
But this was no cause for concern for Blake. He knew exactly how the three great powers—the Sith Empire, the Holy Grace Church, and the Merchant Guild—went about exploiting Mana sources. It would take them days, if not weeks, to stabilize the source's core energy. And even then, they would have to face the Source Lord—the colossal, godlike Aberration that guarded every Mana source in the world. That alone would be more than enough to give the Holy Grace Knights a run for their money.
Let them clear a path for us, Blake thought coldly, a predatory glint in his eyes. We'll just follow in their footsteps and reap the rewards of their labor.
Of course, Blake had no intention of letting the Holy Grace Knights walk away with the prize.
After all, he never let prey that had wandered into his jaws escape so easily.