Blake had always believed that everything humanity did was an act of discovery. No matter what kind of power or law it was, it merely lay dormant, waiting quietly to be found. It was like how Einstein discovered the theory of relativity—there was only one relativity to be found. Once he had claimed it, there was nothing left for those who came after. Perhaps decades later, someone else might have stumbled upon the same theory, but victory always belonged to the one who took that first step. That was all there was to it. After millennia of existence in this world, the truths humanity had uncovered were still pitifully few. The only thing that determined who got to claim them was the order of the seekers—early birds caught the worms, and latecomers caught them too; it was merely a matter of time.
These travelers were clearly among the "latecomers". Unlike the ordinary nobles Blake had encountered, they were not refugees. On the contrary, like Blake himself, they were answering the royal summons and heading to Redcliff Fortress. Their reason for choosing this path, however, differed from his. They were not seeking quietude—rather, their families had never approved of their journey. As Ophelia had predicted, many nobles were wary of the vague summons. While they dared not openly defy the crown, they had decided to wait and see, to hold off until the royal court provided more concrete information before committing their forces.
This cautious approach, though prudent, had rankled the young, hot-blooded scions of these noble houses. Many of them believed that with the kingdom in peril, nobles had no business hesitating. Instead, they ought to do everything in their power to safeguard their homeland and fight against the vile Sith invaders. And so, a group of these young nobles had set off for Redcliff Fortress without so much as a word to their parents, rallying their retainers and hired mercenaries to their cause. Desperate to avoid being intercepted and dragged back home, they had chosen to risk the little-traveled backroads rather than take the main routes that cut through other noble territories—routes where they might easily be detained and sent packing. In their youthful naivety, they thought this detour would not only allow them to escape their parents' nagging but also temper their mettle, enabling them to grow stronger through hardship. They were convinced that this trial by fire would transform them into formidable warriors by the time they reached Redcliff Fortress, and that they would shine as the brightest stars on the battlefield against the Sith.
Alas, ideals were beautiful, but reality was cruel. These nobles had far better luck than Blake—up until now, they had not encountered a single bandit on their journey. But just as they were about to leave this stretch of wilderness, they had the misfortune of arriving at the wrong place at the wrong time. And thus, their tragedy began.
When Blake and his party had appeared, these young nobles had been utterly dumbfounded. They were still too green, with barely any real combat experience to speak of. Though many of them were fierce and formidable on the training grounds, the battlefield was an entirely different beast. The moment they had seen blood splattering and entrails spilling forth, their legs had turned to jelly. All their fancy swordsmanship and combat techniques had vanished from their minds in an instant. Even though they wielded sharp weapons and possessed strong, well-trained bodies, none of that mattered anymore.
Even after they had numbly answered Blake's questions, they had just stood there like fools, completely unable to process what had happened. It was hardly surprising—these were cosseted nobles who had always lived lives of privilege, and they had just stared death in the face, witnessing a battle of unspeakable brutality. Few people would have fared any better in their shoes.
But Blake had not come here to watch a bunch of nobles make fools of themselves. He cast a glance at the orc captain standing beside him, who immediately got the message and cracked his whip.
*Crack!*
The sound was like a clap of thunder out of the blue, jolting the nobles out of their stupor. When their senses finally returned, they looked around at the battlefield, and at the sight of the mangled, bloodied corpses, several of them doubled over and vomited on the spot, completely abandoning any pretense of noble decorum. The delicate noble ladies fared even worse—some of them had fainted dead away mid-vomit.
Blake could not have cared less about their undignified displays. He merely urged his horse forward, then leaned down to look at a young noble standing beside him. This young man was roughly Blake's age, and the only one among the group who had managed to retain any semblance of composure. Though his face was ashen, he still lifted his chin stubbornly under Blake's gaze, meeting his eyes without the slightest hesitation.
"You may leave now," Blake said, looking down at the young noble from atop his horse.
"We've wiped out all the bandits in the vicinity—you shouldn't encounter any more trouble. Take the path behind you and turn right; you'll reach a noble's territory in half a day. I assume you know what you ought to do then."
With that, Blake withdrew his gaze, dismissing the young nobles entirely. He made a gesture, and at his signal, the caravan began to move forward once more, slow and steady.
The young man stood rooted to the spot by the roadside, staring at Blake's retreating back. Then, he gritted his teeth and broke into a run, chasing after the caravan.
"My lord! Wait! Please wait a moment, my lord!!"
Hearing the young man's cry, Blake did not stop. He merely patted his mount's neck, slowing his pace, and waited for the young noble to catch up, gasping for breath. The young man first bowed deeply, performing a proper noble's salute, then lifted his head and walked beside Blake, speaking as he struggled to keep up.
"My lord, forgive my impertinence—but are you and your companions heading to Redcliff Fortress? To fight against the Sith Empire?"
"That we are," Blake nodded slightly, his eyes still fixed firmly on the road ahead. It was clear that the young noble was not worth sparing a second glance for. The twin sisters following behind him were no different—they were giggling and whispering to each other like ordinary girls, chattering away as they always did. One could only wonder where those two found so much to talk about day in and day out.
"Then—then my lord, I have an audacious request to make," the young noble panted, glancing nervously at Blake.
"I wish to join your army, my lord. I wonder… would you deign to grant my request?"
Blake pulled on the reins.
Esti let out an indignant snort, shaking her head, then came to a halt. At his movement, the entire caravan slowed down instantly—a testament to their impeccable discipline.
"You?" Blake looked down at the young noble again, a faint, bemused smile playing on his lips.
"I do not think that is a wise idea. I hope you have not already forgotten what happened just now. Perhaps you ought to stay here a while longer—I think it would do you good to clear your head."
Though Blake's words were polite enough, the meaning behind them was crystal clear to everyone present. The orcs, ever straightforward, burst out laughing immediately. Messiah and Semia exchanged a few whispered words, then tittered as well. No one knew exactly what they had said, but judging by the way they looked at the young noble, it was certainly nothing kind.
Despite the mockery, the young man did not grow angry or resentful. He bit his lip before speaking again, his voice steady.
"Honored sir, we are nobles of Westria too."
"I admit it—we are weak in your eyes. We couldn't even defeat those bandits! Folly as we are, we would surely die on the battlefield!"
"But—but we are also citizens of Westria! It is true that our performance just now was utterly incompetent—foolish, even idiotic! But as sons and daughters of Westria, as nobles of this realm, I still yearn to take the field and slay our enemies! Even if I die, I wish to die fighting against the Sith Empire on the battlefield! Even if I fall in the very first charge, I will die content! I do not want to die here, at the hands of these filthy bandits! This is the dignity of a Westrian, and the honor and foundation of our noble blood! So I beg you—please allow me to stay with you. I do not want to go back, to return to my family's lands and do nothing but watch our soldiers bleed and die, watch the Sith trample our soil underfoot!"
"So I beg you!"
Having finished his plea, the young man suddenly dropped to one knee, bowing his head low. The orcs had fallen silent now, their laughter dying away as they stared at him, expressionless. Only Blake remained as calm as ever, as if he had not heard a single word the young man had said, merely studying him quietly.
"Fine words—but anyone can spout fine words. What's more, you do not speak for all the nobles of Westria. Where are your companions? Do you intend to abandon them? Or have they already abandoned you?"
"No, my lord! We have not abandoned him!!"
No sooner had Blake finished speaking than another voice rang out. Everyone turned to look—and there were the young nobles who had been left dazed and stupid by the battle, all running toward them now. They stumbled forward, supporting each other, their faces pale as they slowly made their way to the kneeling young man's side.
"As he said, my lord—we are indeed incompetent," one of them said, a burly young man who wiped the vomit from his mouth with the back of his hand. He had been the one to retch the most violently earlier. The woman leaning on his arm, still too terrified to speak and her legs too weak to stand on her own, nodded slowly when she heard his words.
"Besides, I am only the third in line to inherit my family's title. Even if I die, it will not bring the slightest trouble to my house. So I too beg you, my lord—take us to the battlefield with you. We will work hard! Even if we do die in battle, it will be far better than this!"
Youth was always so impetuous, so reckless. Blake watched them in silence, but his mind wandered back to a scene from long ago.
A memory of the past—not exactly glorious, but unforgettable all the same.
But that was all it was: a memory.
"Catch up, then," Blake said, offering no further explanation. He turned his head back to face the road ahead, then cracked his whip.
The caravan moved forward once more. The young nobles exchanged looks of stunned disbelief, then hurried to join the line, pushing themselves to keep walking.
At first, Blake and his subordinates paid little mind to these young nobles. As far as Blake was concerned, their hearts were in the right place—and if they were so eager to throw their lives away, he might as well oblige them. It never hurt to do a good deed now and then, after all. But before long, he found himself revising his opinion of them. Not because they had regained their aristocratic haughtiness after recovering from their shock—but because they were just so… endearingly foolish.
Perhaps galvanized by the earlier battle, the young nobles were desperate to grow stronger once they had recovered, as if sheer effort alone would transform them into mighty warriors by the time they reached Redcliff Fortress. But without any secret martial arts manuals or mystical techniques at their disposal, how exactly did they plan to accomplish this?
Their solution, which they considered brilliant, was simple: challenge the strong.
Their first targets were the orc cavalry. The result was an unmitigated disaster. Leaving aside the vast gap in their power levels, the orcs' physical prowess—their speed, strength, and explosive power—far surpassed that of humans. Without at least Mid-Ranked strength, it was impossible to gain any advantage against them. The young nobles were soundly defeated, unable to land a single meaningful blow in their defense.
Though they had been thoroughly trounced, the young nobles were surprisingly accepting of the outcome. After all, they had witnessed firsthand how the orc cavalry had slaughtered the bandits like cutting melons and vegetables. They had thought they had a clear grasp of the orcs' power, and knew full well that their own strength was still woefully inadequate. Being unable to defeat them was only natural, they reasoned.
And so, they switched their challenge targets, setting their sights on their next opponent: Judy.
In their eyes, this young, beautiful girl might wear silver armor and look formidable, but she was still young—surely her strength could not be that much greater than their own. Moreover, since Judy and the Wraith Warriors were not mounted, the young nobles had pegged them as infantry—and in any army, infantry were clearly inferior to cavalry.
The result was no different—if anything, their defeat was even more humiliating. Faced with the young nobles' challenge, Judy did not even draw her sword. She merely unleashed a wave of searing flame pressure, and the poor boys collapsed to the ground immediately. If Blake had not ordered several buckets of water to be fetched to douse them, they would have been reduced to dried corpses before they even left this place.
Having learned that they had bitten off more than they could chew, the young nobles decided to switch targets once again. This time, they were far more cautious. After consulting with the orcs and other mercenaries, they issued a challenge to Charlotte—according to their "reliable sources", this maid had no real combat strength to speak of, yet she held the position of captain of a combat unit. This struck them as rather suspicious. They hoped to learn some techniques from her that would allow them to overcome stronger opponents despite their own weaknesses.
The result of this challenge kept everyone tossing and turning, unable to sleep for the entire night—the poison mist Charlotte used was not fatal, but it left a memory that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
Yet despite these setbacks, the young nobles refused to back down. On the contrary, they grew more and more determined, persisting in issuing their challenges. Their next target, to their own embarrassment, was none other than Messiah and Semia—the twin sisters who followed Blake around like little shadows all day long. To be fair, this challenge was not entirely their fault; the twins, finding the whole affair increasingly amusing, had taken the initiative to join in the fun, insisting on sparring with them. Reluctantly, the young nobles had accepted. At first, they had not taken the two little girls seriously at all. But the moment Messiah sent one poor fool flying into the depths of the forest with a single shockwave attack, the rest of them could already guess what their fate would be.
After this latest defeat, the young nobles finally learned the lesson that one should never judge a book by its cover. They abandoned their own reckless judgment and humbly asked those who had defeated them to recommend a suitable opponent for their next challenge.
Upon hearing their request, Charlotte, Judy, Messiah, and Semia huddled together for a whispered discussion, then offered them a very sincere piece of advice.
If they were truly determined to challenge someone, they might want to try their luck against Ophelia. After all, among their group, she was the weakest in terms of raw combat power—and like them, she had little to no practical battle experience.
Buoyed by this suggestion, the young nobles mustered their courage once more and issued a challenge to Ophelia.
The result, however, was yet another one-sided victory.
It was true that Ophelia lacked combat experience—but her Illusory Armament was no joke. The armor forged from shadow magic rendered her impervious to their attacks, eliminating any need for her to dodge or evade. On the contrary, encased within her armor, Ophelia was free to launch counterattacks at will. The whips she wielded had the young nobles writhing in agony, and by some stroke of luck, even managed to awaken hidden potential in a few of them. But that, as they say, is a story for another time.
After this round of challenges, the young nobles finally came to the realization that, apart from the relatively "normal" orcs, everyone else in this caravan was basically a monster. By the Divine, where on earth had these people come from? How could they possibly possess such terrifying power? And yet, at the same time, the young nobles' hearts swelled with renewed confidence and passion. With such a formidable army on their side, how could the Sith Empire ever hope to stand against them?
It was at this moment that Blake and his forces finally left the backroad behind, emerging into the river valley where Redcliff Fortress stood.
But as they gazed upon the valley before them, no one felt the slightest hint of joy at reaching their destination. Even the young nobles, who had been so eager to get here, stood frozen in place, their mouths hanging open in stunned disbelief.
The once-imposing, heavily fortified walls of the fortress were now in ruins, shrouded in thick black smoke and the acrid stench of charred flesh. The towering ramparts had crumbled completely, reduced to piles of rubble scattered across the ground.
What had happened here? Had the Sith Empire already launched their attack?
Blake frowned. That couldn't be right. The three-month truce still had half a month left to run. The Sith Empire had their hands full with the Royal Capital of Orlut—there was no way they would launch an attack at a time like this. And yet, the scene before him was clearly wrong. Something had gone terribly, terribly amiss.
With that thought, Blake took a few steps back and made a gesture to Charlotte.
"Charlotte—go investigate. Report back to me at once."
"Yes, Master!"
Charlotte nodded, then leaped down from the carriage alongside several other maids who had been sitting quietly with her. In the blink of an eye, they had vanished into the smoke and ruins, gone without a trace.