Every power has its counter. The Aura of Faith wielded by Innate Knights was indeed formidable, but it was by no means invincible. In fact, the Sith Empire's Four Scourges had tasted defeat in their early days. Karan's blistering speed made him a dangerous dagger on the battlefield, yet he was utterly helpless against a fortress of absolute defense. Sidvi's perfect control was terrifying, but it was limited by the size of her forces—if one could deploy an army ten times the size of hers, even without her precise command, sheer brute force would be enough to overwhelm her. After all, no matter how finely she directed her soldiers, they were still flesh and blood—once they were dead, they were gone for good. That was her fatal flaw.
This was why Celt and his men, though uneasy, were not consumed by fear. Their current strategy was to hunker down and defend, and while their numbers were not tenfold Sidvi's, they were still sufficient to keep her in check. Of course, they were well aware that these were merely *theoretical* weaknesses. The reality was that Karan and Sidvi, working in tandem, had laid waste to the entire kingdom of Orlut. Orlut may not have boasted any renowned generals, but it was hardly incapable of mounting a proper defensive stand. For them to be defeated so thoroughly while in a defensive posture meant that these two Innate Knights must have had hidden aces up their sleeves. But since their intelligence reports contained no mention of such tactics, the soldiers chose not to dwell on them. Speculation was not the way of the military; to fear the enemy before the battle even began was the ultimate shame. Thus, Celt's current plan was to prepare defenses that targeted their known weaknesses. If the two generals did possess secret strategies, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.
But compared to the tricky abilities of Sidvi and Karan, Lindilot's power inspired nothing short of utter despair. Her Aura of Faith was no mystery—in fact, it was deceptively simple: **every soldier within its range would have their abilities amplified fivefold!**
Fivefold!
In other words, even a regular soldier with the strength of a mere swordsman would, under the influence of her aura, break through their limits and ascend directly to the rank of High Swordsman. Tens of thousands of High Swordsmen— the mere thought was enough to make anyone's scalp tingle. If knighthood were determined by raw power rather than the strength of one's faith, these soldiers might even have become Spirit Knights. At that point, the army would have been truly invincible, unstoppable by any force on the continent.
Faced with such a force, the old general Celt was completely at a loss. In truth, of all the Four Scourges, Lindilot, the Silver Princess, was the last one he ever wanted to face on the battlefield. He had no confidence whatsoever in his ability to withstand the full-frontal charge of tens of thousands of High Swordsmen, not even for a single moment.
To make matters worse, the Silver Princess's current whereabouts were the most worrying of all. Nahias never left imperial borders, so he could be safely ignored. Sidvi and Karan were currently besieging the Orlutian capital. But what of the princess? According to intelligence reports, she was leading her army in the northwest frontier, suppressing the barbarian tribes.
What were those barbarians? They did not even possess a single weapon that posed a genuine threat. Everyone knew that if Lindilot truly wanted to exterminate them, the entire northwest frontier would have been cleansed of barbarians within three days, without a single survivor left. The only silver lining was that the princess, unlike her two fellow generals, did not seem to relish bloodshed. She preferred to resolve conflicts through means other than brute force. And according to the latest intelligence, after using her army's might to intimidate the barbarian tribes, she had begun negotiating with them. One could only imagine that once the negotiations concluded, the general wielding the most terrifying power on the continent would return to the front lines—and that would be when the true nightmare began.
After all, everyone knew full well the difference in importance between quelling a few barbarian tribes and fighting a full-scale war against a sovereign nation.
"To be honest, we would be grateful for anyone who could hold her back—even slow her down a little would suffice."
Celt shrugged helplessly, a trace of melancholy crossing his resolute old face. His concern stemmed not only from Lindilot's overwhelming strength, but also from the shifting tides of the continent. These days, it was the young who dominated the battlefield; the era of men like himself was long gone.
Celt shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"Sometimes I find myself wondering—why doesn't Her Highness the Princess just go find a boyfriend? She's only sixteen or seventeen, isn't she? And she's quite beautiful from what I've heard. Surely a handsome young man could win her heart? I ought to write a petition to His Majesty, urging the intelligence service to send a few dashing agents into the Sith Empire. If they could win over the Silver Princess's affections, that would be the perfect solution."
Of course, it was nothing more than a joke, and everyone present laughed it off. But the lighthearted remark served to break the tense atmosphere, replacing it with a more relaxed mood.
Throughout the entire dinner, Black did not offer any opinions on the matter, and Celt did not press him for any. After all, the primary purpose of the banquet was to show his subordinates just how much they could trust this new ally. And now, they had reached their conclusion. While the soldiers were still reluctant to trust Black, a mere minor noble, with matters of warfare, they had developed a genuine liking for him on a personal level. In that regard, the dinner had been a resounding success.
"Lord Black, do you have any other plans for the evening?"
Celt set down his knife and fork, turning to Black with a question. This was part of his plan as well—and it would benefit him greatly.
"If you have the time, I would like to show you and your companions the Crimson Fortress's defensive systems. It would be an excellent opportunity."
"Defensive systems?"
Black paused, tilting his head in thought for a moment before smiling apologetically at the old general.
"I'm truly sorry, General, but we already have a prior engagement. I'm afraid we won't be able to accept your kind invitation."
"Oh? A prior engagement? What could it possibly be?"
Celt was genuinely curious. This was his fortress, after all, and Black had only been here for two or three days. He should not have had the chance to make any acquaintances—so how could he already have plans?
"That's right."
Black nodded, dabbing his lips with a napkin before continuing.
"As a matter of fact, we have a little post-dinner activity to attend to."
"Huh?"
Now Celt was truly bewildered.
But as the fortress commander, even if Black's words were vague, it did not mean Celt was completely in the dark. So after the dinner concluded and Black and his entourage took their leave, he immediately sent for the officer who had escorted Black and his group to their quarters earlier. From him, Celt learned the entire story—and upon hearing the details, he could not help but sigh, equal parts exasperated and amused. Why did this young noble always insist on getting himself into such absurd situations? Still…
Celt frowned, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He did have some vague memories of Semia. In fact, when Black had first mentioned bringing the two girls to the battlefield, Celt had secretly disagreed. After all, in his eyes, the entire reason soldiers like himself fought and died was to protect children like them. To send such young girls into battle felt fundamentally wrong, no matter how one looked at it.
At the same time, however, Celt was genuinely curious about the girls' true strength. Black was barely twenty years old, yet his power already surpassed Celt's own. The two girls were only around ten years old—how strong could they possibly be? His years of experience told him that such a thought was absurd, but Celt had come to realize that his old assumptions were no longer reliable. He would have to see for himself to be certain. And deep down, the old general could not help but harbor a faint hope.
After all, if the Sith Empire could produce monsters like Lindilot and Sidvi, would it not be wonderful if his own country could give birth to a few such prodigies as well?
A faint smile tugged at Celt's lips. He turned to his subordinates and spoke.
"Then, let us go watch as well."
At that moment, the small square in the fortress was packed with people, the air buzzing with excitement.
For the soldiers, who had toiled away all day, this was a rare moment of leisure. On any other evening, they would have rested in their barracks, trained, or chatted over a few drinks. After all, even soldiers were not made of iron—they needed to relax and recharge. But tonight, many of them had abandoned their usual routines and flocked to the square. The reason was simple: a duel was about to take place right here.
For soldiers, duels were always the top choice for entertainment. And since private duels were forbidden within the military, many men had pent-up fighting spirit with no outlet. Being able to watch a duel, even just for the spectacle, was more than enough to satisfy them. What was more, they had heard that the duel would be between two nobles—a prospect that piqued their interest even further. The soldiers held little affection for the aristocracy, so watching nobles fight was like watching a play, pure and simple.
But when the two duelists stepped into the square, the soldiers' support immediately swung overwhelmingly in Black's favor.
The reason was simple: **cuteness is justice.**
Compared to the sullen nobleman, clad in his aristocratic training attire and scowling as if the world owed him a fortune, the tiny, adorable girl with her beautiful jet-black hair sparked a fire of enthusiasm in the soldiers' hearts. Most of them had come without knowing who the duelists were, only hearing vague rumors that it would be between two nobles. But now, seeing a ten-year-old girl step into the square, these rough-and-tumble men were utterly astounded. They had never imagined that such a young girl would be participating in a noble's duel—and what was more, she was undeniably cute. From the moment they laid eyes on her, the soldiers became her fervent supporters.
Conversely, this meant that the other duelist was subjected to relentless jeers and mockery from the soldiers. Many of them already disliked noble lords, and now they had found yet another reason to loathe them. These shameless aristocrats, picking a fight with such a young girl—they were nothing but cowards, spineless and unmanly!
Listening to the soldiers' taunts echoing around the square, the nobleman's face turned as black as thunder. He knew full well that regardless of the outcome of this duel, he would become a hated figure in the fortress, and his family's reputation would be tarnished. But what else could he do? He had been the one to issue the challenge, and the wind that had altered the glove's trajectory had been a genuine accident. Now that the words had been spoken, backing down would only result in the complete ruin of his family's honor.
So be it, then. If there was no way out, he had nothing left to fear.
The nobleman took a cold, sharp breath, drawing his longsword and fixing his opponent with a gaze filled with pride and contempt. In the time since the challenge had been issued, he had not been idle—he had made inquiries into Black's background and learned a few tidbits of information. But even so, he refused to believe a word of it. His family had always resided in the heart of the empire, far removed from the realities of the battlefield, so their understanding of combat ranks was sorely lacking. Like many nobles, he dismissed the reports as nothing more than an old, tired joke, not worth taking seriously.
"Come!"
He roared, flipping his wrist to raise his longsword, pointing it straight at the girl before him. It was clear that he intended to let her strike first. No matter how infuriated he was, he still had his dignity to uphold. Dueling a little girl was already humiliating enough; if he were to launch the first attack, it would be an even greater loss of face. So he would wait for her to make the first move. After all, the girl's skills were surely nothing but a flashy show—he would dispatch her with a mere two or three strikes…
The nobleman's smug calculations came to an abrupt halt as his eyes widened in shock. At the exact same moment, the raucous cheers of the crowd surrounding the square died down instantly. Everyone stared, their eyes wide with disbelief, at the tiny figure standing in the center of the square.
What had she done?
In the face of the nobleman's provocation, Semia did not rush to attack. Instead, she gripped the handle of her black parasol in her right hand, letting it hang straight down until the tip touched the ground. She twirled it once, drawing a semicircle around her body before slanting it behind her back. Then, everyone watched as she raised her left hand, her pale, delicate fingers tracing through the air. Faint, glowing lines followed her movements, forming intricate runes in the blink of an eye.
Semia spoke, her voice soft yet clear.
"White lightning that tears through the night, heed my call—come forth, and stand by my side!"
"CRACK!!"
A bolt of lightning exploded out of nowhere.
The moment the girl's words left her lips, a deafening clap of thunder erupted, causing many soldiers to clamp their hands over their ears involuntarily. Then, they watched as the ground around the girl trembled violently, an invisible shockwave erupting outward and sending clouds of dust swirling into the air. At the same time, the once-dark, elegant parasol was now wreathed in dazzling arcs of lightning, crackling and snapping with untamed power.
Upon witnessing this sight, a single word echoed in the minds of every person present.
**Magic.**
**Magic and swordsmanship, mastered as one.**
The lightning continued to dance along the surface of the girl's parasol, emitting a faint, menacing hum. The occasional flash of white light was so bright it was almost impossible to look directly at. At that moment, the casual, amused atmosphere among the onlookers vanished completely. For they all understood perfectly well what this sight meant.
And upon seeing the lightning, the relaxed, leisurely expressions on Celt and his men's faces vanished, replaced by one of grave, serious solemnity. They were seasoned veterans, masters of combat—and from Semia's single action, they could already gauge her true strength. It was a power that no girl of her age should ever possess. Magic was not something that could be mastered through mere hard work, unlike swordsmanship. It depended entirely on innate talent. And even with talent, a mage required years of arduous training to wield their formidable powers. It demanded countless hours of dedication and effort—leaving little to no time for the practice of swordsmanship.
Of course, Celt had encountered mage-swordsmen before—but none of them held a candle to the girl standing before him. Those mage-swordsmen could at best cast a few low-level, instant-cast spells to aid them in battle. For truly powerful magic required precise hand gestures, incantations, and unwavering focus—something a swordsman could never hope to achieve in the heat of intense combat.
But the girl had done exactly that. Though Celt was no expert in magic, he could feel the overwhelming power contained within that thunderous spell. The hand gestures, the incantation—every detail screamed of a high-level, devastatingly powerful spell. Just how strong was this little girl? Or rather… Celt found himself glancing involuntarily at the black-haired young man standing not far away, his expression darkening.
Just what kind of power did Black's followers truly possess?
But unlike Celt, Black and his companions watched the scene with calm, unflappable expressions. The only exception was Ophelia. The awkwardness and embarrassment she had felt earlier, when Black had forced her to attend the dinner in that dress, had completely vanished. In its place was a faint, triumphant smile, mixed with eager anticipation. She watched the tiny figure in the square, then glanced at the surrounding soldiers, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips.
Few people knew that Messiah and Semia were Ophelia's teachers.
Even fewer knew that the two girls had been instructing Ophelia in the art of magic.
While the two young prodigies usually relied on their swordsmanship in battle, Ophelia knew perfectly well that their mastery of magic far surpassed their combat skills—and its power was infinitely greater.
And now, the time had come for them to unleash it.
"Show them, Semia."
Black's lips moved, his voice so low it was almost inaudible to everyone else.
"Show them your power. Our power. The power of our knight order."
"Understood, Father."
Semia's eyes locked onto her target, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Then, a faint smile played on her lips.
Thunder roared once more.
Amidst another deafening crash, the tiny, black-cloaked figure, wreathed in crackling lightning, transformed into a bolt of black lightning, streaking straight toward her opponent.
The duel had begun.