The "guests" Black referred to were, of course, the group of young nobles who had been unlucky enough to end up stuck in his retinue. Most of them hailed from humble noble backgrounds and had no real combat experience to speak of. But they were not entirely reckless. After running into a wall at the fortress, they had decided to stick with Black, offering to serve as his subordinates. Black had made no move to chase them away; instead, he had let them tag along, placing them under the command of the orc soldiers. These young nobles had been the most excited about the expedition. Even though their previous skirmish with bandits had ended in heavy losses, youth was defined by its ability to forget failures quickly. After only a few days at the fortress, they had already brushed off their past humiliation and were raring to go again. In their minds, following such a powerful group would surely help them improve their own strength—and their youthful eagerness made them thrill at the prospect of adventure. So when Black issued his orders, the young nobles were filled with excitement. Not all of them, however, were so quick to take his words at face value.
"My lord, those Cyclops monsters are incredibly strong," a young man said, stepping forward to address Black.
Black fell silent, his gaze resting on the young noble standing before him. He remembered the man's name was Lante—the same one who had begged Black to take them in earlier.
"Frankly, we don't believe we have the means to stand against them."
"You don't need to stand against them," Black waved a hand, cutting him off.
"Remember: our mission is to patrol. If you run into those creatures and can't fight them off, running away is not a crime. Though if you're so incompetent that you can't even manage that, then I suppose there's nothing more to say."
"Of course we can run! But—!!" Lante's face flushed bright red with anger at Black's mocking tone, and he raised his voice in protest. Then, a look of embarrassment crossed his features.
"But… for a warrior to flee the battlefield without fighting… that's…"
"This is war, Mr. Lante," Black said, looking at the young man with an amused smile.
"It's not a duel. War is about advance and retreat, about survival. Running away is never something to be ashamed of. You'd do well to understand that. On the contrary, if you choose to fight to the death when you could escape, I guarantee I'll be telling the story over drinks for years to come—though whether you'll be alive to hear it is another matter entirely."
"…" Lante's face turned an ugly shade of purple. He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to argue, but found himself at a loss for words. Deep down, he did not truly think running away was a disgraceful act. It was just… an unpleasant prospect. In his imagination, ordering a retreat should be a weighty decision, a last resort made only after exhausting all other options. But the young lord in front of him had said it so casually, as if it were nothing more than a game. It was enough to make Lante feel a twinge of unease. Besides, he was reluctant to admit it outright. If the young lord said "run if you can't win," and he nodded along eagerly, what would that make him? A coward? A spineless opportunist? But Black's next words put his mind at ease.
"You lack real combat experience, so I won't send you out alone. Charlotte will assign some of her people to go with you, to guide you in battle. If you have any questions, you can ask them. For all other matters, you'll be in charge of your own actions. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord!" Lante finally let out a sigh of relief. He had been worried—after all, they were outsiders. If anything went wrong, he feared Black might simply abandon them. That was why, after receiving the orders, he had not joined his companions in their excitement, but had instead come to Black to clarify things. Now that the lord had promised to send guides with them, it meant they were not being used as disposable pawns. For Lante, that was more than enough.
With his questions answered, Lante took his leave and returned to his group, excitedly relaying the news to his fellow nobles. Naturally, he omitted Black's instruction to "run if you can't fight." Upon hearing the revised version of the orders, the young men were overjoyed. They had long been craving a chance to prove themselves, and their previous defeat at the hands of bandits had only intensified that desire. They were eager to wash away the shame of their failure—with victory.
Early the next morning, all the prepared units set off. They split up quickly, vanishing into the narrow, winding gullies that crisscrossed the valley.
But Black did not move.
He stood quietly on the hillside, watching his troops depart, his figure motionless against the horizon. Ophelia and the twin sisters stood behind him, also gazing silently at the groups disappearing into the maze of ravines below.
It was not until Charlotte's figure reappeared before them that Black finally gestured for them to come forward.
"Let's go."
"Aren't we going to wait for Miss Judy and the others?" Ophelia asked in surprise. She already knew Black's plan, so his current actions confused her—they clearly contradicted everything he had said earlier.
"They have other tasks," Black replied. As he spoke, he drew the longsword at his waist and tossed it onto the ground.
A frigid gust of wind erupted out of nowhere. A shadowy figure shot out from the blade, landing steadily on the earth. Then, a cold, ethereal shadow steed materialized before Black, its hooves silent on the grass. It walked over to him and lowered its head respectfully. Unlike their first encounter on the plains, this shadow steed had lost all its former arrogance. In its place was complete and utter submission.
At the same time, Messiah and Semia summoned their own mounts. Charlotte then hopped onto Messiah's white unicorn, running a curious hand over the sacred beast's pristine, snow-white coat.
"Alright, time's up. Let's move out," Black said, pulling a pocket watch from his coat and checking it against the position of the sun in the sky. Then, he turned to Ophelia and issued his command.
"Ophelia, you'll ride with Semia."
"Yes, my lord." Ophelia let out a sigh of relief she did not quite understand, followed by a faint sigh of disappointment. When she had seen the three of them summon their mounts, she had already guessed what was coming, but her heart was filled with a jumble of conflicting emotions. She did not know why Black's words had stirred such feelings within her. But now was not the time to dwell on such trivial matters. She shook her head, pushing the pointless thoughts aside, and turned to walk toward Semia.
Then, something unexpected happened.
As Ophelia approached, Semia's black nightmare horse suddenly stiffened, its body trembling violently. It spun around abruptly, facing the young woman, and let out a low, menacing snarl— a stark contrast to its earlier silence. Its front hooves pawed at the ground restlessly. If Semia had not reacted quickly and grabbed its reins, there was no telling what the nightmare might have done.
What was going on?
Everyone froze at the bizarre sight. Then, they noticed that it was not just Semia's nightmare—Messiah's unicorn was also acting strangely. Though its reaction was not as intense, it too regarded Ophelia with obvious wariness and hostility.
"My lord?" Ophelia stopped in her tracks, not daring to take another step forward. She did not know much about summoned creatures, but she could feel their animosity toward her clearly. She did not think they would actually harm her, but the current situation still made her feel uneasy.
What was happening?
Ophelia was not the only one surprised—Black was equally baffled. But there was no time to waste now. He shook his head and spoke again.
"Never mind, Miss Ophelia. You'll ride with me instead."
"Huh?" Ophelia's face turned a faint shade of pink. She bit her lip, ignoring the amused glances from the twin sisters and Charlotte, and walked toward Black. As she did, her heart suddenly began to race. For some reason, she found herself secretly hoping that Black's shadow steed would react the same way the twins' mounts had—preferably with even more intensity!
The shadow steed did not disappoint her. As soon as Ophelia drew near, it immediately grew agitated, tossing its head and shaking its body violently. But unlike the twin sisters, Black did not attempt to soothe his mount. Instead, he raised his right hand, clenched it into a fist, and slammed it hard against the horse's head.
"!!" The shadow steed let out a pitiful whinny, then grudgingly stilled its movements, standing rooted to the spot. Black shook his hand casually, then turned to Ophelia, extending his right hand with a calm expression.
"After you, Miss Ophelia."
"…" Ophelia shot a helpless glance at the shadow steed beneath Black, which stared back at her with a look that could only be described as "resentful." Then, she gritted her teeth, took Black's outstretched hand, and swung herself up onto the horse behind him.
"Hold on tight. We don't have much time."
That was the last thing Ophelia heard before the world around her blurred into streaks of light. A howling, bone-chilling wind whipped past her ears, and the once-static landscape began to race backward at breakneck speed.
The river valley's terrain was complex and treacherous. Besides the deep gullies, the steep, rocky cliffs were formidable obstacles that would have been nearly impossible to traverse. But to the knights' mounts, these barriers were nothing. A normal warhorse would have slowed to a crawl trying to navigate such terrain, hindered by the dense trees and jagged boulders that littered the path. But Black and the twins' steeds ignored all these obstacles completely. They paid no heed to the towering, solid rocks, the sparse forests, or the sheer cliff faces. They moved at maximum speed, weaving around obstacles with minimal effort, guided by their masters' skilled hands.
For Ophelia, however, this was far from a pleasant experience. In fact, she barely had time to register what was happening before she was swept up in this whirlwind of motion. The poor former princess had never experienced anything like this in her life. The nervous flutters she had felt when mounting the horse were quickly forgotten. All she could do now was cling instinctively to Black's body, pressing her chest against his back to keep from being thrown off. By the time the group reached their destination, the poor princess was as pale as a ghost, looking as if she were on the verge of collapse.
"This is the place, Master," Charlotte said, sniffing the air. At her words, Black gestured for the group to slow down. They remained on their mounts, using the sparse trees on the hillside to conceal their figures, then followed Charlotte as she led them forward. Soon, after rounding a bend in the cliff, they spotted a group of dark figures moving slowly in the valley below.