Lante slowed his steps, his boots sinking into the damp, slippery soil. He knelt down, holding his longsword in a forward-blocking stance to steady his balance. Taking a slow, deep breath, he let the earthy scent calm his racing heart.
This was their first taste of a formal military operation—or perhaps "formal" was too generous a word. These young scions of minor noble houses were full of lofty ambitions, but most of their knowledge was purely theoretical, with no real-world combat experience to back it up. Of course, they had never paid much mind to that before. In their eyes, they possessed all the book knowledge they needed; all they lacked was practice. Given enough time to hone their skills, they were certain they could put their learning to good use and unleash their full potential.
Unfortunately, practice was not something that came easily.
The humiliating defeat they had suffered earlier had finally knocked the arrogance out of Lante and his companions, forcing them to face the harsh realities of the world. They had once thought that enduring the contempt and mockery of their own clans was the ultimate humiliation. But when the cold, glinting edge of a blade had loomed before them, close enough to snuff out their lives in an instant, these young men had finally realized what truly mattered. Compared to the threat of death, the jeers and insults of their kinsmen were utterly trivial.
In the face of mortality, honor and glory paled into insignificance.
Needless to say, Lante and the others had been filled with trepidation when they received their orders. After all, this was their first time venturing out into the field, and they had no military experience to speak of—nothing to compare with the seasoned orc mercenaries. What was more, Black's very existence hung over them like a heavy shadow.
Unlike these sheltered nobles who had never set foot beyond their family estates, relying solely on textbooks and idle fantasies, Black exuded the quiet confidence of someone with extensive combat experience. Though he seemed to be around the same age as them, Lante always felt that the young lord was leagues ahead in every possible way. On the battlefield, he maintained a calm demeanor and made sharp, decisive judgments. Rumor had it that he was also incredibly powerful—and as a mere noble lord, he had the audacity to speak to General Celt as an equal. All of this weighed heavily on Lante's mind. He had no idea how Black had managed to achieve so much at such a young age, but one thing was crystal clear: the gap between them was vast, almost insurmountable.
It was precisely because of this that Lante felt an immense pressure to succeed when he received Black's orders. He was actually a few years older than the young lord, yet his experience was nothing in comparison. If he made a single mistake or misstep now, the consequences would be dire. This was not just about proving themselves to Black—it was about proving their own worth as warriors.
For this reason, Lante had been on high alert ever since they entered the heart of the river valley, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. His companions were no different. The two young women in their group, who specialized in long-range attacks, had kept their bows fully drawn from the moment they stepped into the valley, ready to respond at a moment's notice.
Watching his companions, Lante frowned. He knew that this constant state of tension was draining their energy. According to their plan, they still had a long way to go. If they kept their nerves stretched this tight, they would collapse from exhaustion long before the mission was completed. But knowing this did nothing to ease his anxiety. Try as he might to relax, the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze sent a jolt of tension through his body every time.
This was the gap between theory and experience.
With that thought, Lante glanced over at the young woman following quietly behind them. She was one of Charlotte's maids, sent by Black to oversee their mission. On the surface, she looked like an ordinary girl—dressed in the same black uniform as Charlotte, with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and shoulder-length black hair framing her delicate features. She gave off an air of quiet fragility, as if a strong wind could knock her over.
Of course, Lante knew better than to be fooled by appearances. After spending so many days in Black's retinue, the first lesson these young nobles had learned was that you should never judge a person by their looks. Despite her harmless demeanor, Lante was certain that this maid was far more dangerous than she seemed. The small, odd-looking crossbow strapped to her right arm was a clear indication that she was no mere ornament.
In stark contrast to the young nobles' nervous tension, the black-haired maid seemed completely at ease. She was even reading a book as she walked, flipping through the pages casually as if she were out on a leisurely stroll in the countryside rather than on a dangerous mission. The sight filled the others with envy. They would have loved to relax as she did, but the gap in their abilities forced them to press on, too wary to let their guards down for even a moment.
"Captain Lante."
Just as Lante was about to refocus his attention on the path ahead, one of his companions approached him with a pained expression, speaking in a low voice.
"We've been walking for half a day. Everyone's exhausted. Can we find a place to rest? If we keep going like this, we'll be in no shape to fight if something happens."
At those words, Lante glanced back at his companions. Their faces were pale with fatigue, beads of sweat dripping down their foreheads. The two young women were faring no better—though they bit their lips and tried to tough it out, the slight trembling of their arms betrayed how close they were to their limits.
"Alright, let's take a break," Lante conceded. He scanned the area, then pointed to a shaded wetland on the edge of the valley. "That spot looks good—plenty of trees to shelter us from the sun."
But Lante had not expected that his words had barely left his mouth when a dark figure darted forward. The silent maid who had been trailing behind them stepped in front of the group, still holding her book. She turned and walked toward a different direction, stopping beside a large boulder halfway up the valley slope. Then, she looked up at Lante and uttered two simple words.
"Here."
"Here?" Lante stared at her in confusion. Did she mean they should rest on the hillside? The area was completely exposed, with barely a tree in sight. Under the scorching sun, it would be unbearable. What possible use could there be in resting there?
Despite his frustration, Lante remembered Black's instructions before they set out. He sighed, then waved his hand, signaling for his companions to follow. The young nobles, already drained by tension and fatigue, wasted no time in relaxing. They quickly followed Lante up to the hillside, collapsing against the boulder in relief. While their bodies could still endure the physical strain, patrolling this treacherous valley was first and foremost a test of their mental fortitude.
"Phew…"
Leaning against the cool stone, Lante wiped the sweat from his brow, finally allowing himself to relax. Truth be told, he was more exhausted than his companions. The river valley's terrain was a labyrinth of winding paths and hidden gullies. Even though they had only been walking for half a day, just trying to memorize their route was a daunting task. Everywhere they turned, there were crossroads, marshes, and dense forests—making it impossible to tell whether the path they chose would lead them forward or into a dead end. Lante had no other choice but to press on, however. As Black had made clear, this was a stealth mission—they would have no reinforcements if things went wrong. Their only hope of support lay with…
"Half an hour," the black-haired maid said, catching Lante's gaze. It was the only words she had spoken to them since they set out.
"They're still far too inexperienced."
What Lante did not know was that, not far away, on the peak of a nearby mountain, Black was watching their every move.
"I thought I had set the bar low for them, but it seems they're even more incompetent than I imagined," Black muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Not everyone is blessed with talent, Master," Charlotte replied, unfazed. She was gently patting Ophelia's back, handing her a damp handkerchief. Ever since Black had stopped the shadow steed, the former princess had been vomiting violently, her face as pale as a ghost, looking as if she were on the verge of death.
Though technically speaking, she was not truly alive in the first place.
"That may be true, but I'm starting to worry whether the plan will proceed smoothly. Perhaps I should rethink our strategy…" Black's voice trailed off suddenly. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he looked toward the shadowy depths of the valley.
Lante sighed, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He forced himself to stand up, waving at his companions, who were still sprawled on the ground. It was time to move on.
At that exact moment, the black-haired maid, who had been quietly reading her book beside them, finally moved.
She looked up, narrowing her eyes as if listening intently to something in the distance. A serious expression crossed her delicate features. She closed her book with a snap, then strode forward to stand beside Lante, making a sharp, urgent gesture. At the same time, she raised her right arm. With a soft clicking sound, the compact mechanism strapped to her arm suddenly unfolded, sliding down the metal track hidden beneath her sleeve and into her hand. The black-haired maid gripped the crossbow tightly, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the shadowy gully not far away.
"What's wrong?"
The maid's sudden alertness immediately put the other young nobles on edge. They scrambled to their feet, scanning the surroundings frantically. But they saw nothing out of the ordinary—the valley was still and peaceful, bathed in the warm glow of the sun, seeming utterly serene.
Too serene.
Lante's nerves jolted awake instantly. He vividly remembered hearing the chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects when they first entered the valley. Now, there was not a single sound—not even the rustle of the wind.
This was a clear sign of danger.
Without hesitation, Lante's hand tightened around the hilt of his longsword. He slowly turned, his eyes sweeping the area, searching for the source of the anomaly. But there was nothing—no movement, no sound, nothing to indicate that anything was amiss.
What should we do now?
His meager experience as an adventurer was clearly insufficient to help him make the right decision. Just as Lante was about to ask the black-haired maid for guidance, a flash of fire erupted from the shadows ahead.
*BOOM!!*
If Lante had not instinctively dropped to the ground, he would have been reduced to a pile of charred ash in an instant. Even so, the searing hot blast of wind that followed singed their clothes, wrapping around them like a blazing blanket and filling their lungs with an unbearable heat.
Lante struggled to turn around, his eyes widening in horror as he stared at the scene behind him.
On the mountainside not far away, the once-solid stone cliff had been melted into a gaping hole. Bright red, molten lava oozed out from the crevice, dripping slowly onto the ground below. Thick black smoke billowed into the air, carrying with it a pungent, acrid stench that made his stomach churn.
Seeing this, Lante's blood ran cold.
He knew exactly what this meant.
Magic.