A petite figure darted through the forest like a shooting star, streaking toward the river valley at breakneck speed.
Sidvi was still clad in her bizarre attire—a form-fitting straitjacket clung tightly to her body, her slender arms bound behind her back with thick leather straps, and four swords of identical length were slung across her shoulders. Though a black blindfold covered her eyes completely, her movements never faltered. Even in this treacherous terrain, crisscrossed with obstacles and trees, she advanced swiftly, effortlessly dodging jagged rocks and tangled branches. Her speed was breathtaking, yet not a single thing brushed against her body.
*WHOOSH!*
Just as she was about to reach her destination, Sidvi came to an abrupt halt. In the blink of an eye, her sprinting form froze dead still—a jarring contrast of motion and stillness that would have left any observer gasping in disbelief. But Sidvi showed no reaction at all. Despite her unimaginable speed, she stopped without the slightest hint of recoil, a feat that defied all mortal comprehension.
She had not paused by chance. Not far ahead of her, a young woman stood calmly, clad in silver-white armor, her crimson hair fluttering in the wind like flickering flames.
Sidvi said nothing, but her brow furrowed, and her face twisted with a fleeting flash of unmistakable impatience and irritation—though the emotion vanished in an instant, replaced by caution and composure.
For at that very moment, two figures—one dressed in black, the other in white—stepped out from Sidvi's left and right flanks. They looked even younger than her, their innocent faces split by identical, mischievous grins. Sensing their presence, Sidvi's body tensed minutely, and she shifted her left foot back—half a step.
"Long time no see, Miss Sidvi," a voice called out.
Following the greeting, Black emerged from behind Sidvi. At that moment, he, Messiah, Semia, and Judy formed a perfect encirclement, trapping Sidvi completely.
"It's you?"
Sidvi's expression darkened slightly. From the sound of the voice and the aura it carried, she recognized the three people she had met once before. Back then, however, they had given her no sense of unease. But now was different—she could clearly feel the brilliant soul power radiating from their bodies.
Knight-class.
The realization jolted even Sidvi. She had never imagined she would encounter four knights in this godforsaken place. Instantly, she grew more cautious. Who were they? Why were they here?
"Indeed, it's us, Miss Sidvi," Black replied, nodding casually. He shrugged his shoulders with a smile.
"To be honest, I'm quite surprised. I was planning to come find you, but I never expected… that you would take the initiative to appear before us. It seems this mission wasn't a waste of effort after all—we've made quite the catch."
"Hmph!"
Sidvi let out a cold snort.
"Who exactly are you people?"
"Allow me to introduce myself first."
With that, Black executed a graceful half-bow, then straightened up and spoke with a smile.
"I am the Lord of Duskwood, Black Felix. This is our second meeting—pleased to make your acquaintance once again."
"You're from Westerland?"
Sidvi's expression shifted subtly. She knew exactly where Duskwood was, and what kind of place it was. A memory suddenly surfaced—hadn't they joked about that very territory during a royal council meeting not long ago? Rumor had it that a noble lord there possessed the strength of a High Swordsman, and that he commanded two subordinates of equal caliber. At the time, no one had taken the gossip seriously; the Four Generals had dismissed it as a propaganda tactic by the Kingdom of Westerland to boost morale. Even if the rumors were true, they reasoned, High Swordsmen were no match for Gifted Knights.
But Sidvi had never imagined that this man was the subject of those rumors. What's more, contrary to the gossip, he was not merely a High Swordsman—he was a full-fledged Knight!
Even so, Sidvi did not betray the slightest hint of panic or disarray, despite being surrounded by four knights. On this continent, the gap between Low Swordsmen, Mid Swordsmen, High Swordsmen, and Knights was absolute and unbridgeable. The hierarchy held true even within each rank: a Low Mid Swordsman stood no chance against a High Mid Swordsman, and the same applied to High Swordsmen. Similarly, among Knights, there was a clear pecking order of strength.
The weakest of them all were the Holy Grace Knights, derisively nicknamed "Fake Knights." Their convictions were not their own, and their power was incomplete—hence their low standing. Holy Grace Knights could easily overpower High Swordsmen, but against genuine Knights, they were utterly defenseless.
Soul Knights, by contrast, were true Knights in every sense of the word—though they were not without flaws. The defining trait of a Knight was the ability to manifest their convictions into swordsmanship, unleashing its full power in battle. When two Knights clashed, it was first and foremost a collision of wills and beliefs. For example, if one Knight's conviction was "fight to the death," and another's was "never take a life," their manifested swordsmanship would clash head-on, each embodying their core belief.
Knight-to-Knight combat was brutal in the extreme, for the combatants wagered not just their sword skills and lives, but their very convictions. A Knight's swordsmanship was the physical manifestation of their belief. If their swordsmanship was shattered, it meant their conviction had been broken—and without that, they lost the source of their power, reduced to empty shells of their former selves. Even if they survived the battle, they were as good as dead.
Of course, not all Knightly duels ended this way. Knights whose convictions were rooted in "retreat if the first strike fails," "hit-and-run tactics," or "avoid direct confrontation at all costs" could escape a losing battle without much difficulty. But for Soul Knights who held fast to beliefs like "fight with every last breath," "either you die or I do," or "never retreat an inch," defeat spelled catastrophe. Bound by their convictions, they could not surrender or flee—they could only fight until their last breath.
Even though Knightly combat was devastatingly fierce, Knights were still individuals. A single Knight could stand alone against hundreds, even thousands of enemies—but what about ten thousand? Or more? Heroism had its limits. When faced with overwhelming numbers, even the most powerful Knight would eventually fall to the tide of battle. No matter how formidable their offensive power, it had its bounds.
But Gifted Knights stood head and shoulders above all other Knight classes.
Gifted Knights.
The very title alone was enough to inspire envy and resentment in the hearts of countless warriors.
They possessed unparalleled knightly talent, an incomparable understanding of combat, and unshakable convictions. Most importantly of all, they wielded something no one else could ever hope to attain—a Gifted Aura.
If a duel between Soul Knights was a direct clash of two opposing convictions, then a Gifted Knight's aura was the power to expand the scope of their conviction to encompass the battlefield itself. This put ordinary Knights at a severe disadvantage, for even without engaging the Gifted Knight in direct combat, they would be forced to contend with their conviction the moment they stepped within the aura's range. Thus, the gap between Gifted Knights and Soul Knights was vast indeed.
So even though she was surrounded, Sidvi did not panic. Four Knights were a rare sight, to be sure—but she was confident that once she unleashed her Gifted Aura, she would still have a fighting chance. What's more, Sidvi's conviction was not one of "fighting to the death," so she had no qualms about retreating temporarily if the tide turned against her.
Still… could these people really be nothing more than ordinary Knights?
Sidvi hesitated. To the untrained eye, the difference between a Knight and a High Swordsman was all but indistinguishable. High Swordsmen were marked by their ability to project sword qi from their blades—a clear telltale sign of their rank. But the mark of a Knight was far more subtle. Unless they engaged in combat and unleashed their conviction-fueled swordsmanship, it was nearly impossible to confirm their status as a Knight. At least, that was true for ordinary people. For Knights of the same class, however, the strength of another's conviction was palpable, woven as it was into their soul power. It was for this reason that Sidvi could sense the formidable fusion of conviction and soul power emanating from the four figures before her—the unmistakable hallmark of Knights.
But Soul Knights this young? Sidvi had never seen the like. She suspected they might be Gifted Knights like herself, yet that seemed impossible. The Four Apocalypse Knights were no fools. If Westerland truly possessed four Gifted Knights, they would have no reason to fear going to war with her faction. So why would the Westerland Emperor have agreed to Lady Lindilot's demands?
"No need to be so tense, Miss Sidvi," Black said, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere. He waved a hand at her with a smile.
"I'm here to propose a deal."
"I have no interest in any deals with you people!"
At that instant, Sidvi moved.
A brilliant blue aura erupted from beneath her feet, spreading outward in all directions. As the aura expanded, the very air around them shifted, growing heavy with an indescribable pressure.
Sidvi lifted her foot, intending to retreat once more—but this time, her foot moved only half a step before freezing in place, held back by an invisible force. For the first time, a flicker of unease crossed her face.
Red, white, and black.
Three auras slammed into the edge of the blue aura, grinding to a halt its relentless expansion. The three figures standing opposite her remained completely expressionless: the crimson-haired young woman was as calm and composed as ever, while the twin sisters' grins never wavered. As for Black, though no aura emanated from his body, Sidvi could feel that her Gifted Aura had slammed into an impenetrable wall the moment it reached him, unable to advance even an inch further.
They really are Gifted Knights!
Sidvi gritted her teeth. A sharp *shing* rang out as the four swords on her back were simultaneously drawn.
The blades were unsheathed and ready to strike.
"Let's not be hasty, Miss Sidvi," Black said, his tone as leisurely as ever.
"You'd do well to hear me out before making your decision. This is a deal you won't want to regret."
Sidvi's expression remained unchanged, but her breathing grew slightly ragged. She hesitated for a moment, then with another *shing*, the four drawn swords on her back slid back into their sheaths, returning to their original positions. Only then did she slowly turn around, her blindfolded face facing Black.
"Speak, then. What is this deal of yours?"
"It's simple," Black replied, snapping his fingers with a smile. He shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm going to give you a chance to annihilate every last defender of the Crimson Fortress in one fell swoop. Tell me—does that pique your interest?"