This was a battle of utterly lopsided strength.
Staring at the mangled corpses of the mages on the ground, Cherton's heart felt like it was bleeding. He gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter, consumed by a rage that made him want to tear the enemy to pieces. Not only had these wretches dared to launch a brazen attack on the Mobius family's high-tier mages, but they had also had the audacity to strike at *him*—a noble lord! These lowborn upstarts didn't even hold a proper title, yet they had the gall to attack a viscount of the realm! They were beyond arrogant—they were suicidal!
"You damned bastards…!!"
Cherton lifted his head, his gaze blazing with hatred as he glared at Blake in the distance, mentally rehearsing the scathing rebuke he would hurl at these insolent peasants who dared to defy their betters. But in the very next instant, he felt a gust of fragrant wind brush past his side.
Screams erupted.
When splatters of blood sprayed across his face, Cherton finally registered that something terrible was happening around him. He spun around, his eyes widening in horror. The guards who had been flanking him, tasked with his protection, were now flying backward, crashing heavily to the ground. Every single one of them had been sliced open from forehead to abdomen, a clean, precise gash splitting their bodies apart. Their internal organs spilled out from the gaping wounds, no longer held in place by flesh and muscle. The spots where they had stood were now occupied by more than a dozen young women clad in silver armor. They stood in near-identical poses, their longswords held high and pointed forward, their bodies and blades wreathed in crackling energy—thunder, flame, ice, and other elemental forces swirling around them in a dazzling display.
For a moment, everyone was frozen in stunned silence.
The guards who had accompanied Cherton were no slouches—they possessed respectable strength and sharp eyes. At first, they had thought they were dealing with a bunch of reckless fools who had the misfortune to provoke the Mobius family's authority, and they had rubbed their hands together eagerly, eager to teach these intruders a lesson they would never forget. But the moment they laid eyes on the red dragon soaring overhead and the red-haired girl commanding it, all thoughts of combat vanished from their minds. A single knight was already a formidable foe—*a dragon knight* was beyond their wildest nightmares. From the moment they saw Judy, these soldiers had lost all will to fight. The only reason they hadn't turned and fled immediately was that they simply couldn't believe the enemy would dare to openly tear up the peace with the Mobius family. They knew they would lose face, of course—but the Mobius family was one of the most powerful houses in the Kingdom of Wester. No matter how strong these intruders were, they couldn't possibly be foolish enough to declare war, could they?
But the scene unfolding before their eyes left them utterly speechless, their blood running cold.
They had never imagined that the enemy would actually dare to attack them. And they had never dreamed that the red-haired girl was not the only knight in their ranks. It was plain to see from the elemental energy coiling around the silver-armored swordswomen that *every single one of them* possessed knight-level strength.
By the Holy Light… just who *were* these people? Not even the kingdom's three great knightly orders could boast such power!
Gazing at the bodies of their fallen comrades on the ground, the remaining guards swallowed hard, exchanging uneasy glances before taking a few steps back. Given the current situation, their options were rapidly dwindling to zero.
"Roar—!!"
A low growl from behind them stopped the soldiers from retreating further. They turned around, their faces draining of all color. The red dragon that had vanished without a trace earlier had reappeared. It lowered its massive head, its golden eyes narrowing into slits as it fixed them with an unmistakably hostile glare, roaring flames spilling from its jaws and sending waves of searing heat rolling across the ground.
By the Holy Light…
In that instant, everyone understood the enemy's intentions loud and clear: this was a massacre—no survivors!
Panic swept through the ranks as the soldiers' minds reeled. They had no idea who these people were. When had the Mobius family made such terrifying enemies?
But they didn't have time to ponder the question. For at that moment, Death had raised his scythe.
Against true knights, these soldiers stood no chance at all. In fact, Judy and the others didn't even need to resort to sword techniques or elemental powers. Their actions were brutally simple: raise the sword, step forward, and strike downward.
No weapon could withstand their blades—they shattered on contact. No armor could protect their wearers—it was sliced through like paper. Turning to flee was useless—they could never outrun the blinding speed of those flashing swords.
Screams of agony filled the air, echoing endlessly.
Cherton stood rooted to the spot, but unlike his men, his heart was not filled with fear or surprise—it was filled with *unbridled rage*. Even now, he refused to believe that the enemy would dare to lay a hand on him. The reason was simple: he was a viscount, and the man standing opposite him was nothing but a backwoods noble with no official title. He would *never*—could *never*—dare to harm him!
"You damned peasant! This is a declaration of war against the Mobius family!"
Cherton raised his right hand, pointing an accusing finger at Blake.
"I swear on my family's honor that I will hunt down you and your lowly kin—"
He never got to finish his threat. For at that moment, a ghostly black figure had materialized beside him.
Charlotte let out a cold snort, her elbow slamming into Cherton's abdomen with devastating force. The blow knocked the wind out of him, and he doubled over with a grunt, clutching his stomach in agony. Charlotte, meanwhile, stepped back half a pace with the grace of a swan, spun on her heel, and lashed out with her right leg, her foot striking Cherton's head with a sickening thud. The unsuspecting noble never saw it coming. He let out a final gasp before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.
"My lord… what in the world is happening?"
Watching the carnage unfold before her, Ophelia could scarcely believe her eyes. She thought she had seen Judy and the others fight many times before, but never had she witnessed anything so *shocking*. It wasn't just the sheer violence of the one-sided slaughter—it was the cold, dark malice that seemed to emanate from Judy and the others, a malevolence that came straight from the depths of their souls. Ophelia could sense it acutely, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She looked up at Blake anxiously, hoping he would give her some answers. After all, Judy and the others were acting far too strangely for comfort.
"This is an oath," Blake sighed again, lowering his head to explain to Ophelia. "It is also part of the contract I made with them."
"I don't understand…" Ophelia frowned, still confused. But Blake continued his explanation.
"I think you already know something of Charlotte and the others' past… They once lived happy lives, filled with hope and promise. But all of that was taken away from them. Their souls were ensnared by dark magic, trapped in a limbo from which they could never find peace. Then I came to them, forged a contract with them, and helped them break free from the curse—helping them reclaim their emotions and their sanity."
Blake paused, and Ophelia fell silent, listening intently. She had indeed heard fragments of Judy and the others' story, and she waited patiently for him to continue.
"But you must understand—contracts are two-way. They have given me their unwavering trust and loyalty, and in return, I must give them something of equal value. When I forged the contract with them, I promised to fulfill two conditions. The first condition is that no matter how the tides of fate may turn, we will never ally ourselves with the Holy Light Church."
Ophelia's eyes widened in surprise. She immediately thought back to the events in the Twilight Forest, when Blake and Charlotte had displayed such open hostility toward the church. She had assumed it was simply because they feared the church would come after them for their powers, but she had never realized there was a deeper reason behind it.
"Of course, this is not the most important condition. Frankly, the Holy Light Church and I have never seen eye to eye—our ideals are too different, and we walk different paths. The second condition, however, is the most crucial one of all."
Blake paused for a moment, his expression growing somber.
"I think you saw that rune earlier… In truth, that rune is the mark of a necromancer. The second condition I swore to uphold is this: no matter when, no matter where, if we encounter anyone or anything connected to that cursed rune, we must eliminate them without hesitation. Even if the rune is held by the king himself, in the very halls of the royal palace, we will strike without mercy, leaving no survivors. Even if an entire nation bears that mark, we will raze it to the ground. This is the oath I swore to them. They will not allow anything linked to that rune to exist in this world. This is not blind rigidity or stubbornness—it is hatred that can never be erased."
"This…" Ophelia was left utterly speechless, her mind reeling. "This oath is too…"
"Too unreasonable? Too tyrannical? Too selfish? Too reckless and irrational?" Blake smiled bitterly, reading her thoughts perfectly. In truth, he had never intended to reveal the full extent of his forces so soon. After all, in the Kingdom of Wester, speculation about his power was limited to himself and the twin sisters—and even those assessments were woefully inaccurate. If he had his way, he would have continued to hide his strength, biding his time until the perfect moment to deliver a fatal blow.
But now, that plan was in tatters.
"I understand what you're thinking, Lady Ophelia. I know you believe this oath is not only unreasonable but also incredibly dangerous. But… it is necessary."
Blake lowered his head, reaching out to brush a hand through Messiah's silky hair as she stood beside him.
"You don't understand them, Lady Ophelia. Once, Charlotte and the others were kind, courageous, and righteous women. They were never cruel or evil by nature. But when they were trapped in that dark realm of death, forced to kill each other just to earn the right to *die*… a darkness seeped into their souls, a stain that we can never wash away. It is only a small stain, perhaps—but it is a stain that will last for eternity."
"Is there no other way?" Ophelia's expression was filled with compassion. She fell silent for a moment, then asked in a quiet voice.
"All I can do is wait," Blake shrugged, then lifted his head, gazing into the distance. "They can only soothe that darkness in their hearts through this kind of bloodshed. Perhaps one day, that shadow within them will fade completely. For now, that is the only hope I have left… I will admit this—this unexpected turn of events has brought far greater risks and troubles to my plans than I ever anticipated. But I will never break the contract I made with them."
Blake's expression hardened, his eyes blazing with resolve.
"I am a knight. My word is my bond, and I never go back on my promises. I never have, and I never will. That is all there is to it. For I have the confidence—the strength—to deal with any trouble that may come as a result."
At that moment, Ophelia had no words left to say.
She had always thought of this lord as a glib, smooth-talking rogue—but now, she couldn't help but believe every word he said. He had made many promises over the years, and while some had seemed like deceptions at first glance, he had always kept them in the end. It was only now that Ophelia finally understood why this lord so rarely made definitive commitments, preferring instead to speak in vague, ambiguous terms that could be easily misunderstood.
Meanwhile, the slaughter on the other side had come to an end.
In his haste to leave, Cherton had only brought a hundred of his most trusted guards with him, rather than mobilizing the full might of the Mobius family's forces. He had been confident that this small contingent would be more than enough to quell any dissent. But now, his trusted men were utterly useless. Most of them had been cut down by Judy and the spectral warriors. Those who had tried to flee had been hunted down and devoured by the red dragon lying in wait—though Cherton's guards were skilled fighters, slaying a dragon was a task far beyond their capabilities.
Thus, after a brutal massacre that lasted little more than ten minutes, the only survivor was the hapless Cherton himself.
Blake watched as Judy dragged the unconscious noble forward by the scruff of his neck, stopping before him and bowing slightly in a knight's salute before casually tossing the pampered young master at his feet. It was clear that Charlotte had struck him with no small amount of hatred—even after being manhandled so roughly, Cherton remained blissfully unconscious.
"We don't have much time. Use whatever methods you need," Blake said, shrugging his shoulders as he noticed the spectral warriors' expectant gazes. His tone was casual, almost dismissive. At his words, Charlotte stepped forward half a pace. The cold, impassive expression that had clouded her face earlier was gone, replaced by her usual warm, friendly smile. It was clear that Blake's assessment of the spectral warriors was correct. They had merely been suppressing the darkness within their hearts—but that darkness had never truly vanished. If they couldn't vent their rage in this way, sooner or later, their sanity would be consumed by hatred once more, turning them back into monsters driven by nothing but bloodlust and vengeance.
Charlotte nodded politely at Blake and Ophelia before squatting down and pulling a small glass vial from her pocket—a sight that left Ophelia thoroughly astonished. She had long wondered how the head maid managed to carry so many strange trinkets in that form-fitting uniform of hers.
"Please step back, everyone. This is a little dangerous," Charlotte said, unscrewing the vial's cap and upending it, emptying its contents onto the ground.
When Ophelia saw what was inside, she let out a gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth in horror.
It was a bizarre, otherworldly creature.
It looked like a twisted, misshapen human hand—but instead of fingers, five or six slimy tentacles dangled limply from its palm, oozing a translucent, viscous mucus that dripped onto Cherton's face, glistening in the faint autumn sunlight.
The moment it touched the ground, the creature suddenly stirred to life. While it appeared slow and sluggish at first glance, its movements were actually lightning-fast. Its tentacles unfurled like blooming flowers, gently caressing the noble's face. Its touch was surprisingly soft, yet it moved with remarkable speed, quickly mapping out the contours of Cherton's features. It retracted three of its tentacles, then slid them down along his jawline, "stroking" his lips before forcing their way inside.
The creature's body arched upward, its tentacles working in unison to pry Cherton's mouth open wide. The unconscious man twitched in discomfort, his head thrashing from side to side as he tried to resist instinctively—but it was no use. The moment his mouth was forced open, the three tentacles embedded inside suddenly pulled backward, revealing sharp, barbed hooks that dug into the flesh of his cheeks, pinning his mouth open.
"Gah—!!"
The pain was excruciating. Cherton's body convulsed violently as he tried to thrash free, his hands twitching as he reached out to push the creature away. But his final struggle was cut short by Judy stepping forward, her boot slamming down on his wrist with a crisp, sickening crack. The bone shattered instantly, leaving his hand twisted and useless.
Meanwhile, the creature continued its grisly work. The soldiers watched in horrified silence as a slit suddenly opened up along the creature's underside, oozing more viscous fluid that dripped into Cherton's mouth.
Ophelia's face had turned deathly pale. She stared at the monster in terror, her hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Blake and the twin sisters, however, watched the scene with amused curiosity, as if they were observing nothing more exciting than a street performer's trick.
Soon, a soft, slender tube emerged from the slit in the creature's body, snaking its way down Cherton's throat. As the tube slid deeper inside him, Cherton's convulsions gradually slowed, then stopped entirely.
But the creature was not done. It slithered forward, pressing its body tightly against Cherton's mouth, as if the hapless viscount was engaged in a grotesque kiss with the alien monstrosity.
Satisfied, Charlotte nodded and gestured to Judy, who stepped back immediately. At that same moment, Cherton's body twitched once more—then he rose unsteadily to his feet.
He stood there motionless, his body limp and lifeless, his eyes wide open and rolled back in his head, looking more like a broken marionette than a living man.
But then, a deep, guttural voice emanated from the creature's body, resonating in the air like the rumble of distant thunder.
"Greetings, Master. What is it you wish to know?"