Given the limited space within the fortress and his lack of confidence in the noble coalition forces, Celt had stationed all the arriving nobles in the rear area. His intention couldn't have been clearer—frontline combat was none of their business; they'd better stay put in the back and handle menial tasks. Moreover, Celt had an ulterior motive in this arrangement: nobles were far less disciplined than soldiers, and deep-seated conflicts simmered between different factions and clans. Let them squabble among themselves outside the fortress walls—he had no desire to let their petty disputes drag down the troops who were actually prepared to fight a war.
As Celt had predicted, the moment the noble coalition arrived, they quickly and tacitly split into three distinct groups, each occupying a section of the fortress rear. This division was, of course, dictated by the nobles' respective power bases, strategic goals, and rivalries. Notably, none of the nobles requested the fortress garrison's assistance to maintain order in their quarters—and Celt was more than happy to ignore their internal affairs entirely.
Now, this very arrangement presented Judy and her companions with a crystal-clear target and a golden opportunity to launch an attack without any worries of collateral damage.
The moment over a dozen colossal dragons appeared in the sky, the noble coalition in the rear was thrown into instant chaos. They stared up in stunned disbelief, utterly clueless about what was unfolding before their eyes. Many panicked, mistaking the dragons for an advance assault by the Sith Empire, and fled for their lives without a second thought. Those who managed to stay their ground braced themselves for imminent danger, with numerous nobles dispatching soldiers to set up defensive perimeters and diversionary tactics, ready to retreat at the first sign of trouble.
Setting aside the incompetent cowards who had already fled, many of the remaining nobles were consumed by confusion. Their observations revealed that the Crimson Fortress itself remained eerily calm—while soldiers manned the walls and watchtowers, they appeared merely tense, not engaged in active combat. What was going on here? If this were truly a Sith invasion, even if infantry stood no chance against dragons, the fortress's magical artillery and archers were hardly toothless! Yet, as over a dozen dragons descended upon them, there was no response from the fortress garrison whatsoever. How could this be?
Thus, the vast majority of nobles reached the same unanimous decision: wait and see what happened next.
Subsequently, they would find this decision both remarkably wise and staggeringly foolish.
While humans could run fast enough when fleeing for their lives, they were no match for flying dragons. In truth, most nobles didn't even have time to escape their residential areas before the massive, pitch-black shadows of the dragons loomed overhead, casting the entire region into darkness.
When they looked up, they froze in shock.
At that moment, the dragons had completely surrounded the camp flying the flag of the Mobius family.
Arrogance was the defining trait of the Mobius clan, and their followers were equally conceited. When the noble coalition arrived at the Crimson Fortress, each faction had its own ulterior motives, yet they still maintained a veneer of civility expected of nobles. After all, war was no game—sometimes, swallowing one's pride to cooperate was a necessary evil, and there might even be opportunities to exploit or ally with one another. As such, when setting up their camps, most nobles instinctively positioned themselves relatively close to one another, to ensure mutual support in times of need. This was not a noble civil war, after all—it was a united front against a common enemy.
The Mobius family, however, was an exception. Not only did they completely distance themselves from the other two factions, but they also left a wide, empty buffer zone between their camp and the others—a blatant display of their utter disdain for the rest of the nobles. This arrogance infuriated the other noble houses, yet they were powerless to do anything about it. In an era where the number of knights on the continent was dwindling, mages had emerged as the new dominant force. And the Mobius family was responsible for training the royal court mages of Wester—their power and influence were unmatched by any other noble house. So despite their simmering resentment, the other nobles had no choice but to swallow their pride and endure it.
Now, this very arrogance had become the Mobius family's greatest undoing. Their camp's isolation from the others made it the easiest target for the dragons to encircle. The nobles who had originally set up camp relatively close to the Mobius territory reacted swiftly, turning tail and fleeing immediately. Though they had no idea what was happening, it was crystal clear that the dragons were targeting the Mobius family and no one else!
For a moment, the other nobles breathed a collective sigh of relief—but a new wave of confusion quickly washed over them.
What possible connection could these dragons have to the Mobius family?
At that very moment, utter pandemonium reigned within the Mobius camp. When the dragons first appeared in the sky, the Mobius family members paid them little heed. While they had never laid eyes on a real dragon before, as a magic-centric clan, they were no strangers to magical beasts. Moreover, their camp was filled with powerful mages—surely, they had nothing to fear from a mere handful of dragons. They even deluded themselves into thinking that if the dragons dared to attack, they would easily defeat them! After all, they were not some lowly minor noble house—they were the great and proud Mobius family, renowned throughout the land for their mastery of magic! Furthermore, many of the mages in the camp had studied the family's ancient records on dragons, and they believed they knew every single one of the creatures' weaknesses like the back of their hands. Thus, far from feeling threatened by the dragons' arrival, they rubbed their hands together eagerly, eager to prove their strength in battle.
But soon enough, reality would prove that reading ten thousand books was not equal to traveling ten thousand miles.
And that reading books without practical experience was worse than reading no books at all.
It was true—the Mobius family's ancient records contained detailed accounts of dragons, and the descriptions were not inaccurate. But there was a world of difference between theoretical knowledge and firsthand experience. While many of the mages knew that dragons possessed a power called *dragon's might*, the concept was so abstract that they could never have truly imagined its terrifying effects.
Now, they were about to learn that lesson the hard way.
When the overwhelming, suffocating pressure of over a dozen dragons' combined might descended upon them, the previously eager mages found themselves completely paralyzed. The only thing they could do was stand rooted to the spot, gasping for breath in terror. An all-encompassing dread clamped down on their throats like an invisible hand. Though some mages still desperately wanted to fight, though they tried to utter even a single incantation to activate their magical defenses, not a single sound escaped their lips—it was as if their voices had been stolen away entirely. Some of the weaker-willed among them rolled their eyes back and collapsed to the ground, fainting dead away on the spot. Others clutched their chests, their faces turning blue as they gasped for air, before keeling over and breathing their last.
Even the soldiers who had been fully prepared for battle were no match for the dragon's might. Their hands, which had been tightly gripping their weapons moments ago, now felt as if they were bound by heavy iron shackles, impossible to lift. Their tensed muscles were crushed under an invisible, overwhelming force, rendering them completely immobile.
In that moment, all traces of their former arrogance vanished without a trace. They stared at each other in panic and disorientation, their heads turning with immense difficulty as they searched for some sign of support or comfort. In their desperation, many of them thought of their master—Lord Cherton. Where was Lord Cherton?
When they instinctively turned their gaze toward the direction Cherton had departed earlier, their hearts sank like stones.
Because the dragons were flying directly from that very direction.
What did this mean?
No one dared to think about it. They had lived lives of privilege and ease for far too long; they had known nothing but success for so many years that they had almost forgotten that the world did not always bend to their will.
But they wouldn't have to wonder for long. Because at that moment, a dark figure plummeted from the sky, providing them with all the answers they needed.
**BOOM!!!**
Dust and debris exploded into the air.
Everyone stared at the falling figure in unison—and their eyes widened in horror. Because the shadow that had crashed into the ground with such force was none other than their previously arrogant master, Cherton.
The man lying on the ground was unrecognizable. He lay sprawled like a broken marionette, his limbs twisted and mangled from the impact. His face was a grotesque, bloody mess—his skin was torn to shreds, revealing the glistening white bones beneath, and his mouth and jaw were completely gone. Viscous fluids oozed from the gaping wound, mixing with blood and other unidentifiable substances to create a sickening, nauseating sight.
If the Mobius family members had been merely worried before, they were now frozen in a state of shock-induced numbness. By the Holy Light—was that Lord Cherton? Had he been killed? A member of the illustrious Mobius family, slain by someone?
Their minds turned to complete chaos, unable to process the horrific reality unfolding before their eyes. But it was clear that their enemies had no intention of giving them any time to recover from their shock.
Looking down at the doomed Mobius camp, Judy merely drew her longsword and slashed it downward in a cold, decisive motion.
And then, everyone watched in terror as the dragons soaring overhead threw back their massive heads, taking a deep, thunderous breath.
In the very next instant, an apocalyptic wave of dragonfire erupted from their jaws, swallowing the entire camp in an inferno of unstoppable destruction.
"…Is this what you meant by 'noble business'?"
Staring out the window at the distant glow of elemental flames on the horizon, Celt was at a loss for words.
"This has nothing to do with you, General," Blake replied, his demeanor the picture of casual ease. He poured a splash of milk into his teacup and picked up a honey bread roll from the side table.
"I already told you—this is a private matter between nobles. As a soldier… you have no need to involve yourself."
"Do you have any idea what position the Mobius family holds in the kingdom?" Celt turned around, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
"What you've done—how is this any different from a de facto declaration of war against the royal family?"
"The difference is that I have not declared war," Blake looked up, the corners of his mouth quirking into a faint, mocking smile.
"Besides, if the royal family has any sense at all, they won't dare declare war on me. Don't you agree?"
It was a blatant, unapologetic display of contempt—but Celt knew that Blake had every right to be arrogant.
Currently, the Wester Kingdom's three great legions had originally been knightly orders. Once upon a time, these orders had been filled with true knights. But now, not a single knight remained in their ranks. As a result, their official titles were rarely used anymore. When people spoke of the three great knightly orders now, they referred to them simply as legions. After all, there were no knights left in those orders—the highest-ranking commanders were merely high-level swordsmen.
This was not a problem unique to the Wester Kingdom. In fact, many nations across the continent faced the same predicament. Especially the ancient kingdoms with long histories—they still retained the names and structures of knightly orders, but no knights remained to fill their ranks. Thus, these countries' knightly orders generally referred to themselves as legions when interacting with foreign powers, and their flags bore the swallowtail banner of apprentice knights, rather than the square banner of fully-fledged knights (when an apprentice knight was officially knighted, the two tail ends of their banner were cut off to signify their maturity. Only Gifted Knights were entitled to raise the triangular banner, the highest honor of knighthood). As such, these nations were in an awkward position when it came to their knightly orders. But since all of them were in the same boat, no one mocked or ridiculed the others for it. Nevertheless, every country harbored the desire to regain true knights and "restore the honor" of their knightly orders. After all, clinging to the title of a knightly order without possessing the power to back it up was nothing more than self-deception. On the entire continent, the only organization that still had the right to call itself a true knightly order was the Holy Light Knights of the Holy Light Church.
It was precisely because of this that Blake had absolutely no fear of any military threat the royal family might attempt to pose. What could they possibly do? With the Sith Empire's imminent invasion looming overhead, if the Wester royal family was foolish enough to antagonize Blake over this incident, it would be tantamount to digging their own graves. After all, Blake's power, along with that of Messiah and Semia, was already widely known (though the full extent of their abilities was still underestimated). Moreover, after this operation, news of Blake commanding over a dozen dragon knights would spread like wildfire across the continent. At that point, if the Wester royal family dared to move against Blake, they would have to face not only the assault of the Sith Empire's Gifted Knights but also the retaliation of Blake and his dozen-strong contingent of knights.
For the Wester Kingdom, this would be nothing short of suicide. Thus, Celt was certain that even if the royal family wanted to take revenge on Blake, they would never dare to do so now.
This, he suspected, was the source of the young man's unshakable confidence.
Celt was truly at a loss for words. He wanted to tell Blake that he was far too arrogant, far too reckless and overconfident. After all, even if the royal family didn't move against him now, they would certainly seek retribution in the future—was it really worth making such powerful enemies? But upon further reflection, he had to admit that whether now or in the foreseeable future, it would be extremely difficult for the royal family to touch Blake.
The reason was simple: the Sith Empire's impending invasion.
This upcoming battle would be an arduous one, and the power of the Gifted Knights was truly formidable. Celt had heard whispers of the vast gulf between ordinary knights and Gifted Knights, and he was not at all certain that Blake would be able to hold the line against the Sith Empire's assault. But this presented the royal family with a dilemma—if Blake succeeded in repelling the Sith invasion, the royal family would be even more afraid to move against him. If he failed, the royal family would be too busy fighting for their own survival to spare any thought for Blake. When viewed from this perspective, it seemed that Blake would face no obstacles or troubles whatsoever.
Furthermore, Celt prided himself on having gained a certain understanding of Blake during their interactions. Though the young man was incredibly powerful, he was still a nobleman, not a soldier. He lacked the soldier's unwavering loyalty—the willingness to fight to the death and carry out even the most irrational orders without question. Thus, the chances of the royal family successfully eliminating him through underhanded schemes were even slimmer. Coupled with the young man's own unfathomable strength…
With that thought, Celt let out a long, weary sigh. For the first time, he finally understood the true meaning behind Grand Mage Laribo's words.
The inky blackness of night swallowed the blood-red hues of the sunset, becoming the dominant color of the sky. After the chaos of the afternoon, the Crimson Fortress fell into an eerie silence that night. Though the soldiers still patrolled the walls and relieved their posts according to schedule, many of them could sense that something was slowly changing.
By the time Blake returned to his quarters, it was already late at night.
*Sigh…*
Pushing open the door, the relaxed smile on Blake's face vanished instantly. He let out a helpless sigh and removed his outer coat. At that moment, a pair of slender arms reached out from beside him, taking the coat from his hands.
"You've worked hard, Master," Charlotte stood quietly beside him, a gentle smile on her face—but her eyes were filled with faint traces of unease and guilt.
"We are truly sorry, Master. Our reckless actions have brought you nothing but trouble."
"There's no need to worry about that," Blake smiled, reaching out to brush a hand through Charlotte's hair.
"This is something you had to do. Besides, I already made a contract with you all a long time ago. This is my responsibility, my duty. So you have nothing to apologize for. Moreover…"
Blake paused for a moment.
"You had no other choice, did you?"
Charlotte did not answer immediately, merely nodding silently. Then, she lifted her head to meet Blake's gaze.
"Of course I understand what you mean, Master."
"Hm?"
"But we have nonetheless caused you great trouble and disrupted your plans… True, this is part of our contract, but we must take responsibility for our actions."
As she spoke, the young woman raised a hand to her chest, reaching down to untie the ribbon at her collar.
Then, she looked up at Blake, a faint flush spreading across her pale, jade-like cheeks.
"Then, as your loyal servant, I believe it is only right that I receive my punishment… So, Master… may I ask you to punish me?"