A flash of white light burst forth, stunning both sides of the clash.
In truth, these black-armored cavalrymen were soldiers of the Sith Empire, part of the frontline division—a scouting unit. They were not directly under the command of the Four Scourges of the Sith. While the Four Scourges held the lion's share of the empire's military might, they could not possibly monopolize every last soldier. Thus, before the full-scale war erupted, the Sith Empire would dispatch non-affiliated troops to conduct preliminary reconnaissance and skirmishes—a disguised form of military training. Such small-scale engagements would never be glorified by either side; regardless of victory or defeat, they would be recorded as nothing more than minor border skirmishes, never escalating into all-out war. Moreover, with the Sith Empire's current momentum, the Kingdom of Wester dared not make a fuss over such trivialities—granting the Sith the perfect opportunity to act.
These black-armored knights had been sent on this very mission. They had thoroughly studied the terrain and identified the weak points in the right flank's defenses, which was why they had chosen to strike here. This approach would avoid alerting the fortress garrison while allowing them to test the enemy's strength. With both sides well aware that a great war loomed, vigilance was at an all-time high, making these preliminary probes the ideal way to gauge the adversary's threat level. Even though Gifted Knights were supposedly invincible, it never hurt to exercise caution.
Initially, the black-armored cavalry's advance had gone off without a hitch. Their observations had revealed that the right flank lacked fixed sentry posts, guarded only by mobile patrols. This had inflated their confidence considerably—fixed sentries would have posed a much greater hassle, but mobile patrols meant they held the advantage in speed. With a bit of luck, a single charge might be enough to wipe out their prey entirely.
That had been their original plan. But the black-armored cavalry had not anticipated that the moment they revealed themselves, the patrolling soldiers would immediately fall back, even sending out an alarm signal without hesitation. Cowards! Witnessing this display only emboldened the cavalry further. They urged their horses forward, charging straight at the retreating patrols with a single goal: to annihilate these weaklings and escape as quickly as possible.
But then, a streak of white light flashed across their path, blocking their advance dead in its tracks.
It was a girl.
The black-armored cavalrymen stared, wide-eyed in shock, at the figure before them. She sat astride a pure-white unicorn, turning sideways to bar their way, a sweet, innocent smile playing on her lips. One hand held the reins, while the other lifted an elegant parasol by her side.
Who was this girl?
The cavalrymen were filled with confusion, but their momentum was too great to halt. In the blink of an eye, the lead rider was upon her, his massive, heavy lance raised and thrusting straight toward her chest.
Yet, faced with the incoming lance, Messiah's expression never wavered. Her smile remained intact as she twirled her parasol, the tip meeting the lance's point with pinpoint precision. The movement was as graceful and ethereal as a dance, seemingly lacking any force whatsoever. To anyone watching, it would have looked like a feeble, futile gesture—one that could never hope to stop the onrushing charge.
But the reality was the exact opposite.
The instant the parasol made contact with the lance's tip, the black-armored rider's body jolted violently. His horse let out a piercing neigh, rearing back on its hind legs. Almost simultaneously, the supposedly indestructible lance seemed to crumple under the grip of an invisible giant, twisting and warping with a shrill, ear-splitting screech of metal. Then, the horse and rider were thrown backward, forced to take three staggering steps. The horse's hind hooves gouged deep furrows into the ground, but they could not withstand the terrifying force. Like leaves caught in a hurricane, both were sent flying violently backward.
The entire sequence unfolded in mere seconds, too fast for most to comprehend. Many of the cavalrymen only felt a sudden gust of wind rushing past them, followed by a powerful impact slamming into their bodies. In the next moment, gravity seemed to abandon them, and their consciousness faded into darkness.
With a single strike, the enemy's charge formation was shattered completely. The unfortunate black-armored rider who had clashed with Messiah and his horse tumbled over ten meters before finally coming to a halt. Along the way, he collided with six or seven other riders, who were caught off guard and sent tumbling to the ground, horse and all. This triggered a domino effect, causing the surrounding cavalry to be thrown into disarray as well.
For the retreating patrol soldiers watching from behind Messiah, the sight left them utterly dumbfounded.
Though they were not regular army troops, these elite retainers had plenty of experience fighting against cavalry. In their eyes, the black-armored cavalry's formation had been flawless, their charge speed unparalleled. Once they broke through, there would be no hope of survival. What made matters worse was that the right flank fortress stood at the bottom of a slope, which only amplified the momentum of the enemy's charge. That was why, the moment they spotted the black-armored cavalry, the retainers had immediately retreated. They knew full well that if the enemy broke through their lines, they would stand no chance of holding them back—not even if they had a cavalry unit of their own to counter them.
But now, the soldiers could not utter a single word.
Because they had watched, in stunned silence, as that small, white-clad figure had stood alone against the enemy's charge. The terrifying onslaught had crumbled the moment it made contact with the girl, like a steel fist turning to rotting wood. The once-precise, impenetrable formation had dissolved into chaos in the blink of an eye.
After suffering such a devastating blow, the black-armored cavalry had no desire to continue their charge. Their speed had been too great; by the time Messiah had appeared, they had been unable to stop, leading to their catastrophic losses. If they pressed forward now, they risked being countercharged from behind—a costly mistake they could not afford to make. Furthermore, the girl had already demonstrated power that could not be ignored.
But this was only the beginning.
Just as the black-armored cavalrymen were dispersing, wheeling around to face the girl head-on, a cold, dark wind swept in from their flank.
In the next instant, Semia and her Nightmare materialized beside them.
Unlike her sister, Semia's smile was not innocent or sweet. Instead, a soft yet menacing grin played on her face—a grin that bore a striking resemblance to Blake's.
"Winds that howl in the darkness, heed my command! Sweep away my enemies!"
Semia raised her black parasol to the side. At her call, the surrounding air suddenly contracted, then began to swirl violently, sucked into the parasol with a deafening whoosh. Semia let out a soft chuckle, then thrust the parasol forward with all her strength.
A gale erupted.
The unleashed pressure wave exploded across the ground, sending dozens of black-armored cavalrymen flying in all directions. If they had been facing the gale head-on, the damage might have been less severe. But just moments earlier, all the black-armored cavalry had been focused on Messiah, turning in unison to face her. In doing so, they had exposed their flanks completely. And that was why the gale proved to be so devastatingly effective.
But Semia was far from satisfied with this outcome. Following closely on the heels of the gale, a beam of pitch-black energy shot forward, roaring toward its targets.
For the black-armored cavalrymen, this was their worst nightmare come to life. Many of them had been thrown to the ground by the gale, and before they could even scramble back to their feet, they were hit by the second wave of attack. The power of a sword energy strike from a Gifted Knight was not to be underestimated. Countless soldiers were sent flying once more before crashing heavily to the ground. This time, their breathing was shallow and labored—they were clearly beyond saving.
"By the Holy Light…"
Witnessing this terrifying scene, the black-armored cavalrymen felt their scalps go numb. Messiah's display had already left them in shock, but this dark-haired girl's power was on an entirely different level. Advanced magic, sword energy projection—was she a magic swordsman? But there were barely a handful of people on the entire continent who had mastered both magic and swordsmanship to such a high degree. Even the Gifted Knights of their empire only specialized in knightly combat techniques; none of them could wield magic!
Could it be that…
The surviving black-armored cavalrymen glanced involuntarily at Messiah, their faces turning ashen.
As if answering their unspoken fears, the white-haired girl had already finished casting her spell. She drove the tip of her white parasol into the ground, and the earth immediately began to tremble. Dozens of stone barriers erupted from the ground, completely blocking off the entire slope. This spell had no offensive power, but her intent was crystal clear—with these barriers in place, the black-armored cavalry would have no way to retreat quickly back to their territory. Trying to ride their horses up the slope in the opposite direction while navigating these obstacles was an almost impossible task.
"—!!!"
Just as the black-armored cavalrymen stood frozen, unsure of what to do next, a deep, resonant horn blast pierced the air, pushing their nerves to the breaking point.
It was a charge horn!
"For the glory of Wester!!"
Old Tyr led the charge, his sword held high, as he led his men straight toward the enemy. His speed was much slower than that of the two girls, but he had chosen the perfect moment to strike.
"Retreat!! Retreat at once!!"
Though Old Tyr's cavalry unit numbered only twenty men, and the black-armored cavalry still had at least a hundred survivors despite the twins' attack, they had no will to fight left in them. By the Holy Light—these two were both advanced mages and advanced swordsmen! Even if they had a high-ranking expert of their own, they would never be able to take on two magic swordsmen at once! Could this be the true strength of the Kingdom of Wester?
At their captain's command, the black-armored cavalrymen began to retreat in disarray. They did not attempt to charge back up the slope immediately; instead, they rode diagonally down the hillside. These cavalrymen had studied the terrain as well. With Messiah blocking the upper path, Semia guarding the right flank, and Wester's noble retainers charging toward them from below, a direct retreat was impossible due to the magical barriers. Their only option was to flee to the left, and then regroup once they had shaken off these troublesome foes.
To their credit, the black-armored cavalry's response was swift and sensible. But they had still underestimated their enemy's power.
As the black-armored cavalry fled, Messiah said nothing. Instead, she gently patted the neck of her white unicorn. At her command, the unicorn shook its head, then raised it high and let out a clear, melodious neigh.
The mount chosen by a Gifted Knight was never just a means of transportation. In truth, each one possessed unique abilities of its own. And as the white unicorn's neigh echoed across the battlefield, the once-barren, desolate ground suddenly burst forth with life. A sea of green spread rapidly across the slope, followed by long, thick vines bursting from the earth, coiling tightly around the black-armored cavalry's horses and blocking their escape route.
"What the hell is this thing?!!"
Faced with this unexpected obstacle, the black-armored cavalrymen finally lost their composure completely. They drew their swords, hacking frantically at the vines entangling their horses. Some even abandoned their mounts entirely, attempting to flee on foot—but the moment their feet touched the ground, the vines wrapped around their legs, snuffing out their last hope of resistance.
But their suffering was far from over.
As the saying goes: misfortunes never come singly.
Just as the vines erupted from the ground, trapping the black-armored cavalry, Semia was ready to strike. She leaned forward, assuming a charging stance. Then, her pitch-black Nightmare shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, hurtling toward the hapless prey.
But this time, Semia was not acting alone. The moment she launched her charge, her figure split into two identical forms. Then, those two forms split again—two became four, four became eight—until dozens of identical black-clad figures materialized out of thin air. With overwhelming momentum, they crashed into the ranks of the Sith cavalry.
"Aaaaah!!"
Blood splattered across the battlefield as screams rang out in endless waves. Dozens of cavalrymen found themselves with gaping holes torn through their bodies. They screamed, groaned, and cried out in terror, then collapsed to the ground, their bodies going limp as their lives faded away—filled with unfulfilled ambitions and a desperate longing to survive.
With that, the outcome of the battle was decided beyond all doubt.
Old Tyr stared at the bodies littering the ground, his expression a complex mix of emotions. In truth, by the time he and his men arrived, the battle was already all but over. Especially after Semia's bizarre charge, sixty or seventy of the black-armored cavalrymen had been killed outright, and the remaining survivors were completely demoralized. The only thing Old Tyr could do was lead his cavalry to round up the survivors, executing any who refused to surrender. He had not witnessed the twins' entire battle, but the carnage left behind was more than enough to paint a vivid picture of what had transpired. Only now did Old Tyr realize that he, not the young lord, had been wrong all along.
"Don't worry. They'll be fine."
He had thought those words were just empty reassurance at the time, but now he realized that the young lord had been telling the truth. Two girls alone had completely annihilated over a hundred fully armed cavalrymen. While the individual strength of these cavalrymen might not have been particularly high, cavalry warfare was never about individual prowess—or at least, it never had been until now. Judging by the twins' performance, perhaps the enemy's strength simply paled in comparison to theirs.
"Ladies, what should we do next?"
After dealing with the prisoners, Tyr approached the twins immediately. The two girls had already returned to their usual playful selves, chatting and laughing merrily—completely oblivious to the fact that they were standing in the middle of a battlefield strewn with corpses. But Old Tyr no longer saw them as mere children. Not only did they possess incredible power, but they also maintained a calm, collected demeanor in battle. Old Tyr could not fathom how two girls so young could possess such a mindset. How could they remain so carefree and lighthearted amidst all this death and destruction? Just who were they, exactly? He had no answers to these questions, but his attitude toward them was now filled with deep respect.
But faced with Tyr's question, Messiah and Semia clearly had not given it much thought.
"Ask Brother."
"Daddy's in charge."
"Keep the useful ones."
"Kill the useless ones."
The two girls spoke in turn, then exchanged a glance and burst into a peal of silver, carefree laughter.
Hearing their answer, Old Tyr wiped the sweat from his forehead and promptly took his leave.
By the Holy Light, he thought to himself. It seems the gap between us is not just in strength…