Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

Inside the manor’s reception hall, the atmosphere was completely different from usual.

Behind the mahogany table, Baron Fosling’s usual calm expression was gone, replaced by Dalko’s deeply furrowed brow.

The faint sounds of battle from the manor’s main gate drifted in through the window, mixed with the clamor of servants rushing to put out fires. These noises were like invisible hammers, pounding against the young noble’s taut nerves.

Finally, Dalko shot to his feet.

The flickering flames of the candelabra cast his anxious silhouette onto the oak floor, twisting and distorting as he paced back and forth.

On his third pass by the fireplace, he stopped abruptly, grabbed his sword, and strode toward the door.

"Master Dalko!"

Just as he pushed open the oak door, a firm, elderly voice stopped him in his tracks.

The old butler, Char, though his hair was silver, stood as straight and tall as the century-old pine in the courtyard.

The old man hurried forward, his gaze falling on the young man’s tight grip on his sword hilt. Worry creased his wrinkled face.

"Captain John is commanding the battle. You really must not..."

"Uncle Char."

Dalko cut the old butler off. His knuckles were white from his tight grip, the family crest on his scabbard digging a deep imprint into his palm.

"While our men are bleeding on the front lines, I refuse to hide in this hall like a coward!"

The old butler’s wizened hand hung in mid-air, his lips trembling.

"But..."

Dalko shook his head, his gaze traveling past Char. His voice dropped, tinged with self-deprecation.

"When my father was my age, he was already wielding his sword in the Border Legion, having personally slain countless invaders from the Alien Races..."

He slowly lowered his head, clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. His face flickered in and out of the candlelight.

But when he lifted his head again, the hesitation in his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a steely determination.

"I may never match my father, but at the very least... I cannot dishonor the Collins family!"

Before the words had faded, Dalko was already striding out the door, his boot heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

The old butler’s outstretched hand failed to stop him. He could only watch as the young man’s determined figure disappeared down the long corridor.

......

......

The giant’s thunderous collapse didn’t end the brutal battle. Instead, like a spark, it reignited the Guards’ nearly extinguished fighting spirit.

They stared at Roland, who was drenched in blood.

As they gazed at the figure standing atop the giant’s corpse, they began to beat their swords and blades together, the clang of metal and their cheers echoing across the battlefield.

"This fight is far from over!"

Roland shot up from his crouch, his powerful voice cutting through the din of the battlefield.

"Everyone! Execute Captain John’s previous orders immediately!"

"Understood!"

The response was startlingly uniform.

These battle-hardened veterans didn’t care in the slightest that the one giving orders was merely a Blacksmith Apprentice.

On the battlefield, titles and ranks are meaningless. Only strength commands true authority.

And Roland had proven everything with his sword.

As the Guards threw themselves back into the fray, Roland took in the acrid stench of blood hanging in the air and flicked the gore from his blade.

Perhaps it was due to the across-the-board increase in his Attributes, but the after-effects of using Flowing Slash were greatly diminished, while its power had grown significantly.

Therefore, even though he hadn’t activated his [Concentration] Trait, the power of the blow that felled the giant had already surpassed his peak strength from before he became a Warrior, even when he had [Concentration] active.

"Hoo..."

Roland let out a long breath. The feeling of exhaustion from using Flowing Slash had already mostly subsided in a matter of moments.

He scanned his surroundings, and his gaze finally fell upon the ruins of a collapsed wooden hut.

John was leaning against it, drenched in blood.

"Captain John!"

Roland rushed forward, his voice laced with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"COUGH COUGH... I’m not dead yet..."

John coughed violently, struggling to his feet while leaning on his Iron Sword.

Whether it was the shock of Roland’s stunning strike or the old veteran’s tenacious Life Energy at work, John, who had been on the brink of collapse, had somehow mostly recovered.

But his expression remained unsettled, a look of unconcealable shock still in his eyes.

"Roland, that move just now..."

As a veteran who had fought side-by-side with Fosling, he naturally recognized that technique.

The ancestral Combat Skill of the Collins family: [Flowing Slash].

However, the same Combat Skill could produce vastly different results depending on the wielder.

John clearly remembered that it had taken Fosling—then nearly thirty years old, with a decade of border skirmishes and a hundred life-or-death duels under his belt—to hone Flowing Slash to the level of power Roland had just displayed.

’But what about the boy in front of him?’

’He isn’t even eighteen.’

’When they’d fought the Mutant Dogman together, Roland’s strength had merely been on par with his own.’

’But now, only a few short months later, the young man had left him completely in the dust.’

’It was... simply unbelievable...’

Roland noticed the shock in John’s eyes, but with the battle still raging, he had no intention of explaining.

’In truth, there was no need to explain.’

’Baron Fosling himself had taught him Flowing Slash. As for his explosive growth in strength?’

’That could be attributed to talent and hard work.’

’The entire Manor Guard had seen him sweating buckets on the training grounds, day in and day out.’

"Captain John, the fight isn’t over,"

Roland said, bluntly cutting off the veteran who looked like he was about to speak again.

"R-Right... you’re right..."

John snapped back to his senses, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the battlefield.

The sight of the mob wielding farm tools made him falter.

"There are just too many of these... monsters. Even without any combat skill, their brute strength and numbers alone are..."

He broke off, turning to look toward the main house at the center of the manor, his jaw tight.

"Roland, we’ll cover you. Take Dalko and break through the siege! The Lord Baron’s party can’t be far. They’re heading east along the border of Chenxi Territory. If you ride hard..."

"No, Captain John..."

Roland walked over to an intact water barrel, carefully washed the blood from his hands, and said in a low voice,

"I was on the outer wall earlier. I think I spotted the commander of this army of monsters."

"A commander?"

John’s brow tightened.

"That’s right."

Roland nodded grimly, drying his hands on a relatively clean part of his shirt’s lining.

’Those frenzied peasants were slaughtering indiscriminately, friend and foe alike, like monsters. That giant, in particular, was completely beyond human.’

’And that black-robed figure standing unharmed among the mob had to be the mastermind behind this massacre.’

’If I can just take him out, this nightmare of a battle will be over.’

With that thought, Roland put two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle.

"FWEEET!"

The rapid drumming of hooves grew from a distant echo to a thundering presence, and a handsome, glossy-black steed burst through the swirling dust, pulling up smartly beside Roland.

"Roland, that’s too dangerous!"

Seeing the horse, John instantly understood Roland’s plan and tried to stop him.

"Don’t worry, Captain John."

Roland took a deep breath and waved a dismissive hand.

’After this bloody slaughter, he had a much clearer understanding of his own strength.’

’In his normal state, his physical power had already reached the limits of a mortal. He was a cut above the manor’s battle-hardened veterans and on par with Alien Demons like the Bloodscale Dogman and the Winged Dogman.’

’When he used Flowing Slash, he could even momentarily shatter the shackles of mortality.’

’And if he activated [Fermented Battle Intent], after a sustained fight with his Attributes stacking, he should be able to completely break through the mortal barrier and step into the Extraordinary Domain.’

’While this level of power was still a far cry from the legendary Extraordinary Realm where one could wield Divine Power, it was more than enough to deal with the rabble before him.’

’The peasants might be able to hold their own against the Guards, but to him, they were just cannon fodder who would break at the first strike.’

’Even the giant had just taken a little more effort, that was all.’

’Besides, with his current Traits and various Extra Benefits, he could escape unscathed even if he couldn’t win.’

’It was far better than waiting here to die.’

With that, Roland turned to a passing Guard.

"Could I borrow your Long Spear? After this..."

Before he could finish, the Guard respectfully handed him the Long Spear.

"Please, take it, Lord Roland!"

With that, the Guard drew his sword and hurried back to the front line.

’Lord... Roland?’

Hearing the sudden honorific, Roland raised an eyebrow. He tested the weight of the Long Spear in his hands, and just as he was about to activate [Rapid Charge] and spur his horse into a Charge, a sudden cheer erupted from the walls.

He looked up to see the mob, which had been pouring in like a tide just moments before, suddenly begin a rapid retreat. Within moments, they had vanished into the vast darkness.

"We’ve won!"

"We beat those monsters!"

"It’s all thanks to Roland!"

"That’s right! Thanks to Roland!"

Seeing the mob retreat, the surviving Guards erupted into fanatical cheers, beating their weapons together.

The resounding clang of metal echoed across the battlefield as all eyes, as if by silent agreement, turned to the young figure standing before the shattered gates.

To Roland, who sat upon his horse.

"Roland!"

"Roland!"

"Roland!"

Dalko finally arrived on his horse amidst the deafening cheers.

The young noble stared at the blood and devastation covering the ground, then at his familiar friend, feeling somewhat dazed.

"What in the world... happened here?"

While Dalko was still lost in confusion, deep within the distant forest, the black-robed figure Roland had noticed earlier stood silently.

The silvery moonlight outlined his gaunt frame. His eyes, which held a faint golden glow, pierced through the layers of shadows cast by the trees, swept over the shattered walls, and finally locked onto Roland in the center of the crowd like a sharp arrow.

A complex storm of emotions churned in that gaze.

First, it was sharp scrutiny.

Then, it shifted to confused hesitation.

Finally, it settled into a kind of spine-chilling... craving.