“CRASH!!!” It was a stampede. “NO!!!” And the voices of the riders clouded the battlefield. “AARGH!!!!!” It was of pain, confusion, and death.

  The knights were dumbfounded as there was no one left to command; their leader's neck cracked upon impact, and he never moved again. A few of the riders behind the leader survived, but a strange bde swung around, killing them.

  Riders who were in the back had no idea what was happening. Some managed to stop their charge, but most fell as the traffic of horses cshed from front to back.

  The next thing they heard was voices screaming and blood spttering through the force of a sword swing. There were thirty of them, enough for the raid on the vilge, but it was only their leader who knew their objective.

  It was a failure from the start.

  “Retreat! Fall back!” one screamed.

  While another shouted, “It's him! Kill him!” It was utter chaos.

  A veteran knight regained consciousness. He clutched his head, feeling warm liquid spill through his fingers. When he wiped it away, his hand came back slick with blood.

  “Master!”

  Remembering the man he had considered as his son, he looked around in panic. The st thing he recalled was a rock striking his head—expining the missing helmet and the hollow pain where his eye should have been.

  “Aaaargh!”

  Realization struck. He had lost an eye, and the pain came surging in waves.

  “Sir! Sir! Get up!”

  Another knight rushed to him, a fellow veteran, his face scarred and his armor smeared with blood.

  “Not me! Find the master!” the faithful knight screamed. He smmed his hand against the ground. “Oh earth bid my call grant…” It was a chant for a buff.

  “No! Don’t use earth magic!” the scarred knight shouted—but it was too te.

  Earth-rooted knights have good defensive buffs and naturally excelled at sensing through the ground. But it also meant, their magic was always bound to the ground, and the ground would always resonate with them.

  The scarred knight saw it and dove away. The faithful knight did not even have time to scream—his face was cleaved in two.

  “No—!”

  The st thing the scarred knight saw were two yellow, slit-pupiled eyes.

  “Monster—!”

  One ssh ter, he too was dead.

  Simon was methodical. He always targeted those who tried to activate buffs first. Their chants gave them away; after that, the rest was easy.

  “Why do they always use chants in battle?” Simon wondered about the knights. He had fought some before, and they always made the same mistakes.

  The old man’s voice echoed in his head, drilled into him over and over:‘Buffing others requires Himig. And Himig must be spoken aloud during chants. It’s best used before battle, not in the heat of it. Of course, if someone strong enough can protect the buffer, that changes things. Do you know what that means?’

  Simon understood exactly what it meant. By experience, knights were formidable not because of their individual strength, but because of their organized battle and defensive strategies. That was why he shattered the front lines first and sowed chaos.

  And since Earth-rooted knights always cast their buffs first, he found them immediately.

  “Ssh!”

  One fell. Another knight whimpered in front of him. Simon showed no mercy and raised his sword.

  The knight barely evaded the strike and drew his own bde.

  “Who are you—monster!” the knight screamed, his sword flickering with fme.

  “Fire-rooted. You can’t defend against me,” Simon said, unching a {Water Bde}.

  The veteran blocked it—but just as Simon said, the {Water Bde} negated the sword’s Bisa.

  The water dispersed. Behind it, the boy was already there, swinging.

  Without Bisa, and facing Simon’s Fin Bde empowered by it, the knight’s sword shattered.

  Still, the veteran didn’t give up. Sacrificing his other arm, he deflected the Fin Bde and rolled away.

  “Hmm… that worked?” Simon muttered, genuinely surprised.

  But more knights were already charging in.

  “Sir, run away!” one knight screamed.

  “No! Don’t fight him directly!” the scarred knight shouted—but it was too te.

  A bloody trail was left as the knights who survived successfully retreated.

  The scarred knight with a missing arm scanned the knights following him. His eyes glinted in despair after counting.

  ‘We lost eight during the first fall, the leader included…’ Out of the knights, he was the only one who remained calm, and his thinking process still worked. ‘I had to exchange my arms for my neck, ugh, the bone is protruding!’ He took out a small vial.

  He bit the cork open with a “Pop!” and immediately drank it.

  “Sir, only thirteen made it!” A younger knight reported to him, as he was now the most veteran among them.

  “Only thirteen of us?” The veteran reacted.

  ‘We are the White Knights, we are the elites of the elites, even back in the central, god damned it!’ Being sent for this top-secret mission was the st thing on his mind. Approaching with no pn, underestimation, he could list all their mistakes, but the biggest one ‘I should have recommended it to that brat, healers and buffers should be in the back, but he thought it was a walk in the park!’—and they were utterly annihited.

  He was not sure of their leader’s goal or their lord's orders, but he was one of the oldest among the knights. ‘At least I can retire with my other arm… this damned frontier!’ It was up to him to send them back home.

  Another younger knight approached him. “This is bad. It'll take a few days at our best speed. Are you okay?” the young knight was concerned about the veteran’s amputated arm. The young one glinted at the sight of the protruding bone out of it.

  “You have to cut it cleanly!” The old knight smiled in despair at what was about to happen.

  The young knight nodded and took out a bandage. “We need help here!” he screamed. Some of the knights in the back were listening to their conversation; they knew what had to be done.

  The younger knight held the veteran in his pce while another knight, using magic, heated his sword.

  “That damned snake-eyed monster!” The younger knight cursed, feeling pity for the old knight.

  The veteran’s eyes widened as the younger knight’s words triggered the conversation st night. He, too, had heard stories of the creature they called Bask. They said it was a deadly serpent. ‘It was that boy?’ but his thoughts were abruptly cut off.

  “CHOP!!”

  A terrible scream echoed on the main roads going into the west.

  Simon stared at his work. Limbs, heads, and bodies were scattered across the field. Nearby, some of the horses that had been knocked out began to stir and rise. Focusing his bloodlust, he sent them fleeing into the distance.

  ‘At least I won’t have to dig,’ he thought.

  Most of the bodies were already buried beneath the cave-in he had created to make the charge backfire.

  He returned his Fin Bde to the saddlebag and moved to drag the remaining bodies toward the colpse—then a sharp whistle cut through the air.

  “Sorry! Please don’t bury them there!”

  Simon turned toward the voice. One of the vilge warriors stood near the path leading to the gates.

  “Come here, boy!”

  With the threat gone, Simon finally allowed himself to move on. After the long journey, he had reached his destination. As he began walking, his heart started to pound.

  ‘Is she one of the vilgers here?’‘What does she look like?

  Thoughts of his mother drove him onward, excitement and nerves tangling in his chest. He pulled his cloak tighter, making sure his hair and eyes were hidden. His gaze stayed fixed on the vilge—he had seen it before, but only from afar. A wooden fence surrounded it, markings carved into the timber. Even Simon could sense the faint mysticism woven into its presence.

  When he stopped before the gates, he noticed vilgers peeking from behind the walls. Some watched in awe. Others shrank back.

  “Are you an adventurer?” one of the guards asked.

  “Not yet. I’m not old enough,” Simon answered truthfully.

  The guards were taken aback—he was younger than sixteen. Tall for his age, and far stronger than someone that young should have been.

  A brief silence followed. The guards knew that if the boy wished to, he could enter the vilge by force and do as he pleased.

  But he didn’t.

  The fact that he had approached openly and stopped at the gates told them enough—he wasn’t hostile.

  The real problem was that the boy had no way to prove himself.

  “Why are you here, at the far edge of the world?” the guard had to ask. Normally, adventurers bound for the northern or southern dungeons would stay in the vilge, while explorers passed through on their way to the central regions or back to the front lines. A child who was neither was an unusual sight.

  “I’m looking for someone…” Simon replied.

  An awkward pause followed. ‘Come on, just use it,’ one of the guards thought, gncing at his veteran partner in silent urging.

  The older guard studied Simon for a moment, then pulled out a small gss lens and raised it to his eye, aiming it at the boy.

  “Ahem. You can enter, kid—no problem. And thanks for saving us,” he said, lowering the Guile Gss after sensing no malice. He slipped it back into his pocket. “Hey!” the veteran called out to a nearby vilger. “Kaleo!”

  Kaleo, a young hunter on vacation, had been passing by and stopped to watch the exchange.

  “Guide this boy around. Give him whatever he needs!” the veteran shouted.