"How often have they actually fought?"
Esther had once been called the Witch of Strife. The reason for that name? Among those who handled spells, she was an oddity.
It was exceedingly rare for a mage to stake their life to test their own ability. They were well-versed in exploitation and plunder, but awkward when it came to fights that risked their lives. Even the slightest danger, and they would flee.
That was why "of Strife" had been a special epithet. Why mages treated Esther as an aberration.
"They probably haven't fought properly in decades."
She had said it with conviction.
"They've become degenerate."
Esther knew the nature of their kind.
"They can't trust each other, so they're only busy hiding things. Sparring? Not a chance. They never show their skills, and each guards their secrets alone."
Flowers wilt in shade, and a spring that doesn't flow runs dry. The decay of the mages' collective was inevitable.
It was the grave they dug for themselves — only they failed to realize it.
"If you form a group, you have to share what you have."
Enkrid had raised the Border Guard's standing army by opening up his own knowledge. He shared everything he had learned with those who followed him.
He was never stingy with learning, nor with teaching.
And Astrail? They were stingy with both. What they desired was seizure. They saw the world only through their own narrow method. Frogs in a well — their world was nothing but a small, round sky.
"Astrail doesn't understand knights. More precisely, they don't understand the level of the Border Guard Knights."
Even if Esther prepared in full, she could never take on the entire knight order by herself.
Let alone those fools now drooling with greed as they approached — they saw knights merely as sword-wielders. They didn't know that even within the category of "knight," there are levels.
Borrowing Enkrid's words: "A bunch of half-witted mages and witches." Esther had smiled when she said that.
And Kraiss had looked at her strangely for suddenly smiling.
"They're nothing but a pack of half-witted mages and witches," Esther said.
"If those half-wits take the city hostage, it'll be troublesome."
"They won't."
Esther knew the habits of mages. The idea of mages who protect the lives of city-dwellers — they wouldn't even consider it.
They don't see people; they're thralls devoured by the demon called Knowledge.
Therefore, there'd be no hostages. There might be one or two who target the city for their own purpose — but that's it.
***
"They're coming."
At the start of this operation, Jaxon had mobilized the Geor Dagger network spread throughout the city.
It was one of their guild members speaking. These were not merely sharp-eyed, sharp-eared professionals — they were first-rate assassins who could sense danger by instinct.
"Thank you, brother. You're running hard enough to sweat through your feet."
A massive figure spoke. Up close, you'd have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. The guild member knew the name he was called by.
'The Bear Beastman, Audin.'
Though not actually a beastman, his physique alone earned the title. Seen up close, he was even more destructive. The guild member, a man tempered by training himself, could see the intricate lines of muscle packed across Audin's frame.
The Bear Beastman pressed his hands together before his forehead and muttered:
"Lord, today again I send people to Your side."
A chilling prayer. As his arms rose, part of his abs showed beneath his loose top — a segmented abdomen that was armor in itself.
'A muscular armor.'
A body that had shattered every limit of human form and gone beyond.
His skin looked as firm as the scales of a monster.
A paladin, the guild member thought — and his image of a paladin changed.
Audin ended his brief prayer, unclasped his hands, and looked down at the man before him. Outwardly, this was a contact sent from the information guild, but you could tell just by the way he walked.
'Steps with the habit of killing sound.'
Audin already knew who he was. Even so, he gave that same unbothered smile as always — solid and calm as a bear or a boulder.
Beside him, Teresa finished a similar prayer and spoke.
"We should go."
They were inside the watch post guarding the gates of Lockfried Fortress. The city was vulnerable to assault — Lockfried all the more so.
That meant fighting here would be a headache. Hence the core of Kraiss's operation: interception.
But they couldn't know the exact routes of every mage approaching separately.
"Of course we must defend the city. We'll take position before the gate and the walls — according to Esther's plan."
Kraiss paused briefly as if gathering his thoughts. After a moment's reflection, he added:
"An arrogant man never hides his presence."
Audin agreed. And indeed, that was proving true.
Just in case, he had mobilized Geor Dagger, but the mages were brazen.
"What's that?"
A soldier at the post frowned.
"What is it?"
Two soldiers peered out. Far ahead, they heard screams — people running. Merchants abandoning their carts and fleeing.
"Well then."
Audin and Teresa stepped outside. Some of those fleeing were members of the standing army.
They weren't merely retreating — they spread out left and right, gripping weapons, reforming ranks.
Audin had trained with them before. He saw something strange in their movements.
"That formation isn't for facing a small elite group."
Teresa said it, and Audin nodded. The standing troops regrouped as they withdrew, eyes turning to the two figures approaching from the rear.
Even without words, their gaze carried relief.
"Fall back to the wall formation."
Audin's voice carried wide; if you ignored tone and just judged volume, it was impressive. Some troops gave a salute and began pulling back.
"Knights confirmed. We'll hold formation and withdraw. Mercenaries, fall back too."
A soldier addressed the mercenaries mixed among them — southern drifters who had joined the merchant band.
"Just leave the two of them here?"
One mercenary asked back.
"Didn't you come here after hearing the rumors about the Mad Order of Knights?"
The soldier moved his footwork lightly as he replied.
"But still…"
The continent was wide. Many who heard the tales still couldn't believe them without seeing for themselves.
Yet what choice did they have? Fighting here would just mean dying.
They withdrew. One mercenary still looked uneasy. He was born in Zaltenburg, within the Duchy of Octo, and had worked along the southern frontier as a mercenary.
He'd heard rumors of the Mad Order, but never grasped them. Their world was too far removed from his — his life spent in skirmishes and beast hunts along the south.
'Is this really fine?'
Then, what the mercenary had feared came into view.
A rushing horde of undead. The monsters raised from death, called draugr, came in masses.
It felt like huge boulders of flesh and bone were rolling toward them.
Rotted skin tore, dripping pus to the ground; the stench of decay bit at their noses. These corpses that refused to rest rose to fight.
Amid them rattled skeleton soldiers propped on white bones, and skeletal knights clad in armor made of rotted flesh. Their shields were human heads, their weapons blades carved from bone.
Among them lumbered dozens of flesh golems.
Draugr — a catch-all for the undying. The field was filled with necromantic abominations. At their center sat one on a throne of bone, gazing down upon all. The throne itself was borne on the shoulders of four skeleton soldiers.
"No need for long words. Bring me the Child of the Star. Then nothing will happen. At least, nothing dreadful. You don't need me to tell you who that is, do you?"
The mage on the bone throne spoke.
Audin looked upon the mass of the dead.
Why is it that no matter how many he crushes and breaks, no matter how many he sends to the Lord's side, they keep coming?
Would these things vanish only if he smashed the skull of that so-called 'Father of All the Dead' said to dwell in the Demon Realm?
"I can hear the song of the dead," Teresa said.
Audin could hear their wails too — those who wanted to die, corpses begging for rest.
"Then let us lay them to rest."
Audin spoke. Today again, the number of offerings he must send to the Lord increased. Necromancers were the ones the Lord most desired — best to send them quickly.
"Lord, for Your glory, I raise my fists."
Teresa began to sing. White light spread outward from her, slow and wide.
Seeing that, the mage scoffed.
"So you'd choose to drink punishment. I am the master of necromancy who commands a hundred wraiths."
Kraiss had expected there would be one among Astrail who targeted the city. Esther had said their hobby of raising corpses to fight surely hadn't changed.
So, based on her information, Kraiss deployed the knights.
Their battle unfolded right before the city.
Meaning: countless eyes were watching.
The retreating soldiers and mercenaries, the fleeing merchants, those queued at the gate, the peddlers beyond the wall — all saw it.
And before all their eyes, five flesh golems moved at once.
With explosive thuds, they charged the massive man.
The mercenary's eyes widened. He couldn't even see the golems' movements properly — one moment standing still, the next erupting forward.
The scene broke apart in his vision, frames snapping. One leaping overhead, one charging front, two crushing in from the sides.
He didn't even breathe, couldn't swallow. Just watched.
'They'll die.'
These five flesh golems weren't ordinary monsters. They'd been brought to face knights — abominations refined again and again.
Then, the mercenary saw his expectation shatter.
BWHOOOM!
Compressed air burst. The process was invisible. All he saw was flesh rising, peeled upward in a white-glowing whirlwind.
Thup-thup-thup.
A rain of rotted meat fell.
"…What was that?"
The mercenary muttered, and a soldier beside him answered.
"What else? The knight of the whole body."
The Knight of the Whole Body, Audin — zealot of the Mad Order.
Already a known figure among the standing army.
Beside him, a half-giant woman drew sword and shield and moved.
Despite her size, she left afterimages as she swung. In her wake, the draugr were crushed and burst apart, falling like sheaves.
"Not even the lord of ten thousand wraiths… this is far from enough," Audin murmured, recalling the civil war in Naurillia.
The mage claiming to be master of a hundred wraiths trembled.
'What is this?'
His five flesh golems had burst apart so easily?
At the same time, dozens of minions vanished. He called himself a one-man legion — rightfully, since he commanded a hundred wraiths.
Even others, using entirely different arts, acknowledged that much. And yet the symbols of his might were smashed to pieces.
Just as Esther said — they came without gauging the power of the knights.
And the result, from a mage's view, was disastrous.
***
"My name is Warhob. I have no grudge against you, but you're such fine material, I can't help myself."
Lawford, Pel, and Dunbakel moved together. The three faced a mage on Enkrid's opposite flank, south of the mountains that barred Greenperl.
The one who appeared amid the summer grass brought with him two Death Knights — one clad in black armor, one in white.
Warhob didn't field many wraiths — only those two knights of death.
You could think of him as a successor of the death mage once faced by Audin against Balrog.
Indeed, Warhob had tracked down relics that mage left behind in ruins, recovered his spells, and honed them.
He had even modified his own body with magic — a battle mage confident in knight-level prowess.
"Looks like we didn't even need all three of us."
"Sir Kraiss worries too much," Pel and Lawford said.
Dunbakel added, "The one in the middle reeks the weakest. Smells like it."
Warhob coveted not only the Child of the Star but the Mad Order itself. Among Astrail, he alone rated their strength highly — fitting, for one who specialized in commanding death knights.
'Not the whole order, but just three of them…'
Warhob licked his lips.
Had Astrail not moved, he wouldn't have come this far — but since he had, he meant to add to his collection.
"I could take the two of you myself, I think."
"No need to overdo it."
"Yeah, I doubt that thing even knows what honor is."
As the three traded remarks, Warhob hid his left hand behind his back and tugged a pouch string at his wrist.
Powder scattered, drifting into the air. At the same time, he summoned a breeze with a spell.
That was how he secretly spread poison. Outwardly, he feigned readiness for a swordfight, but his true specialty was seeding invisible toxins.
The three before him were chatting idly — a perfect chance to leak it.
Then, suddenly, all three fell silent, snapping their heads toward him at once. Their eyes seemed to glint.
"Something stinks," said the beastwoman. The two humans quietly shifted back.
These three had endured countless beatings from Rem, survived Jaxon's torment, and were tempered through sparring with Enkrid.
Their instincts were on another level. Knights are those who transcend limits through ceaseless training — so it was only natural.
In truth, Warhob had never faced true knights before.
The two death knights he commanded were only legacies he'd found while delving ancient ruins.