TUK 23

Chapter 23

“Whole army! Wake up!!! Resume the march!!”

Dust shimmered under the moonlight across the barren wasteland.
Soldiers who had fallen asleep in full armor instantly rose at their commander’s shout and formed ranks.

Then, pushing through the haze of dust, they began to march forward.

Step! Step!

With disciplined movements, thousands of soldiers moved as one, and no monster lurking nearby dared to approach.

The man leading them was the Marquis of Bueno Arzen, ruler of the southern provinces of the Roden Empire.

Despite being well past middle age, his pale and smooth skin made him look like a man in his thirties—handsome, refined, and ageless.

His thin, sharp eyes made it impossible to guess what he was thinking, and in truth, there was no adjutant clever enough to see through his schemes.

Only one man, Gerard—once a slave, later raised to lead the Shadow Corps after proving his worth—had managed, however faintly, to sense his intentions and act upon them.

‘Gerard… you fool.’

He had been raised as a Shadow precisely because of his cunning and his unparalleled talent for killing.

Yet, at the critical moment, he’d fallen for the enemy’s ploy, lost a mage, and even caused friendly casualties.

‘I told him from the start—once the Shadow Oath is made, betrayal is impossible. But he let his ambition cloud his mind… tch. Oh well. Spilled water can’t be gathered again.’

The Marquis smoothed the faint crease between his brows and erased all regret from his face. Then he raised his right hand and beckoned lightly.

‘This time… it must succeed. For my future, it has to!’

It was a signal summoning the remnants of the Shadow Corps who had rejoined him during the southern campaign.

Rustle—

From the darkness, the Shadows who had been guarding him silently emerged and knelt on one knee before him.

The Marquis looked down at the fewer-than-a-hundred men who remained and spoke quietly.

“You will cross the Frozen Mountains and observe Azrion’s movements.
If they are still guarding the Trevor Bridge, you must lure them into crossing—by any means necessary. That is the only way you will live and your families will keep their wealth and lives.”

Most of these men were low-ranking nobles from the countryside—those who had become Shadows in hopes of raising their family’s standing or feeding their own hunger for power.

A few were former vagrants, but none of them could defy a Marquis’s order.

‘Damn it! No matter what we do, we’re dead. Those five lunatics who slaughtered us like beasts are still over there.’
‘He’s basically telling us to commit suicide.’
‘Shit. And what about the monsters in the mountains? Either way, we’re doomed.’

The Shadow soldiers couldn’t hide their despair. They couldn’t even protest.

“…As you command!”

They shouted in unison, forcing the words out through clenched teeth as they rose.

The Marquis knew full well that what he had ordered was a death sentence.
It was no different than lashing them with a whip and commanding them to die.

And he also knew—fear alone wouldn’t make them obey.
So, he made sure to offer a carrot as well.

“Lieutenant. Give that to Emilio.”

At his command, a burly adjutant exuding a sinister air pulled a small crimson pouch from his saddlebag and handed it to Emilio, the newly appointed leader of the Shadow Corps.

Looking down at them from his horse, the Marquis explained.

“It is a holy relic—containing a fragment of a sword stained with the blood of Molgrak, the demon lord of the Northern Abyss.”

Emilio’s hand trembled as he received it. His narrow eyes widened—he was clearly shocked.

‘T-this… this precious thing, for us?!’

Molgrak—the demon slain by the Empire’s first Sword Saint at the cost of his own life.
It was thanks to that battle that the Northern Abyss’s influence receded, allowing the Empire to prosper for generations.

Every Imperial citizen knew the tale.
So, if this relic bore Molgrak’s blood, then surely it was a fragment of the legendary Sword Saint’s blade!

Rustle—

Emilio carefully opened the pouch.
Inside was an oval glass case rimmed with gold engravings, like something used in holy ceremonies.

Suspended within black liquid lay a jagged shard of metal—proof that this was no fake. Emilio’s face brightened in awe.

The Marquis smiled with satisfaction and continued.

“When you reach the Frozen Mountains, twist the golden caps on either end.
The monsters there will not touch you.
Then, when you reach the Trevor River, throw it in.”

“What?! Throw it away, my lord?”

Emilio had just blurted something he shouldn’t have.
Selling such an artifact on the black market could buy him a fortress and an army of hundreds—yet the Marquis wanted him to discard it?

Realizing his mistake, Emilio dropped to the ground and bowed deeply.

“M-my apologies! I spoke out of turn!”

The Marquis paid it no mind and spoke evenly.

“I cannot tell you the details. Just remember—doing as I say is the only way you live.”

“…As you command!”

Clatter!

Without another word, Emilio turned and led his remaining men northward, toward the Frozen Mountains.

The Marquis watched them go, then signaled for his army to resume marching.

‘This time… the fertile lands of Northheim will be mine!’

He steeled his resolve and felt certain of victory.
That was why he made his soldiers sleep by day and march under cover of night—
a precaution in case the Shadows failed.

He would strike before dawn to ensure victory.

Meanwhile, completely unaware of these plans, Count Monclay was fortifying his camp on the Dandelion Plains.

‘Heh… as soon as retreat becomes inevitable, I’ll cross the border.
Then, while the Imperial forces fight in Twin Canyon, I’ll attack their rear and seize glory for myself!
Once that happens, I can oust that indecisive fool, Graham, and claim Northheim as my own!’

Monclay lifted his cup, laughing triumphantly with his officers in premature celebration of a future victory.

✦ ✦ ✦

Under the moonlight, far from Lian, the disciples of Shion gathered.

“Becky, what did you want to say so badly that you called us all out here?
I’m tired—get to the point,” said Phine, tying back her messy green hair with a cord. The others nodded in agreement, turning expectantly to Verkir.

Verkir smiled lightly and explained why he had gathered them.

“To get straight to the point—I like Lian Cade.
So, I think tomorrow’s sparring match would be a waste of time.”

“Ooh, so the two of you bonded after slaughtering those murlocs together?
Or maybe it’s that thing where men get close by covering each other’s backs, huh? Ha! You’ve never liked anyone who passed the trials before,” teased Taryn, a short-haired girl with playful orange curls.

Verkir didn’t seem bothered.

“He’s not outstanding yet, but he’s definitely showing growth.
Anyway, my evaluation is over. I called you all just to say that. Ha ha.”

Taryn grinned. “Then tomorrow’s my turn, right? Ha! I thought I’d have to wait longer because of the scouting mission, but lucky me!”

“Che. So you planned this from the start, huh, Verkir?
You must’ve known those murlocs would show up.
Anyway, shouldn’t we be suspicious? He caught a whole swarm without a scratch after a full day’s march. Isn’t he supposed to be some cursed guy among the troops?”

“You do remember you almost lost to him, right? Heh.”

Taryn shot a mocking look at Dominic, who had spoken with his usual bluntness.

“…Want me to scrub those freckles off your face today?”

Dominic glared back, hand twitching near his sword hilt. But before things could escalate, Leia, who had been silently observing, stepped between them and spoke coolly.

“The evaluation is the evaluation. The mission is the mission.
We just do our jobs. There’s no reason to mix emotions into it.”

She then glanced toward Lian, who was some distance away, unpacking his gear for the night.

“When we wake tomorrow, Taryn will spar with him.
But keep it short—we’ve got a scouting mission after.”

“Don’t worry about it! Unlike some people, I’ll finish it before you can blink!”

✦ ✦ ✦

The deep blue of dawn began to chase away the night.
The sun had yet to rise, but the wind swayed the green field, brushing over those still wrapped in thin blankets.

One by one, they stirred awake.

No one needed to sound the wake-up call—these were people who rose on their own, hardened by training.
They were Shion’s disciples, along with Lian Cade.

‘…I thought he’d still be asleep after yesterday’s exhaustion.’

Leia watched Lian quietly as he packed up his things without any sign of fatigue.

A man with stamina rivaling Verkir’s, capable of fighting a murloc swarm unscathed—it made sense he’d be up early.
She judged that such discipline came from habit, and she was right.

On the battlefield or in camp, Lian was always the first to rise, training his body and practicing his swordsmanship before anything else.
Even amidst chaos, he never wasted time. Training, sparring, or meditation—he did it all.

That was why fatigue could no longer keep him down.
Of course, it also helped that he had died the previous day—but that was something Shion’s disciples couldn’t possibly know.

“Ha ha! As expected, Lian Cade is my kind of man!
You can see the will to train and the spirit of diligence flowing through his veins!
On that note, I’ll go scout the area!”

With a laugh, the silver-haired giant Verkir slung on his gear and bounded off the field—more like a beast than a man.

“Watch closely, Lian! This is the Four-Limbed Sprint—the fastest way to train your whole body! Ha ha!”

“……”

To Lian, it looked less like training and more like watching a bear romp through the grass.
Whether it was actually effective, he had no idea.

‘I… don’t think I’ll be trying that.’

A mild sense of refusal welled up in him—and judging by the expressions of the others, they felt the same.

“Ugh. That training maniac, seriously.”
“Does one have to be that obsessed to get stronger?”

Phine and Dominic both sighed, shaking their heads.
Only one person seemed amused.

“Pfft! If it weren’t for today’s spar, I’d totally ride on his back! What a shame!”

That was Taryn, grinning mischievously as she turned her freckled face toward Lian.

Despite the playful smile, the aura around her was far from lighthearted.

Her stance, the rhythm in her steps, and the way her hand hovered over her sword—all perfectly measured.
Even a surprise attack wouldn’t catch her off guard.

“How about a quick spar with me?”

At her sudden question, Lian glanced toward Leia.
They were still on duty, and he was merely accompanying them.
The right to decide lay with Leia, their leader.

She nodded, silently granting permission.

He saw no reason to refuse.

Step—

Instead of strapping on his pack, Lian walked to an open patch of field suitable for combat.

There, facing Taryn, he drew his sword and asked calmly,
“Is this a test?”

He’d heard talk of “evaluation” the night before and wanted confirmation.
Taryn drew her own sword, smiling faintly.

“Unlike someone else, this won’t take long.”

Even then, she didn’t forget to throw a jab at Dominic.
He just snorted, lying on his side and picking at his nose with his pack as a pillow.

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to cry when you lose. If you die, that’s fine too.”

He even gestured impatiently, urging them to start.
Leia, acting as referee, nodded in agreement.

“Time’s short. You’ll stop when Verkir returns. Begin.”

No one knew how long Verkir’s “scouting” would take—but it was a good enough time limit for the match.

Both fighters readied themselves.

Clang!

Taryn stomped the ground first, her speed rivaling Dominic’s in an instant—