The knights departed from Cintrel in two groups—one led by Isla heading south, the other by August marching north. Different routes, same mission: to make Valte bleed from within.
Isla moved under the cover of darkness with Knight Captain Luna and forty elite knights. They arrived at the Valte border outpost undetected, silently assassinating the guards to keep their presence unknown. Before long, they reached their first target—an enemy supply depot positioned deep behind enemy lines. The prideful King Roderick clearly hadn't considered it vulnerable.
The outpost's security was lax. Hidden in the shadows, Isla and his team surrounded the camp. With a silent hand signal, the knights moved. Enemy after enemy fell without a sound. Within minutes, the outpost was theirs.
Confirming the supplies were intact, Isla gave the order: Burn it all.
They moved from depot to depot, repeating the silent assault—swift, ruthless, effective. One by one, Valte's supply lines were engulfed in flame.
Meanwhile, to the north, August and his knights had reached the dam—an old structure built by Valte to solve water shortages. Now, it would become their downfall.
From the dam, they spotted the enemy cavalry encampment—thousands of horses and soldiers, resting in false security.
August turned to Knight Captain Arman and gave a single nod.
The plan was set. Explosives were placed strategically along the dam—ten in total. But to ensure the collapse, Arman took the lead.
He stood atop the dam, water touching his armored boots. He cracked his knuckles, tightened his gauntlets, and steadied his stance.
"External Art – 80% Output: Colossal Punch."
With one devastating blow, the dam shuddered. The impact alone stirred a shockwave, splitting the air. Cracks formed, and water began to trickle through.
Arman backed off as the knights lit the charges.
BOOM.
The dam exploded. A roaring wall of water surged forth like a beast unleashed. It crashed into the enemy camp, drowning horses and men alike. Tents and barricades were swept away. The cavalry—once Valte's pride—was erased in an instant.
When both missions were completed, Isla and August lit signal flares into the night sky.
From the battlefield far away, Lucas saw the twin lights—confirmation.
He tightened his grip on Balmung.
After hours of riding, Isla spotted the battlefield lit with flames and divine light.
"Damn it, he already started without me," he muttered.
Turning to Luna, he gave new orders. "Change of plan. We'll intercept the escaping forces. I'll open the way—follow me."
Without another word, Isla kicked his horse forward.
They rode toward the retreating enemy, cutting them off from behind. Isla dismounted mid-gallop, twin daggers flashing as he dashed into the chaos.
One hand parried, the other pierced. He moved like a specter, dancing through bodies, leaving trails of blood in his wake. Luna and her knights followed, cutting down those who tried to flee.
Isla's body was soaked in blood. He hurled a dagger—thud, it pierced a throat. In the next breath, he was already there, reclaiming it.
Blink. Vanish. Reappear. Kill.
A void opened in front of him. From within, a dagger shot out and impaled another neck. Enemies tried to overwhelm him, but Isla vanished into shadow, reappearing above. He descended with a deadly arc, slashing down a half-dozen men in one move.
Luna, catching up, matched his ferocity. The knights formed a wall, slaughtering any who tried to escape.
They had the enemy trapped—caught between Lucas's flames and Isla's shadows.
Then came a roar.
A dragon.
It descended from the sky, unleashing a torrent of fire. Isla stood calmly beneath the blaze—and vanished.
No flames touched him.
The dragon flinched as a dagger flew past. It barely dodged—but the shadow cast upon its back became its doom.
Isla disappeared—only to reemerge from the dagger's shadow.
Now on its back, Isla didn't hesitate. One clean slash—and the dragon's head fell.
The slaughter continued until the enemy began to close in on them from all directions.
Seeing the shift in battle, Isla gave the order to retreat.
Back on horseback, Luna took charge of the withdrawal.
"Protection" she shouted.
Then, with a flourish of her sword, she unleashed her power.
"Poison Art – Third Form: Deadly Mist."
A thick cloud of poisonous vapor erupted from her body, spreading rapidly with the wind. Enemy soldiers fell coughing, screaming, choking—until silence took them.
Under the cover of the mist and chaos, the knights escaped.
They arrived at Cintrel by sunset. August's team was already there. Lucas rested quietly among the wounded, his sword leaning beside him.
One by one, the knights drank their antidotes and collapsed in exhaustion. The day's hellish mission was over.
Inside the Count's chamber, the surviving commanders gathered—Lucas, Isla, August,Countess Norien and Luna.
Maps were unrolled. Reports stacked. Blood still dripped from some of their armor.
Isla looked around the room, then turned to August.
"Current headcount?" he asked, his voice calm—but his eyes sharp as blades.