A full moon poured down a gentle glow, hanging high in the boundless sky like a lantern that illuminated the world below. Its vast silver light spilled across the mirror-still surface of Liurnia of the Lakes, cloaking the beautiful land in a veil of shimmering white.
Splash.
The crisp sound broke the quiet of the night as a small, delicate boat drifted across the clear waters. No torches burned aboard it, nor did any sorcery provide light. It moved through the darkness guided only by the moon's strange radiance.
Nolan looked to the right and saw military camps stretching endlessly along the shore. Countless braziers roared with flame, their brilliance turning the camp as bright as day. Outside the wooden palisades, tall watchtowers rose into the air. Cuckoo soldiers in deep blue cloaks patrolled the lakeside with unwavering focus, alert to any sign of danger.
Fortunately, the boat stayed close to the sheer cliffs along the lake's edge, gliding forward at a slow pace. Hidden perfectly in their blind spot, it escaped their notice.
Nolan then looked left. A vast city came into view, its towering, fortified walls concealing proud scholars within. Magnificent buildings climbed the mountainside, and at their peak the ancient bell tower still shone brightly, proof that life there was far from peaceful.
"We're past the defensive line. Stay sharp."
A calm voice came from the bow. Raziel straightened slightly, his deep blue robe fluttering in the night wind. Strands of hair lifted by the lake breeze brushed softly against his cheeks, giving him an unhurried, composed air.
Those aboard the boat finally relaxed. Besides Nolan, several others had joined the mission, all of them ordinary heavily armored knights. Two carried lances and shields, while another bore a bow on his back and a sword at his waist. None of them showed much tension on their faces.
Led by two heroes, this small group was already a force that could not be ignored on the battlefield of Liurnia of the Lakes.
"Lord Raziel, are we striking the camp directly?"
The question came from one of the armored knights, spoken in a low voice.
"No. We circle around and ambush the Cuckoo supply convoy."
Raziel's reply was steady. Those supplies had once belonged to Caria Manor. Now, they would all be destroyed.
He shot a sharp glance sideways, his eyes keen.
"Their landing point is close to the barracks. Don't let your guard down."
Nolan could clearly see the confidence in the knights' eyes. One look at the squad's composition made it obvious. Every Carian Knight was a hero in their own right, and Raziel was no exception.
The remaining three knights were also seasoned fighters. A bit of casual conversation was enough to reveal their extensive battle experience. They were said to have survived since the last war in Liurnia of the Lakes, making them veterans of Caria Manor.
Raziel was clearly pleased by what he saw and gave a slight nod of approval. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the Golden Needle Knight standing at the stern. The knight stood in silence, gazing at the calm lake, occasionally lifting his eyes toward the distant horizon.
Raziel soon withdrew his gaze and turned away, no longer paying him any attention.
This Golden Needle Knight, Nolan Bethel, possessed strength that could not be underestimated, rivaling even that of the Carian Knights. Without his participation, Raziel would never have dared to lead such a small force into action.
No one spoke. Only the faint sound of oars stirring the water broke the silence.
The small boat followed the shoreline southward, slowly disappearing into the darkness.
The night had grown deep. The moon hung high in the sky, its light spilling across the lake, scattering into shimmering ripples.
Raziel stood at the bow of the boat, his gaze fixed intently ahead, until a shallow sandbar finally came into view.
He stepped onto it first. The others followed close behind, jumping from the boat one after another and carefully concealing it within the grass.
Raziel lowered himself onto the ground, lying prone as he cautiously surveyed the surroundings.
Not far away rose a towering cliff, several bell towers standing atop it. From there, they overlooked the entire area, and the burning braziers made it clear that this was a Cuckoo sentry post.
With such a vantage point, even the slightest disturbance would be hard to miss, let alone the chaos of a full battle.
Yet on the gently sloping ground before the cliff, Raziel spotted a supply convoy slowly approaching.
Each Troll stood nearly ten meters tall, humanoid in shape, yet disturbingly hollow through the abdomen. Their chests were pierced by thick iron chains and anchors, binding them in pairs as they dragged heavy wagons behind them like beasts of burden.
Nolan recalled seeing something similar once in the Consecrated Snowfield, though those Trolls had been covered in thick white fur.
The convoy consisted of roughly fifty soldiers, torches raised along both sides of the road. Five Cuckoo Knights rode back and forth on horseback, long spears in hand, their eyes scanning every movement around them with vigilance.
Seeing this, Raziel hesitated not at all and issued a few concise orders.
Some knights swiftly produced Firebombs and oil jugs, while others drew their bows and nocked arrows. Every movement flowed smoothly, executed in one seamless motion, a clear sign of long familiarity with such operations.
Those supplies were never going to be taken back. If that was the case, there was no reason to let the enemy benefit from them.
"Raziel, what should I do?" Nolan asked, raising a hand.
"You?" The Carian Knight glanced at him. Since he had brought him along to perform heroic deeds anyway, Raziel gave it a moment's thought before speaking.
"Then come with me. We'll deal with those knights first. Any problems?"
"Alright!" Nolan answered without hesitation.
He brushed his hand lightly across his Spirit Ring and drew out a Claymore.
The weapon carried an imposing presence, its blade gleaming with a brilliant silver-white sheen. The golden hilt shone with a sacred radiance, while the blade itself was etched with intricate patterns. Embedded within was a piece of Haligtree Amber, emitting a faint, gentle glow.
"That's a fine sword. From the Haligtree?" Raziel couldn't help but admire it, instinctively rubbing his chin.
To a hero, a fine blade was no different from a crown to a Lord.
"It was a gift from His Highness," Nolan replied with a nod.
This Promised Claymore was the very item Trina had mentioned placing within the Spirit Ring before his departure. Even its name sounded as though it had been crafted specifically for him, the Promised Consort.
A fine weapon only proved its worth when put to use. There had never been a suitable chance before, but now was just right.
As if gaining a new understanding of this knight's standing in the eyes of the Empyreans, Raziel paused for a brief moment in surprise.
But the sound of wheels was drawing closer, leaving him no time to dwell on it. He turned his attention back to the road.
The rumble of rolling wagons grew louder. The idle chatter of Cuckoo soldiers and the clatter of armor became increasingly clear.
Just as the convoy rounded the bend, a tearing sound suddenly ripped through the pitch-black night sky, as though something had been violently torn apart.
A heartbeat later, two deafening crashes rang out.
Looking up, they saw that the two Trolls at the front had somehow been pierced straight through the skull by three massive blue Greatswords.
Their colossal bodies collapsed with a thunderous crash, instantly crushing a swath of soldiers beneath them.