Vmmm!
A ripple of immense magical energy surged from the grey-robed spellcaster. Suspended midair, a silver lance nearly two meters long shimmered into existence, formed from concentrated mana.
"Silver Knight's Lance," the mage announced coldly.
The lance transformed into a streak of silver lightning and shot forward.
The Observation Principality, summoned by Lyle, reacted instantly. It raised its shield with a practiced motion, positioning it squarely in the lance's path.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion echoed through the forest.
The moment the lance tip struck the shield, brilliant sparks erupted from the collision. For a brief instant, less than a second—the two powers clashed.
Crack!
The shield shattered like glass.
The silver lance pierced clean through the Angel's body, tearing through holy light and flesh alike, before rocketing into the dense forest behind.
Bang!
The Observation Principality exploded into motes of white light and vanished.
A gust of wind followed the blast, whipping through Lyle's priestly white robe, making it flap noisily in the sudden silence.
The Observation Principality —one of the Fourth Tier holy summons, known for its formidable defense, had just been obliterated by a single spell.
Lyle narrowed his eyes.
The "Silver Knight's Lance" was a Fourth Tier magic of the physical-magic hybrid class, imbued with silver-type elemental energy and a "Piercing" property. Among other Fourth Tier spells, it ranked high in raw offensive power.
But this wasn't just a case of power.
For a Fourth Tier spell to break through a summon of the same tier so decisively, the enemy either had an enhancement against holy magic… or possessed a natural counter to summoned entities.
More importantly, this confirmed Lyle's initial suspicion.
The grey-robed man was not just some random mage. He was a warrior who had stepped into the Hero Realm.
"Well, well. I forgot to mention something, boy," the grey-robed mage sneered. His voice oozed mockery. "I have a certain knack for killing summoners like you. Especially those who rely on holy magic."
The man lifted a hand, mana gathering again like a dark storm on the horizon.
"If that's all you've got, then die. Don't worry—those two witches will be joining you shortly."
Lyle's expression grew grim.
This was the first time he had faced someone from the Hero Realm head-on.
And of course, it had to be someone specifically built to counter his fighting style.
Until now, most of his enemies had been low-level creatures or mercs. He could rely on his angels alone to dominate the field. But this battle?
His usual tactics weren't going to cut it.
The flaw in his approach, the lack of follow-up power after summoning—was finally being exposed.
Only one option remained.
He needed to summon a Fifth Tier angel.
It would mean revealing one of his trump cards… unless he killed the enemy before they could report anything.
He glanced down at his belt. He had no scroll prepared for that summon yet. If he wanted to call upon a Fifth Tier angel, he'd need to pour out his own mana.
His hands began to glow faintly with magic—until something the enemy had said made him pause.
"Wait…"
His pupils contracted.
Did he just say he was going to kill the twin witches?
But… that didn't line up.
Lyle clearly remembered that four years from now, when the Great Tomb of Nazarick descended and Ainz Ooal Gown claimed this swamp, the twin witches were still alive. They were subordinates of Nazarick.
So if this lunatic was about to kill them…
Then who had saved them?
There was no way a guy like this, ruthless and arrogant—would let them live unless forced to. Which meant someone had intervened. Lyle's mind flashed back to a strange moment during his earlier fight with the lizardmen—when a strange mana fluctuation appeared in the sky.
It hadn't felt like a spell.
And now he was sure… it wasn't this guy's doing.
Which could only mean one thing.
Someone else was here. Someone powerful. And hidden.
"Silver Knight's Lance."
The grey-robed mage's voice came again, as calm as a butcher about to finish his work.
Once more, the silver spear coalesced in the air.
Lyle remained still on his hound, as if in a daze. The mage let out a low laugh.
"What's the matter? Terrified? Was that your trump card? Pathetic."
He raised a finger.
"Then die."
Whoosh!
The silver lance shot out again, gleaming like a meteor.
Lyle finally looked up—but it was too late. There was no time to dodge, no spell on his lips. He looked like he'd accepted his fate.
But deep in the forest, in the dappled shadows of the trees…
A ripple stirred.
A shadow—no, a black blur—shot out of the underbrush, tearing through the air at blinding speed.
It reached Lyle just as the lance did.
Crash!
The lance veered sharply to the right, grazing past Lyle's ear and slamming into the ground behind him with a thunderous impact. A crater formed where it struck.
Standing between Lyle and certain death was the creature that had deflected the spell.
He blinked.
It was… a massive, jet-black panther. Bigger than even his undead hound, and with four tails whipping behind it like serpents.
The moment the grey-robed mage saw it, his eyes widened.
"Magic Shield!"
A shimmer of invisible energy snapped around him, just in time.
A flash—barely visible—sparked to his left.
Something had struck the shield. The blue glow flared at the point of impact, a warning system built into the magic to help locate unseen threats.
The mage immediately darted back and raised his right hand toward the direction of the attack.
"Fear!"
A wave of invisible psychic force surged forward.
And that's when it emerged.
A massive reptilian shape slithered into view—dark blue scales glinting under the trees. It looked like a petrification lizard… but bulkier, stronger.
The spell hit.
Nothing.
"Magic Detection!"
The mage's face twisted into a grimace.
He got no reading. The creature was right in front of him, and the spell showed nothing.
It had been here the whole time—and he hadn't noticed.
Another cold bead of sweat rolled down his neck.
"Show yourself!" he roared, layering a second barrier onto his body. "You cowardly bastard!"
The air stilled.
The twin witches, previously slumped to the ground, were now crawling away as silently as they could, terror written all over their faces.
Both Lyle and the mage noticed. Neither moved.
Neither cared.
Something more dangerous had entered the field.
Lyle's expression had turned sour. Not because of the mage—but because he hadn't noticed the interloper either.
Rustle…
Then, footsteps.
Soft. Crisp. Confident.
Lyle spun around toward the sound.
From the forest's edge stepped a man. Tall, with golden hair and deep crimson eyes. A tattered black cloak draped over his shoulders. A warm smile played on his lips.
But that wasn't what drew Lyle's attention.
It was the creature on his shoulder—a red-eyed owl with an eerie, unnatural glow in its gaze.
And then Lyle remembered.
His eyes widened.
Why is he here?
This man… was one of the strongest individuals of the future.
The Fifth Seat of the Black Scripture.
The One-Man Army.