"Charge!"
After entrusting the villagers to the masked magic caster who commanded the undead with ease, Gazef Stronoff abandoned all hesitation. He led his direct squad straight toward the enemies surrounding the village.
As long as he drew the Slane Theocracy's attention to himself, the encirclement would loosen. Once a gap appeared, the villagers would have a chance to flee.
That was enough.
Gazef raised his longbow, drew the string to its limit, and released.
The arrow flew true—straight toward the enemy's face—only to be deflected at the last instant, as though striking invisible steel.
Tch.
Magic resistance.
He understood immediately. Defensive enchantments. Ordinary arrows were meaningless against trained magic casters. Only enchanted ammunition could penetrate such protection.
The Royal Direct Squad was elite—but not wealthy. They did not possess that luxury.
For a fleeting moment, Gazef recalled the silver-clad tiger knights he had seen before. If those archers were here, their magic arrows would already be tearing through this formation.
So foolish.
He discarded the bow, drew the greatsword granted to him by the King, and urged his horse forward.
Before he could close the distance, a magic caster raised a hand.
The warhorse screamed and reared violently.
Gazef barely clung to its neck, legs locking tight as the animal thrashed beneath him. His breathing spiked. The horse refused all commands.
Mind control.
Not on him—but on his mount.
Against ordinary animals, such magic was devastatingly effective.
Gazef leapt from the saddle.
"Warrior Captain!"
His men surged past him, attacking from both flanks. Others tried to pull him back into formation.
Too late.
An angel descended.
White wings cut through the air as it dove with unnatural speed.
Gazef met it head-on.
Steel flashed. His blade carved deep, nearly cleaving the summoned being in two. Its "blood" dispersed into pale motes of magic, yet the angel did not fall immediately. It continued moving, seeking an opening.
Reduced damage.
So that was the trick.
"Don't worry about me!" Gazef shouted. "Break through! Do not look back once you do!"
He stepped forward instead of retreating.
Warrior's Aura surged.
The familiar strain of Martial Arts tore through his body as power concentrated into his arms.
With a single, brutal strike, he severed the angel completely. Its form collapsed into light and vanished.
There was no time to rest.
More angels closed in.
Gazef counted them with a cold eye. If they were focused on him, the village would live.
That alone was worth his life.
Hooves thundered behind him.
He turned—just in time to see his direct squad charging back into the fray.
Idiots.
He had ordered them to flee.
Yet… pride burned hotter than anger.
Then there was only one choice left.
He lunged forward, straight toward the enemy commander.
If he could not win, he would at least carve out hope.
But his intent was obvious.
Several enemy casters peeled off, angels crashing into Gazef's returning men. Against summoned beings and coordinated magic, the direct squad was driven back, bloodied and overwhelmed.
The rest turned fully toward Gazef.
"Enough!"
He roared as his body screamed in protest.
Limits shattered.
Martial Arts overlapped.
Six-Fold Slash.
Six arcs of light tore through the battlefield in an instant, striking six angels and cutting them apart. Their forms dissolved into drifting particles, momentarily thinning the sky.
A cheer rose from the soldiers.
For a heartbeat, hope flared.
Instant Reflexes.
Flowing Acceleration.
Gazef moved like a storm given flesh, cutting down angel after angel. Even the Theocracy's elite hesitated.
Then a calm voice cut through the chaos.
"Do not falter. This is the struggle of a cornered beast."
Nigun Grid Luin stepped forward.
Beside him floated a different summon—armored, shield-bearing, wielding a massive spiked weapon.
A Guardian Angel.
Its presence stabilized the formation, bolstering allies within its sight.
Under Nigun's command, angels were summoned again and again, replacing losses effortlessly.
"Keep your distance," he ordered. "Wear him down."
They obeyed.
Gazef's breathing grew ragged. Each Martial Art tore at his body. His movements slowed—imperceptibly, but enough.
The hope he had ignited was smothered under endless reinforcements.
From the edge of the battlefield, unseen—
"Gazef Stronoff is nearing his end," Vier said flatly.
Lock watched in silence.
Gazef, surrounded by angels, bloodied yet unbowed.
A faint smile touched Lock's lips.
The stage was ready.
Now, it was time for the true monster to step forward.
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