By The Blood

Shrugging, Adolla grinned. "Might be fun, so... I might as well. Since you’ll be dying first anyway."

Dunn didn’t dignify the comment with a response. He simply nodded at the Golden Knight, who then said, "Then this is a chance to train our coordination for the upcoming mission."

Dunn nodded again, knowing he couldn’t refuse the Radiant Sir. Perhaps this would be a good thing—not many could claim to have fought alongside a Golden Knight. Yes, he sought death, but he was a soldier first, and fighting was what he did.

The new giant unit, armed with massive clubs, came charging toward them. No guardsmen, arrows, or legionnaires came forward to assist. They were all tending to the dead or injured behind the lines, many filled with awe at the presence of the Golden Knight. Who could blame them?

Adolla was the first to move, his grin fading as he summoned his helm. He walked menacingly toward the approaching giants, who were hastily forming ranks. But Adolla stopped when the Golden Knight’s voice rang out.

"Not like this," he said. "We will be taking the imperial stance."

Imperial stance? Dunn had heard of it but had never really tried it. Supposedly, it was a stance invented by the Sovereign himself and was thus regarded as the greatest of all. But Dunn had never been convinced of its superiority. To him, it was good—but just as good as many other stances. He quickly reined in his thoughts. How could anything the Ruler did be "just like the rest"?

He obeyed, and judging by Adolla’s posture, so did he. Even his hot-headedness wasn’t immune to the command of the Radiant Sir. Dunn moved to the left of the knight, a few steps forward, while Adolla took the right. Soon, they were standing in a V-shaped formation, with the Knight at the apex, as the strongest among them. Normally, the formation’s strength could only be fully realized with large numbers of soldiers, but considering they were all shard-bearers, perhaps this would suffice.

They advanced.

Dunn kept pace, making sure he was in line with Adolla, who seemed less concerned with maintaining the formation. He hacked and sliced, decapitating giants and sending their heads rolling at the feet of the oncoming ones.

This is working? Dunn realized that with him cutting from the left and Adolla slashing from the right, the giants between them were being utterly destroyed, while the Knight dispatched even more with ease. The towering man casually swung his spear, taking out up to eight giants with each blow, barely paying attention to the battle itself, his focus instead on the legionnaires.

Occasionally, the Knight would comment on their movements—criticizing the strength in their swings, calling it wasteful. How are we supposed to conserve strength against giants? Dunn thought. Should we gently tap them on the shoulder? The formation was restrictive, forcing Dunn to constantly monitor Adolla’s position while also fending off giants.

The number of giants was rapidly dwindling—more than the waygate could replenish. Where were these giants coming from? Dunn had never heard of a single camp with so many giants. It was almost as if multiple camps had joined forces, or perhaps this was a passage to the giants’ city.

Soon, only a single giant remained, its head severed by Adolla’s blade. As for the weakened giant attached to the waygate, it was pale and sickly, its dry flesh stretched thin over its bones. Its single eye streamed with blood as it gasped for breath. Then, it collapsed, dead. No more hands reached through the waygate.

The two giant shard-bearers tightened their grips on their hammers and charged. One appeared before Dunn in a gust of wind. They plan to take out the weaker ones first! Dunn knew he couldn’t dodge the attack, so he turned and braced for impact with his shoulder.

Bang!

The force snapped Dunn back, shattering shards of his plate armor and sending him crashing to the ground. He gritted his teeth and groaned, steadying himself as he rose. His left arm hung limp, blood streaming down from his shattered shoulder, shards of armor embedded in his flesh. His bones were surely broken.

Luckily, there’s a doctor in the sanitarium. But will they be able to fix this mess? Dunn briefly wondered if shards of armor could be considered components inside his body, but he dismissed the thought.

He still held onto his sword—what kind of soldier would he be if he let go? Pushing through the pain, he glanced ahead. Adolla was locked in combat with the other giant shard-bearer, faring far better than Dunn had. Though desperate, Adolla was making quick, skillful moves, avoiding the giant’s crushing hammer.

Is Adolla just better than me?

The Golden Knight stood nearby, unscathed, as the second shard-bearer hesitated to engage him. I need to be there. Dunn limped toward his position in the formation. As soon as he reached it, the giant shard-bearer spotted him and, perhaps out of annoyance, raised its spear, which began to glow with a deep golden light. Unlike the other shard-bearer, this one was doing something different. Was he unique?

The hammer in the giant’s hands turned gold with light, and in a swift stride, it closed in for the killing blow. Dunn smiled. Maybe this time, he’d actually get to die.

He closed his eyes.

Boom!

But the blow never came. Frustrated, Dunn opened his eyes to see the Golden Knight holding the hammer with a single arm, the golden light still expanding from it. The Knight’s voice echoed, "You cannot defeat it, but you can kill it."

With a casual swipe, the Knight cleaved the giant’s legs clean off. Blood sprayed as the giant collapsed to the ground.

Dunn stared in disbelief.

"Finish him off. I’ll help with the other," the Knight said, vanishing into the wind. No, he hadn’t disappeared—he’d moved so fast Dunn couldn’t see it. Is this the true might of a Knight?

Dunn turned back to the giant, who lay silent, legs severed. Perhaps the giant had accepted its fate, choosing not to further glorify its killer. Dunn was fine with that. He raised his sword and thrust it down toward the giant’s chest.

Clang!

His sword stopped—unable to penetrate the plates of armor. The giant quivered, and then a deep, mocking laughter echoed from within the armor, reverberating like a sound from beneath the sea. Dunn groaned. The giant was mocking him.

He raised his sword and struck again. Clang! The same result. The giant’s laughter grew louder. Dunn gritted his teeth, raised his sword, and struck again. And again. And again. The sound of metal clanging against armor echoed across the battlefield, but he didn’t stop. He focused his strikes on a single spot at the center of the giant’s chest.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Splurt!

The giant froze, seemingly confused. Raising its head slightly, it saw a sword buried deep in its chest. Dunn grinned and said, "Nothing stays impenetrable forever."

The giant looked at him and, with a pained voice, said, "Except for the Duskbringer."

Who is that? Dunn briefly wondered but dismissed the thought. He raised his blade again and drove it deeper into the giant’s chest. Blood gushed out. Dunn grunted as he pulled the sword free. I survived? He was annoyed by the realization—frustrated, even. Based on the state of the battle, he should have died, but like a cockroach, he had survived once again. He sighed, but then his attention was drawn to something moving on the corpse of the shard-bearer.

It was like sticky black goo was seeping out from the cracks in his armor. Dunn recognized the phenomenon and simply waited for it to finish.

The goo curled and twisted, growing larger until it reached the size of a human head. Then, it solidified, taking the form of a black chest.

It formed a black chest? So he was a Sanguine? No wonder he was so strong. Dunn leaned down and opened the chest. Inside, he found a rolled piece of parchment—a knowledge scroll—and a black cloak. He picked up the cloak, examining it, but of course, he had no idea what it was. He wasn’t a Sanguine, after all, and didn’t have access to the Voice of the World or whatever they called it.

He shifted his gaze to the knowledge scroll. From what he knew, in certain circumstances, when a Sanguine dies, their corpse forms a world chest, which contains a knowledge scroll but may not always hold a world item. The knowledge scroll was essentially a summary of everything that had happened in the Sanguine's life.

Scribes would treasure such things, as reading them could take months, even years—depending on the age of the Sanguine. Dunn glanced at Adolla, noticing that he had already finished dealing with his giant. Dunn sighed. Is he actually better than me? His thoughts began to slow and blur.

Oh, I’m passing out. And so he did, collapsing with a thud onto the blood-soaked ground. The red dust fell softly around him.

Vin struggled to open her eyes, the pain from mana depletion burning through her body. She should have been asleep for hours by now—so why did the pain persist? She groaned, feeling the soft bed beneath her. So they took me? This will be a problem. As an SSO agent, I don’t have jurisdiction over factions or heretical constructs—only matters involving spies or threats from foreign nations or tribes.

She opened her eyes.

The small, stone-walled room was dimly lit. A doctor in black robes with a green scarf was standing beside her, holding an unnecessarily large needle, moving it closer to her wrist.

“No!” she winced, jerking her hand away from the needle. The doctor was startled but quickly recovered, offering a smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Just... no needles,” she said, quickly retrieving her Soundhand and buttoning it up. She then turned her attention to the two figures standing before her.

One of them was an Invigilator, dressed in a unique white kefna and wearing a monocle. Beside him stood a woman with hair so black it seemed to absorb all light, creating a void of darkness around her. Her eyes were frightening—so much so that Vin immediately thought of her worst fear: needles. Damn it! I hope she doesn’t have one in her pocket.

Vin composed herself. Why are they here? She recalled the events of the previous night. Since they’re here, they must not have found anything, which means that the tree—or maybe the baby—was above desolation class. Otherwise, the Invigilators would have had the means to conduct divination on anything below desolation. So they’re here to question me.

“My name is Aletha,” said the dark-haired woman who radiated a deep sense of dread. Based on her clothing, she was clearly a captain.

Aletha, Aletha, Aletha... Vin repeated the name in her mind, trying to recall anything about her. But nothing came to mind. “What?” Vin said bluntly.

Perhaps confused, Aletha paused for a moment before continuing, “The Sir Invigilator discovered you in the ruins of a possible heretic incursion. You should have been purged, but luckily, your identity as an SSO agent spared you from that fate.”

“I see,” Vin replied simply, then added, "Do you know which faction that woman belongs to?"

She already had a clue, based on intelligence acquired by the SSO, but due to the sheer number of factions, there was always the possibility she was wrong.

Aletha frowned and said, "Only the Invigilator knows that, however, we have a question for you." She glanced at the invigilator and continued, "How did you know that was going to happen?"

"I happened to be present at an accident where the driver mysteriously disappeared." Vin answered truthfully, "Then, using divination, I found clues as to where he might be."