241: One-on-One Combat
He had thought himself lucky, to be assigned to the oasis city of Wessphia.
He had survived the massacre, the first in the empire’s history, where the Imperial Guard had fought against each other. That, in itself, was a stroke of luck.
He was proud to be an Imperial Guard. But his opponents had also been the Imperial Guard, and with their numbers nearly equal, he believed that the outcome had been decided by a slight numerical advantage, and by luck.
And yet, only twenty-two remained.
They had all died, crying out for His Majesty the Emperor.
Both sides had, without a doubt, fought for the Empire.
And so, it was no surprise that the atmosphere among his colleagues in the Imperial Guard had been grim ever since.
So, when he had been assigned to Wessphia—a city famous not only for its steel industry, but also for its hot springs—he had thought it was a gesture of consideration from the higher-ups, a chance to relax and recuperate.
But Wessphia had become a battlefield.
He still didn’t know what had happened.
He had jumped up at the sound of an explosion, and had put on his armor, but the black smoke and dust had made it almost impossible to see.
The only sounds were the crackling of flames, the screams, and the shouts.
There were no allies.
He didn’t even know how many had attacked.
But his mind was calm. He had overcome countless trials, both in training and in real combat.
He was an Imperial Guard.
He would fight to protect the Perte Empire. He would find his allies, and if he encountered an enemy, he would cut them down.
That was all.
He spotted a figure in red armor, the same as his, in the smoke-filled haze.
It had to be the other Imperial Guard who had been assigned here. He called out, his voice bright.
“Thank God! You’re alive. What’s the situation…?”
His voice trailed off.
The wind blew, clearing the smoke.
A voice, even clearer than the desert night wind, replied.
“Dire, I would say. For you.”
“Crimson armor…? No…”
A black cloak, fluttering in the hot wind.
Crimson armor, trimmed with gold.
No helmet, her face exposed.
Silver hair, tied back in a high ponytail.
Brown skin, long ears.
Even in the Perte Empire, there were rumors of a dark elf in crimson armor.
“I presume you are an Imperial Guard. Therefore, I shall introduce myself only as the Blood Knight.”
“The Blood Knight… the Commander of the Dark Knights…!” he groaned, his voice bitter. But he raised his sword.
If he could defeat the Commander of the Dark Knights here—one of the supreme commanders, a cornerstone of the demon hordes.
That alone would be a ‘victory.’
The sacrifices of Wessphia would not be in vain.
“—Aaaaahhhhh!!”
He let out a war cry, raised his sword, and charged, his shield held high.
And a black dog bit his ankle and pulled him down.
“W-what?!”
Not one, but about ten of them swarmed him, biting his limbs, restraining him. He could feel his sword being torn from his grasp, but that was the least of his worries. Fangs clamped down on his cylindrical helmet, and a growl echoed inside.
“Gah…”
He tried to shake them off, channeling his mana into his armor, but he quickly realized that his strength was fading.
“No…?! These… Black Hounds… Barghests…?”
His heart pounded with a new fear, perhaps because even the mana he was using to maintain his composure was gone. Or perhaps it was simply because he had realized that the dogs swarming him were not ordinary dogs, but a pack of grim reapers, harbingers of death.
Black Hound Barghests. Harbingers of death.
Black Hound Bargest. To meet one is to die.
Black Hound Barghest. A demonic dog with the ability to absorb mana.
In a one-on-one fight, there was no reason to lose. Even against this many, if he had faced them calmly, he would have had a good chance of winning. But now, he had been pulled down, and he couldn’t even move.
He could feel his strength fading. His enchanted armor was being drained of its mana, and if he stopped channeling his mana into it, their fangs would surely pierce the plate. But if his mana ran out, then either way—
“Coward…!”
The moment he realized he was finished, a curse escaped his lips.
“You… are you still… a knight?! To use these mutts! Coward! Coward! Cowa—”
His body convulsed.
“…At least, suffer no more.”
The Blood Knight, her sword held in a reverse grip, plunged it into the slit of his visor, destroying his brain and forever freeing him from his pain.
“And… I am a little sorry.”
