It was a little past midnight. The night hung heavy and mysterious, its sparse lights flickering faintly while a deep yellow moon, veering toward red, loomed high overhead, tainting the sky with an ominous glow.
The scene unfolded at a slave warehouse on the outskirts of Rita.
The city’s residents slumbered on in tranquil peace, blissfully ignorant of the horrors erupting on the far side of their streets.
Iyefut Cape, Bob, and Nancy led a ragged group of slaves out of the warehouse.
Sang had entrusted her with carrying the unconscious Shika to safety, but she refused to bear a grown man in her arms herself. Instead, one of the burly slave men hoisted him gently.
Hmph—a proper lady couldn’t possibly embrace a man in full view of everyone.
The young brother-and-sister duo trailed close behind Iyefut Cape. They were twins, with no recollection of their homeland or parents. As far back as memory served, they had been slaves of the Montgomery Family, confined to cages their entire lives.
Morton Montgomery had tormented them relentlessly, plunging their days into unrelenting misery.
They had once gazed longingly toward the light, year after year, day after grinding day, only to find no escape.
Hope for a better future had withered long ago.
But fate had other plans.
Today, they had encountered Iyefut and Sang: she, an elegant lady of unyielding grace; he, a brave and mighty knight. Their sudden arrival pierced the veil of despair like the first rays of dawn.
Especially that boy’s parting words—”I’m no hero, just a handsome sword-slinger”—and the way he flung open their cage, extending a hand to pull them free.
He wasn’t handsome in the least, but he might as well have been the world’s savior.
“Milady,” said the boy, whose name was Ivan. They had barely stepped beyond the warehouse when he glanced back anxiously. “That hand… I mean, that knight—he’ll be all right, won’t he?”
He had nearly blurted out “handsome guy,” but the words stuck awkwardly in his throat.
The girl, Zoe, shared his worry for Sang. “Morton Montgomery looks… off. More terrifying than ever.”
The siblings knew nothing of combat, yet some primal instinct warned them of the man’s dreadfulness.
Iyefut glanced over her shoulder at the warehouse, where booming crashes echoed intermittently. Her mind drifted to scenes from the novels she loved: a lone knight charging into battle against impossible odds, while the princess awaited his victorious return from the castle ramparts.
With that image in mind, Iyefut Cape mustered a confident smile. “Of course,” she declared solemnly. “He’ll be fine. Absolutely!”
Her words ignited a spark in the twins, the other slaves, even Bob and Nancy. Confidence surged through the group, all eyes turning with faith to their knightly savior.
That nameless champion would surely vanquish the fiend Morton Montgomery had become.
But then—
No sooner had she spoken than a thunderous crash rent the warehouse roof. A blue-haired teenage boy hurtled through the air in a ragged arc, slamming into the ground and tumbling a dozen yards before coming to a halt at Iyefut’s feet.
What a sorry sight.
Who else could it be but Sang?
Iyefut, Bob, Nancy, Ivan, Zoe, and the slaves all stared in stunned silence, their faces twisting into masks of bewilderment. One moment, they were pledging their trust; the next, he was spat out like yesterday’s trash.
Sang bore plenty of wounds, but none were fatal. He sprawled on the ground like a flopped salted fish, staring up at the starless sky with a weary sigh.
“Hiss… ow, ow, ow…”
“What… what happened to you?” Iyefut crouched beside him, a black line of exasperation creasing her forehead as she leaned in to whisper.
Sang shot her a weary glance from below. “What does it look like? I can’t beat him. That guy’s about to come charging out. Now quit bugging the athlete and let me catch my breath. Every second counts for a finalist in the big match….”
Back when An Xiguang used to watch wrestling on TV, he’d never understood why the fighters milked every last moment on the mat before rising. Now, locked in a fight for his life, he got it: even a single second to breathe could mean survival.
Iyefut froze, dumbfounded.
In all her years, she’d never seen a knight quite like this. Weren’t they supposed to spout lines like “The sword is a knight’s soul,” “I shall never fall,” or “A wound on the back is the ultimate shame”? Yet here he lay, bold as brass, admitting defeat without a shred of shame.
The slaves gawked, equally floored.
Talk about a weirdo—no knight they’d ever heard of acted like this.
Moments ago, they’d brimmed with faith in him. Now, massive question marks loomed over their heads.
Was their knight really up to the task?
Ivan’s face flushed with embarrassment. No northern hero after all—just his imagination running wild.
As Sang lay there playing dead, the entire warehouse began to warp and buckle. This was no ordinary building; it had been specially reinforced to thwart escapes. Yet it twisted now like soft plastic, crumpling and shattering in a final cataclysmic rupture. From the rubble emerged a figure radiating an eerie crimson glow.
Minutes had passed since they’d last seen him, but Morton Montgomery was unrecognizable—a vision of pure terror.
Wreathed in choking smoke and leaping flames, the backlash from Forced Deformation had ravaged his body. He clung to a semblance of humanity, but his gait was grotesquely off-kilter, like some shambling aberration. There was no mistaking it: his appearance was horrifying, and his power matched it. Mana poured from him in waves. With every lurching step, the flat earth rippled like disturbed water, the very air warping around him.
By Sang’s estimate, the man’s strength had surged to Platinum Tier—solidly mid-tier among Platinum Knights, no less.
Stronger than his old man!
Morton Montgomery’s eyes burned with madness. He was less Blood Race now than a hulking humanoid monstrosity, reason utterly extinguished.
Terror rippled through the slaves at the sight.
“Go on, all of you—get out of here. Don’t stick around to watch,” Sang urged, hauling himself to his feet and gripping his Knight Sword—Dawn once more. “I’ll buy as much time as I can. Hurry and fetch reinforcements….”
Sang’s mouth told the slaves to flee and rally help, but his mind knew the grim truth.
Against Morton Montgomery’s current power, a lone Platinum Knight stood no chance. It would take several in concert—or a Diamond-Rank Knight—to put him down.
Pity the city likely boasted only a handful of Platinum Knights. Such elites were one-in-a-million, fit to captain even the grandest Knight Orders.
And if any lurked nearby? They served the Montgomery Family. Fat chance they’d lift a finger for outsiders!
This was Montgomery Family turf, after all.
All things considered…
Sang would probably have to finish this himself. Gritting his teeth, he turned to Iyefut Cape. “Princess, you need to go. Now.”
“But you said you couldn’t beat him. Why not come with us?”
“Can’t do that…. He’s running on pure bloodlust. If we all bolt, he might not chase—but he’ll rampage through the nearby homes instead. It’s the outskirts, sure, but folks still live here.”
Events had unfolded too abruptly. The explosion had only just jolted the locals into fleeing; there was no time for a proper evacuation. Someone had to hold the line.
Iyefut bit her lip.
Damn him.
For all his un-knightly antics, this boy harbored the purest spirit of the Knight’s Way deep in his soul.
In the next breath, Iyefut Cape stunned them all. She ordered the other slaves to press on without her and summon aid, then planted herself firmly at Sang’s side.
“I’m staying behind too!”
