Chapter 56…
Zionhac didn’t consider this search all that serious.
At a glance, it was obviously the work of some ragtag bandits.
Of course, Dante’s answer to his earlier question had been excellent—exactly the kind of response he would expect from a true commander.
For someone only fourteen, Dante’s thoughts were remarkably deep, and his compassion extended even to the safety of ordinary commoners.
Just confirming that was enough for Zionhac to feel no regret at all for following Dante out of the duchy.
But still—
Trudging through the snowy wilderness just to hunt down bandits was an annoying task.
“What? Why?”
Feeling guilty under Cain’s gaze, Zionhac awkwardly shifted his feet.
“It’s just… Vice Commander, your face is looking more and more sour.”
“You can tell?”
“Everything you think shows up on your face.”
“…Didn’t know that.”
Zionhac scratched his head in embarrassment.
“Can’t help it. I’m no saint like the commander. What’s a hassle is a hassle.”
“For someone who says that, you did ask a pretty straightforward question earlier.”
“That’s only because you all seemed curious. Had no choice but to ask directly.”
Cain smiled faintly at the curt reply.
“What about you, Sir Elaine? You’ve watched the commander since he was young, haven’t you?”
Elaine stayed silent for a moment before speaking quietly.
“He’s an exceptional man.”
And that was it.
Both Zionhac and Cain knew she was taciturn by nature, so they didn’t expect more.
Hearing even that much from her was satisfying enough.
“Anyway, think we’ll actually find these guys? Maybe they’ve already run far off.”
“That’s possible. In this snow, our outfits stand out too much.”
Black armor with crimson cloaks.
In this white wasteland, they would be visible from kilometers away.
No bandits in their right mind would just sit around waiting.
On that point, Zionhac, Elaine, and Cain all agreed.
“Still, we need to check. Some idiots might think hiding nearby means they won’t get caught.”
Knights’ senses far surpassed ordinary imagination.
Even a knight who had merely awakened their Stigmata could detect a rat hiding dozens of meters away.
So there was no need to even mention Acrasion.
Even if someone buried themselves in the snow, they would be found without fail—
“Stop.”
Zionhac suddenly raised a hand, his face hardening.
Prrrrk!
As he yanked the reins, his startled horse reared.
But he had no mind to calm it.
He felt something.
Moments ago, there had been nothing nearby—no people, not even wild animals.
But now—
As if they had dropped straight from the sky.
Dozens of presences radiating mana.
“Prepare for battle.”
Shiiing—!
At his command, the two knights silently drew their swords.
The midday sun reflected off their blades, scattering light across the snow.
“Whoever you are, you’ve been found. Why not just come out?”
Definitely not bandits.
If they had the skill to deceive his senses and hide, they’d be a hundred times better off joining the Empire’s knighthood.
Shffft—
In response to his mana-imbued voice, a group began to reveal themselves, as if emerging from a rift in space itself.
They appeared out of thin air.
Thirty-two.
Zionhac instantly counted their numbers.
All of them have awakened Stigmata.
This was firepower enough to rival an entire knight order.
Where had such people come from?
Questions flickered through his mind, but he didn’t show it.
Instead, he readied himself to move at any moment and spoke.
“Reveal yourselves.”
Their clothes varied—
Some wore tattered rags like peasants.
Others donned expensive-looking light armor.
Dozens of men, all in different garb, but with one thing in common:
Every single one wore the same red mask.
“We have no business with you.”
Contrary to expectation, someone stepped forward and spoke.
The mask hid his face, but his middle-aged voice was clear.
Wearing leather-padded armor like a mercenary, he radiated formidable energy.
“What we want are only three: Elaine Serapiel, Mileon Luminous, and Dante Aquites.”
“…Ha!”
Zionhac let out a laugh.
Elaine and Mileon were one thing.
But asking him to hand over the commander of Acrasion?
It was beyond absurd.
“Sir Cain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“Perhaps kill them all first, then think later?”
“Not bad. Sir Elaine?”
She simply nodded, her gesture dripping with killing intent.
“Then it’s settled. No negotiations.”
Not that there had been any to begin with.
Without hesitation, Zionhac spurred his horse forward, charging straight at them.
“One alive is enough. Kill the rest.”
“By your command.”
The three knights launched themselves at the mysterious enemy without a moment’s hesitation.
“Slay the ignorant heretics.”
The middle-aged man gave his own command for slaughter.
And at last—
CRAAAAAASH—!
The two sides clashed.
We must capture them!
These were the ones who had destroyed his family.
In his previous life, Dante hadn’t even glimpsed their identities, let alone caught them.
Not until the very moment of his death.
So yes, he had felt at a loss about how to stop them.
But now, they appeared right before him.
He couldn’t let this chance slip.
“Sir Mileon!”
Dante shouted toward Mileon, who had dismounted to move some trees, and then whipped his horse around.
“Everyone, follow me!”
At his order, Acrasion charged.
Thundering hooves across the snow.
Snowstorms rose like foaming white waves.
Acrasion stormed madly in Zionhac’s direction.
So many.
Why hadn’t he noticed earlier?
There were over thirty enemies.
Zionhac, Elaine, and Cain were holding their own against more than ten times their number.
…Not that strong.
Objectively, yes, they were powerful—every one of them a knight-level warrior with awakened Stigmata.
But strength was relative.
If the enemy had Stigmata, Acrasion had awakened Traits.
Tenfold numbers wouldn’t be nearly enough to stop three of Acrasion’s knights.
Still, Dante rushed.
He had to capture them and uncover the power behind them.
If not, the Aquites family might suffer the same tragedy again.
Grinding his teeth, Dante pushed his horse harder.
Thankfully, the battle wasn’t far ahead; he would arrive quickly.
“Sever their limbs, but leave them alive.”
“By your command.”
At the low order, Acrasion fanned out to the sides, crashing down on the enemy.
BOOOOM—!
“Guhh!”
“Urghhh!”
Limbs flew. Blood spurted like fountains.
The white snow was dyed crimson in an instant.
The overwhelming difference in power was clear.
For four years straight, Acrasion had fought monsters every single day.
They far surpassed ordinary knight orders.
Thirty-two knight-level enemies with Stigmata were nowhere near enough.
The strange, masked enemies were swept away like snowflakes in a gale.
And yet Dante’s expression wasn’t bright.
No screams.
They weren’t dead—
But every one of them suffered near-fatal wounds.
Limbs severed, bodies crushed under hooves.
Still, not a single scream.
They only bit their lips, swallowing the pain silently.
The sight brought back memories.
Yes… it was the same back then.
Even when his father, Mileon, and the Silver Cross knights cut them down again and again, they had kept their mouths shut—fighting desperately to take even one more down with them.
That memory overlapped with the present, irritating Dante deeply.
I can’t hold back.
Lose one arm? They swung the other.
Lose their legs? They crawled to strike again.
So—
He would have to crush their will to resist entirely.
Dante drew Arpheon, urging his horse slowly forward.
“Haaa!”
One of the masked men, who had miraculously survived Acrasion’s charge, rushed at Dante.
His eyes above the red mask blazed with the absolute intent to kill.
Fanatical devotion—madness that no pain could break.
Whoever they worshiped, it was certain.
Dante gazed at him with indifferent eyes and raised his inner blade.
The absolute conviction in his sword—the blade that had cut down even nameless incarnations of malice.
That unseen will imbued Arpheon.
Perfect unity.
As if it were part of his body, Dante swung upward.
Slice—!
Such an ordinary upward slash.
Even a beginner student could imitate the movement.
But the power inside was different.
Dante hadn’t cut flesh.
He cut the heart.
The spirit.
And even faith itself.
Riiip—!
He felt it in his fingertips—the sensation of cutting something fundamental, invisible.
No external wound appeared, but—
“AaAaAaAaAaAaAaAARGH!”
The man’s soul, split apart, let out a harrowing scream.
The battle froze.
“Drop your swords.”
Dante’s heavy voice thundered across the blood-red snowfield.
