The Haligtree flag fluttered in the gale. The military camp remained rigid and solemn; patrolling soldiers passed each other without a glance, let alone a word. Clanging sounds echoed from the nearby smithy where several Trolls were diligently reforging weapons, while a rumbling came from the distance as Giant Puppets wielding greatbows fired upon Stormveil. They were highly disciplined and well-trained. Thorne had been a Samurai General after all, so he was no stranger to armies.
This orderly appearance was far superior to that of those Cuckoos; everyone suppressed their curiosity and treated him as if he were invisible. After all, among a group of "tin cans" with greatshields and spears, a bare-chested swordsman with a long blade at his waist looked quite out of place. Fortunately, Thorne's skin was as thick as the walls of Stormveil; he felt no shame wandering through the solemn camp as an idle man, testing straight swords at the smithy one moment and tapping on armor the next.
It wasn't that he was bored out of his mind; as a man with professional ethics, Thorne hadn't forgotten his mission as a spy. Since Ranni's path would eventually collide with these siblings, it was wise to scout the military situation in advance. 'Hmm, the forging skills are a level higher than the Cuckoo Knights'; it will take more effort to pierce this armor.' He nodded inwardly. Armor and weapons were the scales and claws of humanity, and there were naturally levels of quality; while these Trolls were far from War Counselor Iji's level, they were much stronger than ordinary blacksmiths.
Was this some kind of racial specialty? He glanced at a nearby Troll, who was striking an anvil with silent focus, seemingly not noticing the strange swordsman at all. Since no one warned him off, Thorne observed closely and found that these suits of armor and weapons were not only refined but also very heavy. This proved that the body constitution of the Haligtree Army was superior. Then, he saw a row of spears in a corner, each as thick as an arm and three meters long, and walked over. The surrounding weapons were all wiped clean, but these spears were covered in dust.
He pulled one out and found it much heavier than a Cuckoo Knight's halberd; an ordinary Cuckoo Knight likely wouldn't even be able to wield it. "Those are old stock brought from the Haligtree. You can't handle them; don't go breaking things." A Troll suddenly spoke. Thorne, holding the spear, turned and asked, "Then are these weapons for the knights? It looks like no one has used them for a long time." Knighthood was an honor and a class; their weapons would not be placed with those of common soldiers. But the Troll didn't answer, only going back to the 'cling-clang' of his smithing.
Thorne shrugged, bored. He reached for the spear rack.
A voice, close by. "Those are soldiers' weapons alright. Soldiers from the Ancient Dragon War. Long since returned to the Erdtree."
Steady voice.
Thorne turned. A handsome man in ornate armor stood there. Golden hair. A scar over his left eye marred an otherwise perfect face. Strong. A Cleanrot Knight? The first to answer, and clearly high rank.
One must know: Cleanrot Knights were the Valkyrie's personal guard. Generals, when deployed.
"Excellency." Thorne gave a sorcerer's salute.
"Don't be nervous." The knight smiled, waved a hand. He took the spear, swung it twice. The weapon weighed at least two hundred pounds. Light as a feather in his hand. "That fool Gnilas packed these relics. Doesn't he know how soldiers are trained today? None of them can use these."
He cursed. A few times. Then, he returned the spear to the rack. Carefully, he sized up Thorne, nodding now and then. "Hmm. Not bad. You've got guts. No wonder you dared return to Raya Lucaria Academy after killing Cuckoo men."
His gaze wasn't sharp. No resentment sparked in Thorne. This knight seemed... kind. Unlikely to give the cold shoulder.
"You saw me?"
"Yes. I watched your fight from the lake. While you were causing a ruckus at the Academy."
"Let me introduce myself—" The knight took a half-step back, performed an elegant knight's salute. "I am Ivan, Lady Finlay's adjutant."
Finlay. Also a Cleanrot Knight, a renowned hero of the Haligtree. The general commanding the vanguard. A high-ranking confidant, then. Thorne's heart stirred.
"Is Princess Malenia finally going to grant me an audience?" He'd been here for days, hadn't seen the master's face. Even with his thick skin, this felt strange.
"No," the knight said. Taken aback, but still smiling.
"Her Highness is so busy, she's likely forgotten about the two of you." Shit. Thorne was in an awkward spot. He wasn't some overpowered protagonist who could make the Valkyrie fall to her knees with a single display of dominance. No response. Fortunately, Ivan was an adjutant. His emotional intelligence was on point.
"It's fine. When Her Highness gets bored, she'll surely remember you. Follow me."
"Your Excellency means..."
"Nothing special, just that your sword skills are quite interesting. Let me see them for myself."
Ivan spoke, then turned away. Thorne felt a flicker of helplessness. A guest follows the host. He hurried to catch up.
They walked. Soldiers passed, Haligtree Knights too. Each saluted Ivan. His status was clear. He kept his face stern, a slight nod his only greeting. Only the Cleanrot Knights dared tease him.
"Ivan, bullying again."
"A duel between knights? Bullying?"
"Hahaha, he's a sorcerer, clearly."
Thorne stayed silent, watching the Haligtree Army.
They were different. Two demigods. Miquella, the Valkyrie's brother, was the true leader. Malenia, the 'Blade of Miquella.' But time moved. Miquella should have been taken. Rumors whispered. The army marched south not to end The Shattering, but to find their monarch. Thorne saw the varied warriors. He understood the northern Haligtree's 'inclusivity.'
Haligtree Knights, Cleanrot Knights, Banished Knights. Albinaurics, Oracle Envoys, all looking like the Mixue Bingcheng mascot.
'Miquella is extraordinary.'
He recalled the information. Marika and Radagon's 'self-union.' Siblings, Miquella and Malenia, both flawed. The brother would never grow up. The sister, born with missing limbs, cursed by the Scarlet Rot. Yet, compared to his sister's sharpness, Miquella remained a mystery.
Androgynous. An eternal loli.
"Here we are."
Ivan stopped. Turned. A friendly pat on Thorne's shoulder.
"What are you thinking?"
"Uh, the Haligtree Army's atmosphere is good. United under one banner, fighting as one."
Thorne didn't dare speak the truth. These knights were fanatical Miquella worshippers. He looked around. An open space. Soldiers fought in pairs, real blades clashing. A Perfumer stood ready, aid at hand. They trained intensely.
The Haligtree Army's quality meant accidental kills were unlikely. Pain, however, was inevitable.
He opened his mouth to ask a question. The sharp sound of metal.
A Cleanrot Knight drew a long, slender rapier. Placed his helmet neatly to the side. Bowed.
"Let us begin."
Thorne stared. He thought the knight kind. A battle maniac, it seemed.
"But I am a sorcerer."
Ivan's lip twitched. 'Don't fool me.'
"Among the Cleanrot Knights, your identity is no secret."
Ranni owed me a favor? Thorne's thoughts sharpened. The Shattering had done away with niceties. The only way Malenia would protect someone was through debt. A favor had to be repaid. Briefly, he felt something akin to gratitude. Mostly, he wanted to test his mettle against a Cleanrot Knight. He drew his blade, the tip angling toward the ground. "Carian Knight of Honor, Thorne Wright. I request guidance."
"Hmm. Courage, you have."
"Seeing as you're injured, let's do it this way—" My old friend Loretta, the thought vanished. A killing intent, like Rivers of Blood, bloomed in me. I sprang forward. My sword led the way. The armored giant loomed before Thorne. "Wound me, and you win."
Clang!
Steel met steel. Thorne's wrist went numb. He staggered back, trying to absorb the blow. Before his heel hit the ground, a blizzard of cold light exploded.
Whoosh.
A blur of thrusts. Too fast to see. The blade shrieked. No pause. Thorne retreated. The knight stayed glued to him, forcing a horizontal block against the storm of steel. Read... read my ass! The speed was impossible. The sword, a falling star. Cuckoo, Cleanrot. Both knights. Why the gulf in skill? No time to gather magic. Thorne retreated a dozen meters, dodging countless thrusts.
The thrusts faltered. Thorne seized the moment. He advanced. Take the center! His blade angled, aimed at Ivan's face, forcing a head tilt. He closed the distance, pressed my elbow down, pinning Ivan's sword-hand. Then, a shoulder slammed into the chestplate.
Thud.
Ivan staggered. Recovered. The rapier flicked, meeting a meter-long Glintstone Arc. Such speed. Had he optimized for this? Magic was magic, after all.
Ivan's wrist felt a bit numb from taking it head-on, and moreover, he knew this was only the beginning. While the magic particles were still dissipating, a black shadow pierced through them. For the sake of fairness, the knight did not use his heavy armor to tank the hit, instead pulling back his rapier to defend. However, it wasn't a sword light that arrived. Thorne stepped on Ivan's knee and leaped with force; the swordsman, originally a head shorter, jumped above the knight's head, putting strength into his waist as he rolled and slashed downward. Great Shinobi: Shadowfall! Clang!!
The rapier met the blow, a hard, flat check. Ivan's superior strength held. He didn't buckle to a knee, but the impact had him off-balance. His stance was wrecked. Ivan strained, trying to get his back straight while reaching for Thorne.
Thorne pivoted on the blades, a desperate lever, and sprang behind him.
Not good.
The knight spun, feet planted. He saw the swordsman, half-crouched, those blue eyes now a mirror.
Focused, calm, and indifferent, like a lurking hunter who cared not for the strength of the prey. He had seen that look before—on Malenia, the Valkyrie. A blur, a rush. The knight pivoted. Thorne attacked. Star-frost in hand, Thorne bared his teeth toward the rapier.
Secret Sword: Vortex Cloud Crossing!