"What if he doesn't come after us?" the green-armored knight asked, a bit puzzled.
But the intent to kill someone—that look—wasn't something you could hide.
"Karmel needs my blood to wash away his shame," Ian said calmly. "He'll chase me. For honor's sake, he has to. If he were the kind of man who'd let his name be tarnished, he would've agreed when I offered him double the pay to kill Harui back at the start."
A gentleman may be deceived with righteousness—as Harui had once relied on Karmel's integrity to manipulate him, Ian was now relying on that same integrity to bait him.
"By the way, I never got your name," Ian suddenly remembered. "How should I address you?"
"Me?" The knight blinked, then laughed. "Old Dog."
"I meant no offense," Ian said quickly. "That was... just for show, when I offered the mercenaries a noble title. I wanted to plant the idea that anyone, regardless of their birth, could rise under me. It was groundwork—for flipping them later."
"The name's Rore. He's Kess," Rore finally introduced them properly. Then he suddenly raised his head, glancing toward the horizon. His expression shifted. "They're coming. Protect yourself. If things go south, run. That horse of yours is fast enough—they won't catch you."
Ian looked west. Sure enough, four riders appeared in the distance. The one leading wore a full suit of chain and plate—undoubtedly Captain Karmel himself. The other three wore only leather and mail.
"You bastard! Oathbreaker! Murderer! You have no honor!"
Even from over fifty meters away, Ian could already hear Karmel's furious roar.
Their eyes locked.
The killing intent radiating from Karmel hit Ian like a blast of icy wind. For a moment, he truly felt a chill pierce his spine. His hand, gripping the sword hilt, trembled ever so slightly.
There were no challenges, no shouted threats. Karmel raised his lance—and charged.
The flat, open Kingsroad was ideal ground for cavalry. His warhorse quickly accelerated from a trot to a gallop.
At that exact moment, the black-armored knight Kess—who hadn't said a single word so far—also spurred his horse and dashed forward. Rore shot Ian a final warning glance before charging as well.
In the blink of an eye, they clashed.
Karmel, at the head, aimed his lance straight at Kess's neck—the gap between helmet and breastplate.
Kess twisted his torso, thinking he'd easily dodged the clumsy thrust.
But Karmel's skill with a lance was masterful. He had already anticipated Kess's movement. Even with Kess dodging at full tilt, the lance slammed into his oversized left shoulder plate with pinpoint accuracy.
Luckily, Karmel's weapon wasn't a true cavalry lance with a reinforced shaft. It was a common spear. The shaft shattered instantly under the impact.
Kess barely kept from falling, pulling hard on the reins and using the stirrups to stabilize himself. But that action cost him the chance to counterattack—he could only watch as the two horses passed each other.
Karmel didn't fare much better. The recoil of the impact rocked him hard. As the shaft broke, he dropped the useless weapon and tried to draw his sword. But before he could unsheathe it, Rore was already upon him.
Seeing his opponent charging head-on, Karmel yanked the reins to veer off—avoiding a direct collision. But in the sharp turn, his horse stumbled and tilted dangerously to the left.
Rore tugged his reins with a flick, his horse gliding past Karmel effortlessly. At the same time, Rore twisted in the saddle and swung his sword with perfect timing—slicing clean through half of Karmel's left hand.
That blow sealed Karmel's fate.
He lost control of his horse. The panicked steed lurched forward a few more steps before both man and beast toppled violently to the ground. The impact snapped Karmel's left leg beneath the horse's weight.
A strangled scream echoed across the Kingsroad.
Rore galloped past, then sharply reined in, wheeled around, and charged again.
He leaned low over his horse's neck, blade angled downward.
As he reached the fallen captain, Rore drove the sword in with brutal precision—straight through Karmel's exposed throat.
But his warhorse didn't stop. The momentum ripped the sword through flesh and bone, severing the spine, tearing open half the neck—and launching the head from the body.
Rore kept riding, then turned again—this time toward Kess.
But... it seemed Kess didn't really need help.
Rore eased up, slowed his horse, and let out a helpless laugh, palm to face.
In the time Rore had taken to kill Karmel, Kess had already taken down two enemies—alone.
Two corpses lay sprawled across the Kingsroad. One of them had been cleaved clean in half at the chest.
The last surviving rider had completely lost his nerve. With all his comrades dead and that towering black-armored knight bearing down on him, he had no will left to fight.
Seeing Kess momentarily distracted after finishing the second man, the rider turned tail and fled north.
"Catch him!" Ian shouted, and spurred his horse into a gallop.
He couldn't let anyone escape. Not today. Any survivor was a risk.
His white horse surged forward—lighter, faster, unarmored. In mere seconds, he passed both Kess and Rore, closing the distance to the fleeing rider.
Ian gripped his drawn heraldic sword tightly. He was nearly within striking range when a sudden, inconvenient realization struck him:
Wait a second... can I actually win this fight?
But there was no time to think. His horse overtook the enemy's in the next instant, and relying only on vague memories from his mercenary "class," Ian swung his sword by instinct.
The fleeing rider blocked with ease, his sword deflecting Ian's strike. Ian's arm trembled from the impact, and he nearly lost balance in the saddle.
The mercenary, sensing Ian's inexperience, immediately countered with a vicious slash.
Ian barely managed to raise his sword for a block.
Clang!
His weapon flew from his hands.