NOVEL NEXT Chapter 20: Two-Star Gold Rank.
Allen wasn't the least bit concerned about their earlier encounter with Viscount Mestre. To him, the man was an imbecile who wielded his noble title like a blunt instrument, expecting it to command respect regardless of his actual power. It baffled Allen how someone like that had even become a landed noble.
Meanwhile, his most trusted general, Hilter, was overseeing a negotiation at a baron's castle. Their convoy had gathered a surplus of weapons, slowing them down, so they were selling off equipment along the way in exchange for provisions.
Learning from a previous noble who cowered behind his castle walls and refused to engage after seeing their military might, Hilter took a different approach this time—offering luxurious gifts taken from Viscount Mestre's estate before discussing trade.
The tactic worked. The baron, Charles, personally came out to inspect the goods and eagerly selected 100 pikes, 20 chain mails, 20 shields, 20 greatswords, and three full knight armors. However, short on gold, he compensated with 100 gold coins, ten carriages with two horses each filled with wheat, five cows, and fifty pigs. Allen, in good spirits after his first successful trade, even gifted the baron a bottle of Redbrook's finest wine.
As Hilter prepared to leave towards the nearby camp, Charles offered a warning. "Once you exit my territory, you'll be on your own. The roads ahead are full of bandits, and worse yet, Count Cobry's army. Be careful."
That evening, Baron Charles and his eldest son, Soria, a Three-Star Silver Knight, arrived at the convoy's camp for a banquet. They marveled at the Styles Family's military might, their well-equipped troops standing in disciplined formations. After introductions were made, Allen got straight to business.
"I invited you here to understand the road ahead," Allen said as they sat around a table taken from Viscount Mestre's estate.
Charles exhaled heavily. "The lands beyond my dominion are in chaos. Viscount Debonar is dead, as are Baron Anlar, Count Bajri, and Baron Omador. Their lands are lawless now, with no rulers and no safe places to resupply. Villages have been raided, and the cities are abandoned ruins."
Allen frowned. "And the cause?"
"Count Cobry," Charles said grimly. "A ruthless man with an army at his back. He was once a knight with no morals, taking any woman he desired—young or old, noble or peasant. He fathered over sixty illegitimate children and adopted them all. When the First Prince was exiled, Cobry pledged his loyalty. After the civil war, he returned with only ten surviving sons, but his ambitions didn't die. He waged war against his neighbors, doubling his land while wiping out thirteen noble families. The men were slaughtered, and the women suffered fates worse than death."
Allen's fingers tapped against the table. "And the First Prince allowed this?"
Soria scoffed. "The First Prince promised to investigate but did nothing. Then, one of Cobry's aides let slip that if Cobry conquered the region, he'd be made 'Duke of the Northwest.' That's why he's unstoppable. Any noble who resists is crushed. Even the alliance formed against him is crumbling due to infighting and betrayals."
Charles took another deep drink of wine. "Now that he's wiped out the Debonar family, I fear my own lands are next. That's why I bought so much equipment from you."
Soria leaned in. "Cobry has over a thousand Spear Cavalry—mercenaries in leather armor and pikes, deadly at hunting down enemies. He also commands 2,000 garrison troops, led by his sons who run his conquered lands. Whenever he destroys a noble house, he takes the survivors as slaves to build his city, which he hopes will rival the kingdom's capital."
Allen's gaze darkened. "So, we're marching into a warzone."
"Not just a warzone," Soria added. "The ruins of those fallen lands are full of insurgents—small resistance groups, acting as bandits. They don't just target Cobry's forces; they'll attack anyone for supplies."
"Do they have any real power?" Hilter asked.
Soria nodded. "There's one you should be wary of—a knight named Josk. A One-Star Gold Rank archer. He infiltrated Cobry's dominion and assassinated two of his sons. Even wounded the count himself. Now there's a hundred-gold bounty on his head. He leads a few hundred men and isn't above forcing local nobles to supply him."
Allen considered this. "And you suggest we avoid the area entirely?"
"If you value your convoy," Charles warned, "take another route. If Cobry or the insurgents spot you, you'll suffer heavy losses. And another thing—there are countless refugees trailing the armies, desperate for food. They'll slow you down if they latch onto you."
After the banquet ended and the baron departed, Allen sat in silence, deep in thought.
Should they continue as planned, risking bandits, insurgents, and Cobry's army? Or should they turn back?
Either choice carried danger.
And Allen wasn't one to hesitate.
...
The soft flickering of lantern light cast long shadows along the fabric walls of the tent. Allen sat cross-legged on his bed, his breathing slow and measured. His body pulsed with energy, the golden aura of his battle force shimmering faintly in the dim light. He concentrated, feeling the energy course through his battle force channels, merging with his blood and reinforcing his very bones.
The technique was arduous, demanding absolute focus, but after hours of patient cultivation, something within him shifted.
A sudden burst of warmth surged through his body, and a deep golden glow radiated from his skin. The transformation was complete. His aura sharpened, his senses expanded, and his body felt lighter yet filled with untapped strength.
Two-Star Gold Rank.
Clap. Clap.
The sound of slow applause broke the silence.
Allen opened his eyes, his breathing steadying as his gaze settled on the only other person in the tent. Seraphine.
She stood near the entrance, arms crossed, a smile gracing her lips. The lantern's glow illuminated her delicate features, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders. But it was her eyes—those deep, enigmatic blue eyes—that held him captive.
"Impressive as always," she murmured.
Allen exhaled and waved a hand dismissively, stroking a green magical circle around him, which only Seraphine could see.
"I would never have broken through this quickly without your help. Your legendary magic… I never would have guessed it could accelerate my cultivation like this."
Seraphine's expression turned slightly sheepish. "I wish I could do more, my lord."
"Please, don't say that." Allen shook his head, his gray eyes softening. "You are my lucky star."
A faint blush touched her cheeks, and she averted her gaze. "Milord, your talent cannot be overstated. You are beyond extraordinary."
Allen smiled but remained quiet. He knew his progress was unnatural, far too fast compared to others. But was it truly his own merit? Or was it merely the advantage of having someone like Seraphine by his side?
He pushed the thought aside. "With this breakthrough, I can feel it—my summoning speed has increased. I can summon another Silver Rank warrior." He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Seraphine, what do you think? Should I wait and gather my strength to summon a stronger Silver Rank? Or perhaps even aim for a Gold Rank?"
Seraphine frowned, considering his words carefully. "Milord, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.
She nodded. "My power allows me to enhance Silver Rank fighters, but my limits remain. I can already push a Level 1 Silver Rank to nearly Level 5 with my buffs. A stronger summon would, of course, grow more powerful, but the difference wouldn't be significant."
Allen sighed, the limitations of her current magic was evident, she could only push a peak Silver Rank like Hilter to One-Star Gold but not more than that, at least not for now.
"And you're already near your limit. I can't do that to you. You're working the hardest among us."
Her expression grew firm. "No, my lord. It is my pleasure to assist you."
Allen studied her for a long moment. There was no hesitation in her voice. No doubt. Just unwavering loyalty.
She continued, "Besides, I'm close to reaching the Fifth Circle myself."
His eyes flickered with curiosity. "Really? Have you found anything useful?"
"Yes," Seraphine said, a hint of excitement slipping into her voice. "A rare herb called Fairy Dust. It's incredibly potent for magical progress. Unfortunately, it's difficult to obtain—it only grows in the most treacherous regions. But I've managed to brew a potion using lesser herbs and medicines to mimic its effects."
Allen's gaze sharpened. "Will that be enough to push you past the Fifth Circle also?"
"It should," she admitted. "But after that… it will be much harder."
Allen leaned back, deep in thought. "We'll find a way. There must still be remnants of the Old Magic Era out there. Artifacts, lost techniques—something that can help you advance."
Seraphine hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Loran mentioned something interesting. He found rumors of an abandoned magic tower."
Allen's lips curled into a smirk. "Now that… is worth looking into."
A comfortable silence settled between them. The flickering lantern light made the shadows dance across the fabric walls, creating a strangely intimate atmosphere.
Seraphine shifted slightly, her pink lips parting as if she wanted to say something. But before she could, Allen spoke.
"I must say… summoning you was the best decision of my life."
His words hung in the air between them.
Seraphine's breath hitched, her blue eyes widening slightly.
For the first time, Allen allowed himself to truly look at her. She was breathtaking—elegant, mysterious, powerful. And yet, no matter how close they were, he always held himself back.
He swallowed hard, then shook his head. "Let's sleep."
Seraphine's lips parted again, but this time, she said nothing.
Allen turned his back to her and moved toward his bed. He could hear the soft rustling as she did the same, lying down on her own separate cot.
Despite sharing a tent, despite the closeness of their companionship, he had never once touched her.
And he knew—he knew—that she would accept him without hesitation.
But was it right?
Their loyalty was bound by the Mark of Styles. Was their connection genuine, or was it simply an extension of his power over them?
What if he was merely being selfish?
He let out a slow breath, closing his eyes.
He was a hypocrite to worry about such things. He had no qualms about using his subordinates as tools for his rise to power, yet when it came to crossing this line, something within him hesitated.
And so, despite the unanswered questions, despite the tension that neither of them dared to address, the night passed in silence.
Outside the tent, the cold wind whispered through the camp, carrying with it the secrets of a future yet to unfold.