Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 28 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Growl of an Iron Staff

Robert had slain James Tret, a captain of the O’ltormea Empire, securing the Kingdom of Xarooda’s victory in the Battle of the Ushas Basin. While Robert indulged in the sweet taste of triumph, Signus Galveria—the other half of the famed Twin Blades—eagerly awaited his turn to take action. Signus was at the training grounds near the royal castle in the capital city of Peripheria. It was just past midnight. He had made his way to the training grounds in preparation for the upcoming battle. Robert, stationed at the front lines, had sent word of a possible surprise attack on the capital by a detached force of the O’ltormea army. Having been entrusted with the response by Lione, Signus had no choice but to steel himself for the task. That said, there was nothing he could do at the moment.

The Igasaki clan has already set up a surveillance network in the vast forest to the west of the capital to detect any movements of the O’ltormean army’s detached force, thought Signus. There was virtually no chance that an entire army could slip past that watchful net. Well, that’s only if Robert’s words were true.

Signus smirked at this thought; one could not dismiss Robert Bertrand’s words as lies so easily. At the same time, believing them unconditionally was no simple matter.

I’d prefer if they did come.

After all, his position came with no shortage of stress and burdens. If he could forget those troubles, even for a brief moment, that alone would be a cause for celebration. For that reason, Signus stood alone in the open training grounds, quietly refining his martial skills.

“Hm, what a truly refreshing feeling. It seems I’m simply not suited to being cooped up in an office,” muttered Signus, taking a deep breath that resembled a breathing technique passed down in Xingyiquan martial traditions.

However, this breathing technique was not something he had learned from another person. Rather, it was a method of mental discipline that Signus had acquired over the course of his long years on the battlefield. Even if it was self-taught, its effectiveness was undeniable. Feeling vitality surge through every cell in his body, Signus lightly closed his eyes. He gripped his beloved iron staff with both hands and slowly took a stance as he stepped forward with his left foot and turned his body sideways. The iron staff instantly roared through the air, striking down an invisible enemy before him. The motion resembled an overhead sweeping strike from the jodan stance in traditional staff techniques. But it was merely similar in appearance.

In reality, Signus had never formally trained in any established school of staff combat. The staff was far from a mainstream weapon in this world compared to swords or spears. Battlefield experience was the origin of all martial arts techniques. Thus, it was only logical that a seasoned warrior like Signus would develop a stance that bore similarities to traditional staff techniques. Of course, there were also undeniable differences. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the weapons themselves were entirely distinct from the outset. Wood formed the foundation of a conventional staff, but Signus wielded a staff forged from solid iron. Naturally, swinging it required an entirely different level of strength than an ordinary wooden staff. Considering the centrifugal force generated with each motion, the strain on his muscles likely exceeded several hundred kilograms. Since this custom-made iron staff weighed over twenty kilograms, the force might have surpassed a ton. One had to wonder just how immense Signus’s strength truly was, given how effortlessly he swung such a weapon.

Lu Zhishen, the Flowery Monk from Water Margin, could wield a twenty-eight-kilogram monk’s staff with ease. Perhaps Signus’s might rivaled even that legendary feat. Yet, the man who had just performed such an inhuman display seemed to have little awareness of his own extraordinary achievement. He believed it was no different from a child idly swinging a stick in play, though the result of his playful swings was anything but trivial.

At that very moment, a violent gust of wind erupted, swirling furiously around him. One could liken it to a raging gale capable of effortlessly shattering the human body—undoubtedly a power beyond the realm of ordinary men. In truth, only a handful of warriors were skilled enough to even attempt to withstand a blow from Signus’s iron staff. For the average person, merely lifting such a weapon would be a struggle—let alone enduring a strike that came at them faster than a major league batter’s full swing. Trying to block it would be utterly futile. A spear would snap upon impact. A sword would shatter under the sheer force. Even if one attempted to defend with a shield, there was no way they could fully absorb the blow. No matter how sturdy the shield, it would be no different from trying to stop a speeding car with nothing but brute force.

Signus felt this was nothing more than a casual practice swing. He used his natural physical strength to deliver this strike, even before enhancing his body with martial thaumaturgy. And yet, even someone as superhuman as Signus was not without his doubts.

“Have I grown sluggish from all that paperwork?” he murmured after a pause, shifting fluidly from one stance to another, searching for the source of his faint discomfort. This sensation was likely nothing more than an illusion born from his own uncertainty. In other words, it was a mere misconception or something akin to an obsessive fixation.

Unlike Robert, who had fought alongside Orson Greed to defend the front lines at the Ushas Basin, Signus had indeed been away from the battlefield. He had been serving as Lione’s aide, acting as a mediator between the nobility. From that perspective, it was understandable why he might lament his absence. The reality was that his time away had only been a matter of a few months. During that period, Signus had frequently visited the training grounds whenever he found the time, continuing his practice. Such routine training alone was not enough to significantly refine his techniques, but the idea that his skills had dulled in such a short span seemed equally implausible.

By that logic, it was a bit premature for Signus to wallow in self-pity over his supposed decline. Anyone who had just witnessed his previous strike would scoff at the notion that his martial prowess had diminished. But such reasoning was irrelevant to Signus. What truly mattered was whether he could trust in his own strength. And so, as if to dispel the lingering discomfort within him, Signus once again began swinging his iron staff.

How many times had he swung it now?

Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, yet it had all been worth it. At last, Signus halted his movements.

“It’s been a while since my last battle, so I had some doubts. But it seems my instincts have finally returned,” he murmured again, gazing upon his longtime companion—the iron staff. In his eyes burned the flames of anticipation for combat. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a prepared cloth, then took up his weapon and resumed practice. It seemed there was still something that did not sit right with him. Unlike Robert, I am a man who can only live on the battlefield. That’s precisely why I must live up to his expectations.

Signus rarely allowed others to see his deeply hidden resolve. Of course, he was not as rigid or unrefined as he believed himself to be. Compared to Robert, he might not have been the most sociable. Even so, he was nothing if not earnest and dependable in his work, and wasn’t as socially inept as he thought. But he could never charm noblewomen with honeyed words that bordered on nauseating, like Robert. Nonetheless, his quiet demeanor had earned him high regard among aristocratic ladies. And to parents with daughters of marriageable age, the dependable Signus was often a far more desirable son-in-law than the flamboyant Robert. It was a testament to the trust people placed in Signus Galveria. If he were truly incapable of social dealings, he would never have been able to serve as Lione’s aide, negotiating with the nobility. What one was capable of and the things one truly desired often did not align.

On top of that, there was another reason Signus saw himself in such a light. Because he had been deprived of parental love and treated with indifference for most of his youth, the battlefield was the only place where he had ever been fairly judged. Aside from the home where he had lived with his wet nurse, Elmada, the one place where Signus Galveria felt truly at ease was the battlefield. In a way, it was almost like a curse as he had spent his days fighting as nothing more than a convenient pawn of war.

As an overwhelmingly powerful warrior, Signus had adapted to that hellish existence and amassed countless military achievements. That was precisely why he could not help but feel fear. He feared he might be unable to wield his full strength when it truly mattered.

Not yet... It’s still not enough...

Driven by that restless anxiety, Signus continued to swing his iron staff. For a warrior who risked his life on the battlefield, such preparation was only natural. There was another way to interpret this, which stemmed from how both he and Robert were perceived. Those around Signus Galveria clearly held him in the highest regard. That alone proved his recognition as one of the strongest warriors in the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. If one were to search for warriors in Rhoadseria who could stand on equal footing with Signus, the number would barely reach five.

Helena Steiner, the Ivory Goddess of War, was in a league of her own. The only other name that could be mentioned in the same breath as Signus was his counterpart, Robert Bertrand. In the context of formal martial competitions, the conversation might shift slightly. There was no shortage of renowned knights and warriors in Rhoadseria, one of the three great nations of the eastern region of the western continent. Many would readily name Chris Morgan or Leonard Orglen among the most formidable fighters. Their reputations were built solely upon victories in tournaments, but that was not to say that they were weak—far from it.

Ultimately, a tournament was nothing more than a controlled test of skill. The moment real combat—where lives were on the line—entered the equation, the entire dynamic changed. Even in the modern world, there were cases where highly skilled martial artists or professional fighters fell into street fights against untrained opponents, sometimes even losing their lives. This happened because martial artists developed their strength to shine in the specific, regulated environment of a competition. Of course, this did not mean that martial arts were meaningless or that fighters were weak. That also did not mean that they were absolute warriors. In that sense, Chris’s and Leonard’s strengths were fundamentally the strength of the arena.

That said, there’s no denying that those two possess exceptional talent.

Even their lord, Ryoma Mikoshiba, and Helena had acknowledged it. Compared to Signus and Robert, their evaluations would undeniably fall a step lower due to the difference in the number of life-or-death situations they had endured. Although the Twin Blades had mastered martial arts and honed their skills, it was not enough. This truth was something their lord understood well. One could easily imagine this because he had sent Lione and the other two veterans as reinforcements to the Kingdom of Xarooda.

As such, Signus would often muse, Perhaps I am capable as a warrior, but when it comes to the qualities needed to lead troops or the tactical insight required of a general, I am no match for Robert.

This anxiety settled deep within Signus’s heart, sinking like sludge at the bottom of his soul. Whether said thoughts were true was uncertain. One could only find the answers in the battles where life and death were on the line. If Ryoma Mikoshiba learned that Signus harbored such anxieties, he would probably be taken aback, wide-eyed, or simply laugh it off as a bad joke. To Ryoma, it would likely seem like just another poorly executed jest. But the human heart was a genuinely mysterious thing.

Signus felt deeply ashamed of his own feelings for thinking this way, so he could never compromise regarding his martial arts. If he compromised, he knew that he would be betraying the expectations of his lord, the one who had shown him the way of the warrior. Because of that, Signus sincerely wished to meet an enemy worthy of the martial arts he had diligently trained in. He believed that it was his only role to prove his worth to his lord through the use of the skills he had mastered.

Now that my rhythm is back, I’ll go ahead and do another hundred repetitions.

Before Signus realized it, a puddle of sweat had formed beneath his feet. It was preparation for the coming days. 

The very next day, Signus’s earnest wish was fulfilled when a scout from the Igasaki clan brought news of the discovery of a detached force from the O’ltormea Empire. To the west of Peripheria lay an expansive forested area. Beyond that, one could see the towering mountain range that separated the central and eastern parts of the continent. Local woodcutters, let alone adventurers hired for plant gathering, rarely ventured into the depths of this forest.

Said place could be considered a wild kingdom where monsters and fierce beasts engaged in a constant struggle for survival. However, the situation seemed different in the past few days. The beasts living there had instinctively understood this change, retreating into their dens, quietly waiting for the storm to pass. The sun had already set beyond the western horizon, and the veil of night was beginning to take over the land. Although a pale moon hung in the sky, conditions were not ideal for conducting reconnaissance.

Signus’s enhanced vision allowed him to detect the movements of the army advancing through the mountain pass.

“I see... The absence of a military flag is suspicious. First of all, we haven’t received any information about the Kingdom of Xarooda’s army being in this area. So that must be the O’ltormea Empire’s army that Robert mentioned,” muttered Signus, who had hurried to the site after receiving the report from the Igasaki clan.

“Yes, I never truly believed that a separate unit actually existed... I am deeply ashamed of my lack of faith in Lord Bertrand’s prediction,” the shinobi said, bowing deeply and giving Signus a slight nod.

“No need to worry about it. After all, we’ve successfully found the detached force, haven’t we?”

Signus didn’t reprimand the shinobi because few people could do so after hearing such words. Although Lione had sent Signus out due to the possibility of the enemy advancing, she couldn’t believe what Robert had suggested.

I was half in doubt myself, after all.

Of course, it wasn’t that he didn’t believe—swinging the iron staff to knock the rust off his body made that clear—but he couldn’t claim to have fully trusted Robert’s prediction. Even Robert, who first perceived this separate unit’s existence while defending the Ushas Basin on the front lines, couldn’t explain why he sensed it. Naturally, it would be an unreasonable request to expect others to understand what he felt. However, such instincts were often the deciding factor in battlefield outcomes.

Well, there are a few reasons why Robert might have felt that sense of unease.

If he were forced to name one, it would be that the O’ltormea Empire continued using traditional tactics despite how much it was struggling to conquer the Ushas Basin. Given the vast number of troops the O’ltormea Empire had, it wouldn’t be that unnatural of a strategy.

If your numbers are greater than the enemy’s, it’s better to simply charge straight at them. A poorly executed ploy could backfire. Signus had come to understand this axiom through years of surviving on the battlefield. Even though the O’ltormea Empire was superior in strength, they had no reason to cross the mountains and launch an assault on the royal capital when they couldn’t even break through the defensive line in the Ushas Basin. The traditional tactics were the foundation of winning a battle. But it’s precisely for this reason that the value of a clever strategy arises.

Shardina seemingly understood the psychology behind this principle and had devised such a strategy only because she had lived amid political machinations since childhood. It was a tactic that took people by surprise. Had there been no warning from Robert, her scheme would have likely succeeded.

In that case, the situation would have swiftly tilted in favor of the O’ltormea Empire.

If the O’ltormea Empire’s separate detachment had successfully launched an assault on the royal capital of Peripheria, Xarooda’s forces stationed in the Ushas Basin would have been forced to rush to its aid to prevent the capital’s fall. Capturing Peripheria would make the defeat of the Kingdom of Xarooda all but certain.

Meanwhile, the O’ltormea Empire would only need to respond to our movements accordingly. There was no need to even think about which side was in a better position. The O’ltormea Empire doesn’t even need to capture the royal capital.

The ideal outcome would have been for the separate detachment to take Peripheria. But Shardina likely didn’t expect that much of a victory.

No, it would be more accurate to say she didn’t need that much of a victory.

Simply having the O’ltormea Empire appear near the royal capital would be victory enough, so the likelihood of them wasting forces on a reckless tactic was low.

War-weariness has been spreading among the nobles. If the O’ltormea Empire shows itself near the royal capital, even the citizens of the capital who are loudly calling for resistance would likely lose their resolve.

The situation was somewhat understandable because King Julianus I was bedridden and the young Joshua Belares had taken overall command of the kingdom’s forces. Such psychological wavering could, at times, shake up a battlefield stalemate significantly. In that sense, the O’ltormea Empire’s move could indeed be called a clever strategy.

“But once such a scheme is seen through, it’s nothing more than a foolish plan,” said Signus, displaying the smile of a predator, hungry for its prey. For Signus, this battle was the one he had been waiting for. The only thing that mattered to him was to crush the enemy before him with the iron staff gripped tightly in his right hand.

“All right, we’ll proceed as planned.”

“You know the length of the fuse, right?”

“Yes, there’s no problem.”

The locations for the ambush had already been selected, and preparations had been completed. All that remained was to confirm the actual route the detached unit would take, and that would mean the annihilation of the O’ltormea Empire’s forces.

Robert, that bastard... I was going to treat him to a drink if this turned out to be a wild-goose chase. But it looks like he’ll have to treat me instead. Signus self-deprecatingly and involuntarily smirked at his earlier inability to trust Robert’s prediction.

Unaware of Signus’s thoughts, the O’ltormea Empire’s detached force of ten thousand soldiers began their march toward Peripheria under the cover of night. Little did they know, this would be the start of the road to their doom. A few hours later, the moment came, and it came suddenly.

The first person to sense something off about the terrain was none other than Rolfe, who had been entrusted by Shardina with the command of the detached force.

Are we really going to march between those hills? Rolfe mused.

As expected of a battle-hardened warrior renowned as the Emperor’s Shield, Rolfe instinctively felt something unsettling about advancing through the hills that loomed ahead of the marching column. Perhaps it was a kind of premonition. After all, the detached force numbered ten thousand soldiers. While not an overwhelmingly large force for a siege, it was by no means a small army. Thus, if they wanted to reach Peripheria while avoiding unwanted attention as much as possible, their marching route was inevitably limited.

Of course, there are alternative routes...

Choosing said routes would mean exceeding the arrival deadline set by Shardina, which Rolfe wanted to avoid at all costs.

When he received a report from the scouts he had sent ahead, confirming that there were no abnormalities, Rolfe ignored the unease he had felt. Was this choice driven by loyalty to the empire? Or was it arrogance born from commanding such an overwhelming force? Even Rolfe likely did not know the answer. Regardless, that decision would cost him dearly once the vanguard of the detached force entered the valley between the hills. Suddenly, the ground trembled with a deep rumbling.

In the next instant, an avalanche of timber and boulders came crashing down from the hills, descending upon the O’ltormea Empire’s army.

“Full stop! Halt the march!”

“Are there any wounded? Unit commanders, check on your men and report immediately!”

Amid the billowing clouds of dust, shouts rang out from all directions—a natural response. Rolfe received one report after another. Based on the reports, it seemed that the damage was less severe than expected. Around two hundred soldiers from the leading units had been caught in the landslide, but for a detached force of over ten thousand, the losses were not significant enough to hinder the operation. However, there was a major problem. The narrow valley between the hills had been completely buried under rubble and timber, making further movement impossible. It was too soon to say for certain, but clearing the massive debris and restoring a path for the army would take days, even if all ten thousand soldiers worked tirelessly day and night.

Was it just a coincidence?

That doubt flashed through Rolfe’s mind, only to vanish when flames erupted from the forest to his left. As a rain of arrows poured down in tandem the rising flames, Rolfe realized that Shardina’s strategy had been discovered. A battle cry echoed from the forest to the right. Simultaneously, countless figures emerged from the depths of the trees, thrusting their spears forward as they charged. These figures ruthlessly cut down the soldiers of the detached force, who were still disoriented from the landslide and falling debris.

“What are you doing?! It’s an ambush! If you value your lives, form a defensive circle now!” Rolfe’s furious roar snapped his soldiers out of their confusion, forcing them back to their senses—at least for a few of them. The only soldiers who managed to regain their composure and formed a defensive circle under Rolfe’s command were those closest to him. At most, their numbers did not even reach five hundred. Even that formation was steadily shrinking, the clash of blades mixing with the screams and wails of the dying. I never imagined there was someone capable of seeing through our mission’s existence.

Rolfe’s mind swirled as it struggled to accept the reality unfolding before him. For a commander of his caliber, this was an exceptionally rare lapse in judgment. Those who acted with absolute confidence in taking their enemy by surprise often found it hardest to maintain composure when the tables turned against them.

Just then, a sudden gust of wind struck Rolfe’s face. He instantly threw himself to the ground, disregarding his pride and dignity. That instinctive reaction saved his life. Something containing immense force tore through the air above him at incredible speed. A deafening metallic clang rang out a moment later, followed by the sickening sound of an explosion. Rolfe’s adjutant, who had been trying to restore order behind him, had his head obliterated. Something warm and wet splattered on Rolfe’s face. As he wiped it away, he saw the red-stained fragments clinging to his skin—thin, stringy fibers mixed within. Judging from their texture, it was likely a torn piece of scalp from the unfortunate adjutant who had just taken Rolfe’s place in death.

The death was the result of a blunt weapon’s impact. Rolfe then noticed the man standing before him was drenched in red from head to toe. How many unfortunate soldiers had lost their lives to him? It was likely in the hundreds. Despite being covered in blood, he appeared completely unscathed. That alone was proof of his extraordinary skill. As Rolfe caught sight of the iron staff gripped in the man’s right hand, he realized who was behind this ambush.

“I see... Judging from that staff, you must be one half of the Twin Blades.”

“Aah. And you must be the Emperor’s Shield, the one who stood as a bulwark for Emperor Lionel.”

At those words, a tense expression flitted across Rolfe’s face. Was it because he had encountered such a formidable opponent in an unexpected place? The feeling was rare for a warrior of his renown, known as the Emperor’s Shield. But in this case, it was understandable. After all, the man standing before him was one of the greatest warriors in the entire western continent. In terms of reputation and accomplishments, the two could be considered equals. From Rolfe’s perspective—having already passed the milestone of age fifty—Signus could still be considered a rising star, part of a younger generation of talent. However, victory was not determined by reputation or age alone. And for Rolfe, facing an iron staff was a particularly troublesome challenge.

Can my shield withstand this man’s blows?

That question flickered through Rolfe’s mind and caused an unease he had never felt before. Considering the iron staff in Signus’s hands, Rolfe’s unease was not entirely unfounded. Of course, a shield was an excellent piece of defensive gear. Beyond its defensive capabilities, it also possessed the versatility to be used as a weapon. One could use its strength and weight to strike an opponent, or charge forward with it raised. In the hands of a skilled warrior, a shield could transform into a deadly tool of offense as well as defense. Moreover, unlike other armor, a shield could be easily discarded if necessary. This was a significant advantage on the battlefield, where unpredictability reigned. A person might remove their helmet in certain situations, but removing one’s armor during a battle was nearly impossible. While a shield was undoubtedly a formidable defense, it was not an all-encompassing safeguard against every threat. Its strengths and limitations were clear, and its effectiveness depended heavily on the type of weapon wielded by the opponent.

Special caution was necessary when facing a blunt weapon with a shield, particularly when evading an attack was not an option and one had no choice but to block it head-on. Raising a shield to absorb an enemy’s strike was an incredibly difficult feat. In many cases, the sheer impact could break one’s stance. Merely losing balance would actually be a fortunate outcome. In the worst-case scenario, the force of the blow could shatter both the shield and the arm holding it. Rolfe’s longsword was designed for one-handed use, meaning its blade was unfortunately relatively short. The longsword was barely half the length of Signus’s iron staff. That meant Signus could strike Rolfe from beyond his reach, launching attacks from a distance where his enemy’s sword could not retaliate.

This incompatibility was undeniable proof that Signus Galveria was Rolfe’s natural enemy. When Rolfe realized just how poorly matched he was against this unexpected opponent, he cursed inwardly.

Damn it. Why is this bastard here? The question was perfectly reasonable. But there was no time to dwell on it. Amid the clash of steel ringing out around Signus and Rolfe, they locked eyes and ignored everything else for nearly ten seconds. But that was more than enough time for each to gauge the other’s skill. His gaze, his sense of distance... Just as the rumors say. No, he’s even better than I’d heard.

Rolfe’s left hand tightened around the grip of the shield bestowed upon him by the emperor. He likely planned to block Signus’s strike with the shield and launch a counterattack. It was an extremely orthodox strategy for a warrior who wielded both sword and shield. This fundamental approach fully used the shield’s defensive capabilities, making it all the more formidable. Rolfe knew well that returning to basics was the surest way to increase his chances of survival.

Well? What will you do? I have no problem continuing this standoff!

There was no denying that Signus, with his iron staff, was Rolfe’s natural enemy. At least from the perspective of individual combat, Rolfe was at a severe disadvantage. On a battlefield where countless variables influenced the outcome, individual matchups never determined victory. Rolfe commanded the mighty army of the O’ltormea Empire, ten thousand strong. From what Rolfe could see, the Xaroodian forces under Signus’s command barely numbered a thousand. The ambush had thrown the imperial troops into disarray, but the tide would inevitably turn in their favor. Quite literally, time was on Rolfe’s side. And in this battle for time, his shield would be his greatest weapon. In the hands of a warrior as skilled as Rolfe, the shield’s unyielding defense was akin to a fortress standing impervious against the storm. A reckless attack would be nothing short of suicidal.

To Rolfe’s surprise, Signus had no interest in drawn-out mind games and chose to strike first. As he lifted his iron staff high above his head, Signus inhaled deeply. He delivered a textbook overhead strike. It was, without a doubt, a blow carrying his entire body weight and was an attack fueled by sheer, unrelenting force. Right after, the iron staff came crashing down upon Rolfe’s raised shield with a deafening roar. The impact sent a metallic clang reverberating through the forest. Sparks flared between them, glowing crimson in the dim light. The sheer intensity of the clash even made the surrounding soldiers pause for a fleeting moment.

But Rolfe, undeterred, had blocked the monstrous strike. Was it his unparalleled skill? Or the fact that he had activated the Vishuddha chakra in his throat to enhance his body’s fortitude? Either way, he had endured the attack. That wasn’t to say he emerged unscathed. A sensation like a lightning bolt surged through Rolfe’s entire body.

What a terrifying force...

Activating the Vishuddha chakra—the fifth chakra located at the throat—was proof of his mastery, a sign that he had reached the highest echelon of warriors. It was an ability reserved for those who stood as champions of their nations. And yet, Signus stood beyond even that as a monster who had transcended human limits. He had activated the Ajna chakra, the sixth chakra at the center of the forehead. Only a single level separated the Vishuddha chakra from the Ajna chakra, but the difference in power between the two was like night and day. Even so, Rolfe had successfully blocked Signus’s strike and only experienced numbness throughout his body, which was nothing short of a miracle. But Signus was not the type to grant his opponent even a moment’s respite. He instantly twisted his iron staff, seamlessly shifting his stance before launching a savage horizontal strike, leading to another deafening clash of metal against metal.

Damn it... All I can do is deflect.

But before Rolfe could even catch his breath, a third strike slammed into his shield. And it didn’t stop there.

A fourth blow.

A fifth.

A sixth.

One after another, Signus’s iron staff crashed down upon Rolfe’s shield in a relentless onslaught. Seconds passed, and already, over twenty strikes had been exchanged. Yet, the storm showed no sign of abating. It was nothing less than a hurricane of pure, unrelenting violence. Each deadly raindrop carried enough force to snuff out a human life with ease. Still, Rolfe endured and raised his shield, bracing against the storm, refusing to be swept away. One thought consumed Rolfe as he endured the onslaught: When would this storm finally end?

Why? How can he keep striking like this, without pause?

Normally, one needed a brief moment to reset their stance after a single attack. This was an absolute truth, whether one wielded a sword or a spear. Nonetheless, Rolfe understood that two or three consecutive strikes weren’t impossible. In the imperial swordsmanship style he had mastered, there existed a technique where a downward slash could instantly reverse course—tracing its path back up to sever an enemy’s head in one fluid motion. But such techniques required extraordinary physical ability.

Even then, successive strikes should always be weaker than the initial blow... Yet this... This isn’t weakening at all. These attacks are only getting stronger!

From a purely mechanical standpoint, it was possible to maintain such momentum. Given the weight of the weapon, sustaining enough force to shatter bone should have been nearly impossible without the masterful coordination of every muscle in the body. As Rolfe watched Signus’s iron staff spin with terrifying speed, he finally understood.

I see... The staff is nothing more than a blunt rod. It has no edge. But precisely because it has no edge... If he keeps shifting his grip, he can fully harness centrifugal force!

Signus seamlessly rotated his own body, shifting his stance while alternating his grip, allowing him to maximize both ends of the iron staff in relentless succession. This was not just a circular motion. His strikes did not merely trace a simple ring. Rather, they weaved through the air in every direction—high, low, even diagonally. It was not a circle. It was a sphere. The compelling storm of destruction was a technique that perfectly capitalized on the nature of blunt weapons, showing the ultimate mastery of the iron staff. This attack also maximized the characteristics of a blunt weapon, like a staff. The staff, which had no blade, could be held in different ways as needed and embodied the essence of such a weapon. Unlike the rain of arrows or bullets, this relentless, fierce series of attacks would never run out of ammunition.

As long as Signus Galveria did not choose to stop or there was no external interference, this circle would never be broken.

What kind of man is he?

Nonetheless, Rolfe continued to hold up his shield, enduring the continuous strikes Signus unleashed, while seeking an opportunity to counterattack. Rolfe would have had no chance of winning if this had been a one-on-one duel in an arena. He was being relentlessly attacked from outside his range by a warrior with such skilled techniques. If this continued as it was, he would eventually suffer a fatal injury. That did not mean that Rolfe could injure Signus’s body, even if he swung his sword. Still, he looked around for any means of escape.

If I can just endure this, the soldiers in my army who are around should come to my aid. If I can time it right, I might still have a chance.

Should Signus get distracted by those soldiers, even for a moment, he could slit his throat in that instant. But one could argue that Rolfe’s calculation was somewhat overly optimistic. Finally, a scream that defied words burst from Rolfe as another blow struck.

“Gaaah!”

He had failed to block the strike from the iron staff that Signus had swung horizontally. That was the precise moment that determined the battle’s outcome. It was also when Rolfe paid the price for his defeat, with the shattering of the shield granted to him by the emperor and the crushing of his left arm. Rolfe crouched while Signus looked down upon him. The air of the battlefield, which should have been burning with intense fighting spirit, then froze.

Perhaps this happened because of the despair of the soldiers of the O’ltormea Empire, who had desperately tried to assist Rolfe.

“Protect Lord Rolfe!”

“Do whatever it takes to separate the two!”

Such cries echoed across the battlefield. They, too, must have understood that this was the last chance to save Rolfe’s life. However, these desperate cries from the O’ltormea Empire soldiers were quickly drowned out by the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy’s soldiers, who had been positioned to protect Signus. Amid this melee, Signus slowly repositioned his iron staff and raised it above his head. It was perhaps a tribute to Rolfe, the warrior who had withstood his fierce series of strikes and never once broken his fighting spirit until the very end. And then, the moment finally came.

“This is the end.”

Signus swung the iron staff down toward Rolfe’s head as the latter knelt on the ground, groaning. The blow was unquestionably capable of taking Rolfe’s life.

However, Signus’s strike did not shatter Rolfe’s head into pieces. The light, ringing sound of a sword’s guard echoed across the battlefield. And in the next moment, the tip of Signus’s iron staff flew through the air.

When had he appeared? Behind Rolfe, a single man stood. However, this man did not appear to be a soldier in any way.

He wore a cloak with a hood, but underneath it, he had silk garments adorned with lace, as a noble would wear. Though he was a middle-aged man who seemed out of place for the situation, he had clearly saved Rolfe from mortal peril, based on how Signus saw the sword gripped in his right hand.

“Phew... I somehow made it in time, although I didn’t intend to intervene openly. Setting aside the loss of soldiers, it would have been a bit troublesome if Lord Rolfe, who has His Majesty’s deep trust, had been killed in battle,” the man said, letting out a small sigh.

“Who...are you...?” responded Signus, feeling the man’s calm confidence in his words. What churned in his heart was not the shock of having his beloved iron staff’s tip cut off. Absurd... How could I not have noticed him?

In battle, unforeseen circumstances could happen at any moment. For Signus, who had survived countless battlefields, this fact had been engraved into his very instincts. Although he was frustrated at not having been able to defeat Rolfe, that problem didn’t extend to becoming a major issue. Despite the chaos of battle, Signus had kept an eye on his surroundings. At the very least, he was not the type to overlook the possibility of interference when he was about to deliver the final blow. With the tip of his iron staff cut off, Signus was naturally on high alert. He took his now slightly shorter staff and assumed a middle guard stance. A dense killing intent oozed from his body. It was an oppressive aura so fierce that ordinary people would be unable to even move their bodies in response.

Even when faced with Signus’s killing intent, Rolfe’s savior remained unfazed.

“Hmm... This is exactly like the ‘One Side of the Heart’ used by Matsuyama Mondo. If a person’s heart is weak, they will be like a frog staring at a snake and unable to move. Quite impressive, but it doesn’t work on me,” the man said, smiling faintly and shrugging his shoulders. Despite acting seemingly vulnerable, it was concerning that he showed no opening for Signus to attack.

Did he just shrug off my intimidation? And even while joking, he hasn’t shown any opening for me to exploit... What kind of skill does this man have?

Signus had never heard of someone named Matsuyama Mondo or the technique known as “One Side of the Heart.” It would be strange for Signus, a resident of Earth, to know the name of Matsuyama Mondo, a famous swordsman from Rearth’s early Edo period who was also known for his use of the Nikaido heiho style of swordsmanship. Signus could only raise his vigilance another level against the man who showed no concern whatsoever for his intimidation.

“I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”

In response to Signus, the man slightly tilted his head.

“Hm... This exchange feels strangely familiar, though the roles are reversed compared to that time. Well, it’s fine. It is quite hurtful when someone doesn’t answer after being asked their name.” The man smirked lightly while returning his sword to its sheath. He then easily scooped up the crouching Rolfe and leaped back, escaping from Signus’s range. From the way he moved, it was clear that the man had enhanced his body through some martial technique.

At the very least, he must have activated the Ajna chakra, thought Signus. Without that chakra, one couldn’t explain such movement, meaning the man in front of him was at least as strong as Robert or Signus. Interesting...

The exhilaration of meeting a long-awaited strong opponent stirred deep within Signus’s body. Unaware of Signus’s rising excitement, the man quietly lowered the groaning Rolfe to the ground. The man then elegantly bowed his head toward Signus.

“It is an honor to meet the famous Twin Blade Signus Galveria for the first time. My name is Akitake Sudou, and I serve as a sort of advisor to Princess Shardina. Please, allow me to be of service.”

The gesture was elegant and followed noble etiquette. However, upon seeing this, Signus felt a hidden malice behind Sudou’s words and actions. That was exactly what Sudou intended, as he deliberately mocked Signus by adhering to noble etiquette on the battlefield. Was this the confidence of a strong man? Considering the distance between them—nearly ten meters—it was not that surprising that Sudou had assumed he was out of Signus’s attack range.

With the tip of my staff cut off, it’s shorter now. Even though he’s enhanced his body with martial thaumaturgy, the distance is a bit too far to land a blow... Right?

Akitake Sudou had clearly read the distance well, which was why he remained calm, smiling, and completely composed.

But that’s underestimating me a bit!

In that instant, Signus took a large step forward and closed the distance rapidly. However, that move was also within Sudou’s calculations. The sneer that appeared on Sudou’s face eloquently conveyed the confidence in his heart. Even though he was still out of range, Signus unleashed a full-powered strike from the middle stance. At first glance, it appeared to be a simple, straight thrust. But within it was everything Signus Galveria had accumulated through his years of martial training.

“Take this!”

Signus’s body, which had been facing left, spun around as he shouted. At the same time, he supported the iron staff with only his right hand and thrust it toward Sudou’s face. Only Signus could execute this strike thanks to his years of experience and overwhelming strength. However, even this ultimate strike was ineffective against Akitake Sudou. With a violent metallic sound, red sparks flew through the air.

“Hmph... That was quite interesting... Extending the range with your shoulder, huh?”

Those muttered words reached Signus’s ears.

Did he block my strike?

Unbelievably, the strike delivered by Signus Galveria, a martial artist who had put everything into it, had been blocked. But Signus didn’t freeze in disbelief. Instead, he immediately resumed his stance and glared at Sudou cautiously, remaining vigilant as he took a few steps back. The fact that he didn’t launch a follow-up attack right then and there suggested that the shock he had received was significant. In response, Sudou raised the sword he was holding and displayed it.

“Your strength in supporting the iron staff with only your right hand was impressive, but what caught me even more off guard was the twist you added to the thrust... Truly, my beloved sword is now ruined.”

Sudou threw the sword he had been holding toward Signus. Though he claimed it was his beloved sword, he seemingly had no intention of having it repaired by a blacksmith. The speed at which the sword was thrown exceeded even the velocity of a major league pitcher’s fastball. For Signus, it was nothing more than something easily swatted away.

“What kind of imitation is this?” Signus’s voice contained what one could describe as disbelief or frustration toward the clumsy actions of a martial artist whom he had regarded as a worthy opponent. But that momentary lapse gave Sudou a chance to show a critical opening. Sudou seized the moment when Signus deflected the sword, then quickly rushed to Rolfe’s side and pulled him into an embrace. “Since the situation is turning unfavorable, I suppose I’ll take my leave here.”

At the same time, light began to spill from beneath Sudou’s feet. And in the next instant, Sudou and Rolfe vanished from Signus’s sight like smoke. Just then, Signus understood everything.

“No way... That man was a thaumaturgist...”

Among the spells in the field of thaumaturgy were those capable of transferring people or things through space. This explained Sudou’s sudden appearance and indicated he was not just a warrior capable of holding his own against Signus but also a high-level thaumaturgist who could invoke teleportation through nonverbal thaumaturgy. That should have been impossible, according to Signus’s common sense. But no matter how much Signus’s understanding of reality denied it, the events unfolding before his eyes remained unchanged. At that moment, one of the ninjas from the Igasaki clan called out to Signus.

“Lord Galveria, what shall we do next?”

After considering whether to pursue Sudou and Rolfe, Signus shook his head.

“Given that I can’t gauge Sudou’s ability as a thaumaturgist, pursuing them would likely be futile.” Rolfe’s head was a regretful loss. But if a seasoned thaumaturgist activated teleportation, they could move several kilometers. And if it’s a thaumaturgist who can invoke a spell without even so much as chanting, moving more than ten kilometers wouldn’t be surprising.

It was unlikely that Sudou would be able to make many such jumps in rapid succession, but even if Signus began the pursuit now, the chance of catching up was practically nonexistent. Because Signus knew this, it would be a poor decision to chase after Sudou and his group. Moreover, there were still thousands of enemy soldiers remaining before Signus.

From a tactical standpoint, prioritizing them makes more sense.

If he could reduce the enemy’s forces by even a fraction, it would still be a significant military achievement. For this reason, Signus gave the order, almost as if to sever any lingering attachment.

“Prioritize the annihilation of the enemy soldiers in front of us! Relay the order to all troops again! Everyone must die!”

As he gripped the now slightly shorter iron staff, Signus charged into the densely packed area of swordplay. He was fulfilling the role of the Twin Blades, seen as the trusted weapon of their lord, Ryoma Mikoshiba.

Meanwhile, a group heading west along the highway from the Kingdom of Rhoadseria was about to bring the war between the Kingdom of Xarooda and the O’ltormea Empire to a new phase.