Chapter 580: The Dark Knight and the Battle Shrine Maiden

Three times they had scattered the squads entrenched within the tunnels—and each time without incident—before Fiona and her companions emerged once more into the open air.

“Fiona,” Nelle ventured, eyeing her curiously, “what are you doing?”

“Taking notes.”

“Notes?”

Yet the brim of Fiona’s trademark witch’s hat—held conspiratorially before her face—revealed no pen or parchment, only the soft mumbles of her voice as if it were being recorded. Perhaps the hat itself, woven with dimension magic, was transcribing her words or converting them to script. Nelle had no way to be sure.

“Isn’t it too late to be jotting down strategy notes now?” she asked. “Even if you did record something, you won’t use it.”

“No, I won’t,” Fiona replied cheerfully. “But it’s insurance.”

Nelle sighed. Their mission, after all, would end the moment they slew Lily. Yet should circumstances force them to withdraw midway, having key tactical data on hand wouldn’t go amiss. Strange as Fiona’s methods were, Nelle—an adventurer herself—accepted them without further protest. She turned to Sariel, who was peering warily down the street, and spoke quietly.

“How is it?”

“I sense multiple presences.”

“Just as I thought,” Nelle murmured. “From here on, the knightly patrols grow more vigilant.”

They stood in the eastern quarter of Avalon’s great western gate—brick battlements rising behind the rows of merchant houses. Beyond those walls lay the true danger: the Imperial Army’s outer defenses. Only a team they could fully trust could hope to breach them. And yet Lily’s map indicated they must press halfway into the city’s heart.

“Our first objective is that wall,” Nelle said firmly.

“Entry point is five blocks ahead,” Fiona confirmed.

“Understood. Let’s move.”

They began, Sariel leading with uncanny stealth—so precise that only a master rogue might rival her talent. Wherever a lone knight stepped into view, Sariel melted to shadow, reappearing beyond him before he realized she’d vanished. Should a few men stumble upon them at once, Sariel dispatched them with deadly swiftness; at worst, Nelle’s healing or Fiona’s fire spells finished the skirmish before reinforcements arrived.

“…Fiona,” Sariel reported abruptly, halting her pace. Nelle and Fiona paused, puzzled.

“What is it?” Nelle asked.

“There is method to the patrols.”

“In what sense?”

“Our adversaries maintain fixed intervals—no more than five meters’ error—between units. If a horn sounds, reinforcements arrive within thirty seconds. In one minute, they double in number; in three minutes, all nearby routes converge to seal this street.”

Nelle felt an unpleasant thrill. Such disciplined coordination was rare—even for high‐level dungeons. It was enough to wipe out a careless party.

“So the patrols run predetermined routes?” Fiona pressed on. “Why don’t they just change them?”

“Schemes are layered—four base patterns rotate in combination. We suspect more patterns exist, but from what we’ve observed, four suffice. We can predict their path… though we risk ambush if they suspect we know.”

“Still,” Fiona said, glancing to Nelle and Sariel, “let’s trust Sariel’s read and slip through.”

“I don’t trust her,” Nelle said with a wry smile, “but I respect her skill. I’ve fought her before.”

Sariel merely shrugged, and once more they moved on in silence—until, without warning, Sariel whispered, “We’ve arrived.”

Sure enough, they stood before the guardhouse leading down to Fortress Tower Twenty‐One’s subterranean passages. Not a single knight had passed this way—an astonishing stroke of luck. Nelle pressed open the gate; inside, two patrols and a sentinel fell before her blades and Fiona’s firebrand magic. As she climbed the winding stairs to the fortress door, she recalled how her student party had taken nearly a month to reach this point. Now, in less than a day, the path lay before her once again.

“The interior is cramped,” Sariel observed as she reclaimed her ten‐foot cross‐spear. “The two of you handle the guards. I’ll watch our flank.”

Fiona bristled. “Did you just call me… ‘Fiona’?”

“Consider it an informal request.” Sariel lowered her voice. “Proceed, ladies.”

With that, she flung open the massive iron door—and Nelle felt a pang of déjà vu. Before them loomed the same hulking dark knight she had faced and felled once before, massive tower shield and flanged mace in hand.

“An armor knight,” Nelle murmured. “Look how solid he stands.”

“When you face a foe like that,” Sariel said, “the shield and mace must fall first—only then can you strike true.”

Nelle prepared to speak the next step of her plan… but Sariel surged forward instead, straight into the knight’s range. Nelle gasped as the knight’s great mace arced down—but Sariel wove between its shadow and vanished.

“Amazing,” Nelle breathed.

Sariel reappeared behind the knight’s flank to find the monstrous defender had already brought his shield up in a broad bash. The impact would have crushed any normal combatant, but Sariel simply hopped onto the shield’s rim and vaulted over it. Behind her, the knight’s shield platter rebounded from the ground, sending sparks flying.

Then, in a heartbeat, Sariel thrust her shining cross‐spear point into the narrow gap beneath his helm’s rim. The knight’s head toppled free—yet the skeleton warrior did not collapse. Instead, it braced itself for one final break. That was Sariel’s cue: she channeled her spear’s dark thunder magic.

“Black Thunder Break!” she intoned.

A bolt of living shadow lightning coursed through the knight’s armor, detonating within its hollow bones. The clang of shattering steel echoed like an avalanche, and the knight’s body twitched, then exploded outward in a storm of metal shards.

Nelle stepped in, her hands forming the final seal of technique—her white maiden wings unfurling as she called up the ancient art.

“Second Strike: Piercing Palm!”

Her blow hammered into the shattered remains, sending a shockwave that completed the knight’s destruction. Quietly, Fiona stepped forward and examined a charred fragment.

“Remarkable timing,” she said. “Truly the two best front‐liners I know.”

Nelle bowed her head. “Thank you.” Yet her gratitude was tinged with disquiet.

――That night, they made camp within the silent tower. Avalon’s sky—ever a deep, unchanging red—cast the shattered battlements in dusky light. Fiona declared it late enough to rest; Sariel agreed, and Nelle confirmed by her own small clock. Outside, even the distant horns of passing patrols were silent. Fiona sealed the inner and outer gates with earth magic, ensuring no unwelcome guests. According to ancient records, no new guards would teleport here; reinforcements, if any, would arrive by the same corridors and knock in turn.

They ate in silence. Even lapses in speech felt… ordinary. To most, such stillness would breed madness; to them, it was simply the calm before the coming storm.

“Good morning, Fiona.”

Sariel greeted them at dawn. Nelle opened her eyes to the same unflinching calm. Despite what lay ahead, they prepared their gear as if facing merely another dungeon level.

“From here,” Nelle said, “the city walls loom—and with them, the dragon knights.”

“Indeed. They patrol the skies, watching for ground movement. Any who dare walk the streets will be spotted and torn down by rider and foot soldier alike.”

“Monster‐summoners, too,” Fiona added, checking her wand. “They say the knightly order includes powerful conjurers… and their beasts obey only them.”

Nelle shuddered. From here on, the number and strength of foes would only escalate—and yet, she felt no panic. Only determination. For Chrono’s sake, she had come this far.

They stepped forth once more—and at that instant, without warning, a thunderous explosion rent the air. The ancient church in which they had made their last camp vanished in a puff of temple dust—an unspoken promise that nothing in Lily’s realm would remain sacred.