* * *
The knights shook off their pursuers faster than expected.
But just because they escaped once didn’t mean things were going smoothly.
Somehow, the enemy kept tracking Lowell’s movements with eerie precision.
By the second time they were discovered, suspicion was already creeping into the knights’ minds—“Is there a traitor among us?”
By the third time their tail was caught, they had no room left to retreat—the cliff behind them plummeted into a bottomless abyss.
“Lowell Clarke, why don’t you stop the pointless resistance?”
A familiar voice echoed through the forest.
It didn’t take Lowell long to recall who it belonged to.
“Count Clarke…”
Lowell muttered under his breath.
Though they hadn’t faced each other often, the man had left an unforgettable, terrible impression.
“Where are your manners?”
“How did you track my location?”
Lowell, slung over Tony’s back, forced out the last of his strength to shout the question.
“Hah. I never thought an idiot like you would be useful one day.”
“I burned everything I took from the Clarke estate.”
“Hah, do you really think I’d fall for such a shallow trick?”
Count Clarke burst into laughter as if he’d heard the most amusing story.
“Have you ever wondered why your body has absolutely no magic? Though, I suppose a fool like you wouldn’t notice.”
Lowell’s head spun.
Thinking back, most humans possessed at least a trace amount of magic—but Lowell had none.
The reason he had taken the medicine Felix offered without hesitation during their first meeting… was because he didn’t have magic to begin with.
“I thought my body was just weak… but that’s not it?”
Lowell kept his mouth shut and waited for Count Clarke to continue.
“In the history of the Clarke family, only two or three heirs ever survive. Yet somehow, in this generation, all seven siblings made it. Do you know why?”
“No idea.”
Lowell replied, eyes burning with defiance.
“Rather than waste the ones with no potential as heirs, I set up a few little tricks. It seemed a waste to dispose of perfectly useful pawns.”
Count Clarke’s tone was dripping with condescension as he continued.
“I brainwashed you to seal your own magic, then cast a tracking spell over your hollow, empty body—turning your very flesh into a tool for tracking. You were so pathetic I considered just killing you, but seeing how useful you’ve turned out to be… it seems my judgment was right.”
There was no doubt—it was all black magic.
“When did you fall this far?”
“You should be grateful that corrupted power kept you alive. Sure, your body weakened as a side effect, but you still have your life, don’t you?”
Lowell squeezed his eyes shut.
The realization that his frail body wasn’t natural, but something his so-called parents had engineered, was revolting.
“Until now, that damned Duke Felix kept shielding you with protective magic, making tracking impossible. But it seems that barrier’s weakening. You’ve got nowhere left to run. The Emperor ordered me to bring you back alive… but honestly, I’d be fine just taking your head.”
Smiling, Count Clarke signaled his men to attack.
Though Tony and the knights shielded Lowell, it was clear—they wouldn’t be able to fend them all off this time.
It was truly a dead end.
“Is the Count serious about killing me?”
Lowell tried to gauge whether Count Clarke was bluffing to intimidate him or genuinely intended to kill him here.
But before he could reach a conclusion, a figure hidden among the enemy ranks stepped forward.
“You intend to disobey His Majesty’s orders?”
It was another familiar voice—one he never expected to hear here.
“Why… are you here?”
Zephyros, who should’ve returned to the capital long ago, stood at Count Clarke’s side.
Even seeing it, Lowell could barely believe it.
“So, we’ve met before, haven’t we? Did you grow attached to him so quickly?”
“Hardly. I’m simply reminding you of His Majesty’s command.”
Zephyros, face expressionless to the point of being unrecognizable, declared his stance coldly.
Two familiar bodyguards stood behind him.
“Did he side with the Emperor? I thought he was a bit naïve, but surely he’s not foolish enough to wade this deep into this mess…”
Lowell was disoriented by the stark difference between the Zephyros he once knew and the one standing before him now.
“Besides, Duke Felix isn’t exactly someone used to the battlefield, is he? He may be cold to the dead, but a living hostage will surely weigh him down.”
While speaking, Zephyros laid out his reasoning in a mechanical, rigid tone.
“Why stake everything on a crumbling power? When the aristocratic faction collapses, your kingdom will face danger too.”
“Your tongue’s sharp. But risk is inevitable when aiming for something greater.”
Count Clarke spoke confidently, but even he knew Zephyros joining in now was problematic for his plans.
Lowell quickly theorized two possibilities: either Zephyros was trapped too deep to escape, or he’d been brainwashed with black magic.
“Are you… aiming for the throne?”
His head throbbed, and pain surged in his abdomen again, but Lowell kept pushing the conversation forward.
As their eyes locked, Zephyros’s expression briefly wavered, his cheeks faintly reddening.
“He does seem like the same guy from before… but nothing’s certain anymore.”
There was no time for further deductions—the situation was too dire.
“Sir Tony, fall back further!”
As their forces were slowly pushed back, Tia clenched her sword, gathering aura.
With a low hum, the blade’s energy swelled ominously, growing in size.
One strike could clear a path for escape. But desperate plans are easy to read.
“Erect a barrier.”
The black mages at the rear raised a wall of magic.
Individually, they weren’t strong enough to block Tia’s aura—but over twenty of them combined could dampen the blow significantly.
“If it’s just me, the others might still escape…”
Lowell glanced at the cliff behind him.
The ground was so far below it was impossible to suggest jumping.
‘Tia or Tony might survive a fall like that—but not me…’
He realized that if they kept fighting here, they’d only exhaust themselves for nothing.
“I’ll be fine for now—leave me behind and escape. Once the capital stabilizes, come rescue me… or send a team—”
“Even if it costs my life, I can’t do that.”
Lowell whispered what he thought was the most logical plan, but to a knight sworn in loyalty, such a thing was unthinkable.
“Tony!”
“No one here will leave your side, Lord Lowell. Even if it means becoming corpses, our duty is to protect you.”
And true to those words, the knights fought ferociously, inflicting heavy casualties on the enemy—but they fell one by one.
“Interrogate the knights. Leave the ones capable of talking alive.”
As the fight dragged on longer than expected, even Count Clarke’s composure cracked briefly, though he soon regained it.
The threat was now right at Lowell’s throat.
Lowell continued to urge the knights to surrender, but not a single one obeyed.
Regardless of their determination not to give up, the battle situation didn’t improve, and no unexpected allies appeared to change their fate.
Watching their desperate struggle, Lowell wondered dozens of times whether he should abandon the plan and find a way to contact Felix.
‘By the time Felix hears the news and makes it here, everything will already be over. In the confusion, I might ruin everything we’ve been working toward. Besides… the enemy won’t give me the luxury of making contact.’
Lowell knew that was the logical conclusion, yet every time he saw the knights covered in blood, fighting to the bitter end, an uncontrollable urge to act surged within him.
But in the end, the choice he made was clear—he chose the success of the mission, and Felix’s safety.
* * *
