Kayan turned his head, his brows knitting together.
“Rowan, there’s no need for this.”
Following his gaze, the group saw a man approaching from the side street beside the temple.
He was clad in a full suit of red-and-white plate armor, a sacred tree emblem hanging over his left chest. Each step rang sharply against the stone pavement. His short crimson hair stood out, and at his waist hung a flame-shaped temple longsword with a ruby set into the hilt, lending him an imposing presence.
Two other knights followed behind him, dressed in similar fashion. Their armor was lighter, but their bearing was no less formidable.
As the three approached, pedestrians nearby quickly stepped aside, their eyes filled with reverence.
They were members of the Templar Knights, the armed force of the Temple of the Mother Goddess.
The red-haired knight, Rowan, came to a stop and looked Kayan up and down, taking in his disheveled state. “Drop the act, Kayan. This is the third time you’ve been thrown out this month.” His voice was loud, his disgust undisguised. “Everyone in the temple knows that your desire to serve the Mother Goddess burns far less fiercely than your ambition to take my position as captain.”
He let out a mocking laugh.
“All this talk about war is just your way of stirring up panic so your so-called ‘prophecies’ can win you followers and help you seize control of the temple. I used to think of you as a friend.”
Nolan stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Kayan. “What Priest Kayan says is true. We’ve just returned from the Rosenberg front and witnessed the undead invasion with our own eyes.”
Rowan’s gaze swept over Nolan as if he were nothing more than an insect. “So this is the prop you found? To cover your lies, how many more cheap tricks do you have left, Kayan?”
Kayan fell silent for a moment. Then he gently patted Nolan’s shoulder and stepped forward, meeting Rowan’s stare head-on. “If you truly regarded me as a friend, you would know those accusations are nothing but rumors.” He showed no anger despite the insult. His voice remained calm and steady. “The only thing that is undeniably real is that war is coming.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow as if he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. “So your ambition to become a Templar Knight is a rumor too?”
“No, that part is true. It is my dream,” Kayan admitted openly. “But before my teacher passed away, he hoped I would inherit his role, so I—”
“So you admit it,” Rowan cut him off without hesitation. “Pathetic. You fabricate lies without even bothering to think them through. Do you really believe that being the former archbishop’s favored disciple gives you the right to spout nonsense? War? Don’t make me laugh. Those worthless undead who couldn’t even defeat the useless Rosenberg Guard. Who exactly do you think they’re supposed to frighten?”
“Say that again. Say the Rosenberg Guard is useless one more time.”
Before Kayan could respond, Little Donnie’s anger flared.
The boy had always taken pride in having fought in that defensive battle. At the city gate, he had already been simmering with frustration over the guards’ idle talk. Now, memories of the bloody struggle at Rosenberg and the sacrifice of his comrades surged back into his mind. His eyes reddened as he glared fiercely at Rowan.
Rowan glanced at the bristling youth and curled his lip in disdain. “Trash is trash. I can say it as many times as I like.” He looked Little Donnie up and down, then gave a sudden look of realization. “Ah, I see. So you’re one of those useless guards. Bronze rank, huh? That fits perfectly with my definition of garbage.”
Kayan’s voice turned cold. “Rowan, you may insult me and I will not care. But they are warriors who shed blood on the front lines to defend their homeland. You have no right to speak of them that way.”
“Spare me the act.” Rowan looked at him with open disgust. “What I hate most is people like you. You put on a polite face, but who knows how rotten you really are inside? Protecting this piece of trash must make you feel like some kind of saint, doesn’t it?”
“Bastard, shut your mouth!”
Little Donnie’s reason snapped under the weight of his fury. With a roar, he drew the Darkpiercer Nolan had given him and lunged at Rowan in a single stride.
A cruel smile flickered across Rowan’s face. With a casual sidestep, he easily avoided the powerful strike. Then he lifted his foot and kicked Little Donnie square in the stomach.
With a muffled grunt, Little Donnie staggered backward four or five steps, nearly losing his footing.
“Attacking a Templar Knight in public will be treated as heresy. Execution on the spot,” Rowan said with a cold sneer.
The two knights beside him wasted no time. Drawing their flame-shaped longswords in unison, they attacked from both sides, their blades slicing through the air with deadly force toward the still-unsteady Little Donnie.
Judging by the speed and power of their strikes, both were clearly at Silver rank. The reputation of the Templar Knights was well deserved.
“Rowan, you bastard!”
Kayan hadn’t expected Rowan to go for the kill. With a shout, he grabbed his cross staff and rushed forward.
But two figures were faster than him.
Clang! Clash! Two sharp, grating bursts of metal rang out in quick succession.
Hank had already moved, though no one had seen when. Like an iron tower, he planted himself at Little Donnie’s left side. With a single hand, he caught the Templar knight’s incoming strike and locked it in place. The muscles in his arm bulged as he unleashed a surge of raw strength. With a violent twist, the blade wrenched free from the knight’s grip and flew from his hand.
Hank didn’t even spare him a glance. His elbow shot forward like iron, slamming hard into the man’s face.
The knight cried out as blood burst from his nose, his body toppling backward.
What Nolan did was even more shocking.
Though he moved later, he arrived first. The greatsword Mountain’s Resonance in his hand cut through the air with a heavy roar as he brought it down in a swift vertical strike, meeting the flame-shaped blade of the knight on the right.
Clang!
The knight suddenly felt his grip lighten.
There was a broken piece of blade lying on the ground. It looked… strangely familiar.
When he focused his eyes, they nearly popped out of their sockets.
The finely crafted longsword issued by the Temple had been cleanly severed at the base.
Yet despite unleashing such overwhelming force with the holy sword, Nolan’s blade did not even touch the ground. It halted steadily in midair, perfectly controlled.
Seeing this, Rowan’s heart jolted.
What terrifying strength and control… and what a razor-sharp weapon.
The knight stood there holding nothing but the hilt, his mind blank. None of his training had prepared him for something so utterly beyond expectation.
Before he could recover, Nolan drove a kick into his chest. The man was sent flying like a cannonball, his heavy armor smashing into the temple steps and scattering fragments of stone.
All of it happened in an instant.
Only then did Rowan react, but as the captain of the Veli City Templar Knights, his pride would not allow him to back down. He was, after all, a high-ranking Silver knight. His combat instincts kicked in immediately.
With a roar, he drew his sword and lunged straight for the weakest target in the group, Little Donnie. Break their weakest link first and force the others to respond.
Clang!
His strike failed.
With a deafening impact, Kayan’s massive cross staff intercepted the blade, sparks bursting outward as it held firm.
“Kayan! You dare betray the temple for outsiders?” Rowan roared in fury.
Little Donnie had no intention of remaining the one being protected. Suppressing the sharp pain in his abdomen, he lowered his center of gravity and swung the Darkpiercer with all his strength. His target was not Rowan’s armor, but the wrist holding the sword.
It was a trick Nolan had taught him. Against heavily armored opponents, it was better to target the weak points at the joints rather than gamble on breaking through the armor itself.
The tactic worked.
Rowan dared not risk having his wrist severed by such a precise and vicious strike. With a curse, he withdrew his sword and stepped back.
He had just begun to steady himself when his body suddenly stiffened.
Two blades had already reached his throat.
One was Hank’s weathered, Faint Glow-grade longsword. The other was Nolan’s dark, unsheathed greatsword. From left and right, they rested coldly against his neck.
Nolan didn’t give him even a moment to react. He lifted his Arcane Lock Boots and drove it hard into the joint of Rowan’s knee armor.
“Ahhh!”
With a scream, Rowan’s legs buckled, and he dropped helplessly to his knees.
Nolan’s voice, tinged with a trace of amusement, sounded above him. “You call the Rosenberg Guard trash? A knight like you, who couldn’t even defeat them, isn’t going to frighten anyone.”
Inside the carriage, Anna lifted the curtain and covered her mouth, unable to suppress a soft laugh.
Retribution had come swiftly. Rowan’s own words were turned back on him without mercy.
Kneeling on the ground, Rowan couldn’t comprehend how he, a high-ranking Silver captain of the Templar Knights, had been so easily defeated by a group claiming to be mere guards. Humiliation and rage burned through his mind as he opened his mouth to curse.
Suddenly, his red hair was seized by a powerful grip. His vision spun. With a dull, heavy thud, his face was slammed straight into the stone pavement.
Bang!
Nolan’s voice sounded again, but this time there was no trace of humor left. “You never should have used the word ‘trash’ to defile those who died on the battlefield protecting people like you. Now apologize to them, you piece of garbage.”
Kayan stood to the side, staring in stunned silence. Rowan, whose strength rivaled his own, was being pressed into the ground like a dead dog by this man called Nolan. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw something strange. Along Nolan’s arm, as it held Rowan down, faint scale-like patterns seemed to flicker into view.
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