Clop clop clop…
In the pre-dawn hours, the sound of horses echoed down the dark road.
"Huff… hufff…!"
The heavy breaths of exhausted horses rang clear in the air.
Yet they kept galloping—fleeing as if chased by death itself.
"Several wagons are approaching!" shouted a gate guard.
"Who are they…?" asked his partner, tense and worried.
From the city walls, the guard captain narrowed his eyes.
A tattered banner flapped in the night wind.
"They're mercenaries!" someone shouted.
"It's the escort team for the merchants!
Open the gate!"
The gates swung open. One after another, injured mercenaries climbed down from the wagons.
"Get the wounded to the temple! The fallen deserve proper burial," the mercenary leader ordered.
As they rushed the wounded toward the temple, the guard captain approached.
"I heard reports from the merchants. They say you were attacked… by a Minotaur?"
"Not just a Minotaur," the leader replied coldly.
"There was also… a Black Mage."
"…A-A Black Mage?"
The captain's face drained of color.
And so, he listened.
As the mercenary leader recounted the battle, the captain's expression grew paler with every word.
"Report this to the temple and the mayor. A Black Mage has appeared in the western region."
"Yes, sir!"
The guards immediately ran to deliver the report.
Black Mage.
A forbidden word.
Across the kingdom—no, across the continent—those who practiced demon-related magic were hunted, condemned, and reviled.
Black Mages were not just sorcerers.
They were the embodiment of sin.
A curse in human form.
To the faithful of the Goddess of Light, Letticia, they were heretical monsters—nothing less than the incarnation of ruin.
Knock knock knock.
"Sir, the gate guards have brought a report," a servant said.
"Let them in," replied the mayor with a groggy voice, still in bed.
The guards entered.
And when they finished speaking—
"A… Black Mage, you say?!"
The mayor leapt from the bed.
After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke.
"Contact the Adventurer Guild. Send a team west immediately."
His tone was heavy.
He knew—this was not a minor threat.
This… could be the beginning of disaster.
______
Dawn began to break.
In the quiet battlefield, a lone Knight knelt, sword plunged into the earth.
Sunlight glinted off his armor—once white, now stained black with the blood of darkness.
A gentle wind swept the scene, as if the heavens themselves gave their blessing.
As if the morning sun had come to wash away the long, cursed night.
Scattered bones of the Elder Lich shimmered, crumbled, and vanished under the golden light.
The remains of the Minotaur lay nearby—cleaved clean in half like a loaf of bread.
And beside it…
The broken body of the Black Mage.
His limbs severed.
Black blood pooled beneath him.
His voice, weak.
"Ugh… k-kill me…"
From behind the Knight's helm, a pair of blue eyes gleamed.
With a lazy groan, he stood and stretched.
"Yaaaawn… Morning already?"
He spoke like a man waking up from a nap—not someone who had just slain a monster of legend.
He looked over his shoulder at the dying Black Mage.
"Eh? What's the rush?"
His tone was casual—like two friends chatting over coffee.
The Knight approached slowly, then plopped down on a bloodstained rock.
"Imagine this," he began, gesturing vaguely with his hand.
"A fantasy world, stuck in the medieval era, crawling with dragons and monsters…"
"But if you wanna visit another kingdom?
You need a passport."
He sighed like an annoyed tourist.
"Absurd, right? We're still fighting with swords, but suddenly—paperwork?"
"…W-What…?"
The Black Mage's fading eyes blinked in confusion.
"Oh, and let's not forget," the Knight continued, "to get that precious passport, you have to kneel before some pompous noble in a no-name border town."
He stood and dusted off his armor.
"Well, thanks to the cow over there—and your worthless head—I've finally qualified for an Adamantium rank."
He sauntered toward the abandoned wagon, muttering:
"Guess I owe you."
He glanced at the corpse of the Minotaur.
With a flick of his wrist—
Thud!
He tossed its carcass into the cart.
He shattered the Black Mage's staff with one stomp.
Snap!
Then picked up the half-dead sorcerer and dumped him in after.
"Oh look, they even left me a horse. What thoughtful mercenaries."
He guided the horse forward gently.
Neighhh!
The beast reared up at the smell of blood.
"Easy now. That thing won't bite," the Knight said, pointing at the Minotaur and the mangled sorcerer.
"Your name is now… Sir Hans."
Neigh!
The horse neighed proudly, as if honored.
The Knight pulled out a high-grade potion.
Glug!
He poured it into the Black Mage's mouth.
Wounds closed halfway—enough to survive, not enough to fight.
"Hmm… so even top-tier potions can't reattach severed limbs. Noted."
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Cough cough!
"You… bastard…"
"Don't flatter yourself. Mercy is wasted on filth like you."
Wham!
He slammed the cart shut.
"Wait… You'll face retribution. The Demon King's servants will—"
"Oh please," the Knight yawned.
"I'm looking forward to it."
He sat atop the driver's seat, taking the reins.
"Honestly," he muttered.
"Sacrificing part of your soul just to summon a half-baked Elder Lich? Pathetic."
The Black Mage's eyes widened.
"If you'd sacrificed the cow and your entire soul… maybe you could've summoned an actual Archlich. Now that… might've been fun."
"But… Archliches are weaker—"
"—when summoned improperly, sure," the Knight cut in.
"A fully-formed Archlich can raze half a city. Your unfinished Lich here? It might scare a toddler. Maybe."
The Black Mage gritted his teeth. Shame boiled in his gut.
"I swear… Black Mages. All talk. Zero brains."
The words hit harder than any sword.
He had no retort—only silence and rage.
"Well then… let's pay the southern Guild a visit."
He gave the reins a flick.
Clop clop…
The wagon rolled on.
"Hm… Time for breakfast. Activating Auto Pilot."
The glow behind his visor dimmed.
His body sat still—eyes closed, posture perfect.
Like a lifeless doll guided by code.
Sir Hans, the horse, trotted obediently.
They rode through the quiet morning, leaving behind the battlefield of death.
____
Somewhere within the Temple of Letticia…
"Granma…!"
Erica bolted upright, gasping for air, eyes brimming with tears.