The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 91 - 92: The Knight’s Justice

A military force disguised as bandits—this was not unheard of.

It was an effective and brutal strategy.

Ordinary adventurers, unless they had reached the rank of Grand Knight, were powerless against a trained army.

A single volley of arrows could turn an entire band of mercenaries into human pincushions.

An organized army was simply on a different level—trained, disciplined, and deadly.

And worse—within their ranks, there would undoubtedly be true warriors, men who had ascended to the ranks of Grand Knights.

The fact that this army dared to raid a caravan in Dragonspine Highlands meant only one thing—they were confident in their strength.

"No one makes a move without my order."

The voice was calm, authoritative.

Roque Dormer, the caravan’s owner, the man with the most at stake, had spoken.

Every guard, every adventurer in his employ—they were here because of him.

And Roque knew the truth.

There was only one way out of this.

Negotiation.

If they resisted, they would all be slaughtered.

This was Dragonspine Highlands.

A dead zone.

If three or four hundred people were massacred here, no one would ever know.

And even if the truth came to light, who would dare challenge the army of the Violet Kingdom over a mere trade caravan?

No one.

Minutes passed.

The white fog began to shift, revealing the silhouettes of riders.

Then, at last, the enemy emerged.

The caravan was surrounded.

Even through the mist, the sheer number of soldiers was overwhelming.

They were mounted, a disciplined cavalry force.

At least sixty percent of them wore full plate armor, their cold, lifeless visors locked onto the caravan.

No insignias. No banners.

The armor was newly forged, untouched by time—a sign that it had not yet been officially marked with the Violet Kingdom’s crest.

A new unit. A hidden force.

The implications were clear.

This was not a rogue battalion.

This was sanctioned.

Roque stepped forward, his face forced into a polite smile.

"Good sirs," he began, voice calm but cautious. "I am Roque Dormer. I have close ties with General Traton, and every year, I faithfully pay my dues to the military. Surely, we can come to an understanding?"

The soldiers remained silent.

Then, one rider broke formation, guiding his tall warhorse forward.

He was fully armored, a towering figure clad in glistening steel, his helmet obscuring his face.

When he spoke, his voice was cold, almost amused.

"General Traton?"

A brief pause.

"Never heard of him."

His tone was mocking.

Then, casually, he added:

"We’re just a bunch of bandits."

Roque’s smile remained, but his hands clenched at his sides.

These men were not playing games.

"Sir," he tried again, his voice smooth, measured. "This shipment is for sale in Doris Kingdom—we need to complete our trade to earn our profit. How about this—once we return, I personally guarantee a payment of one hundred thousand gold."

A cold chuckle.

"You think I’m stupid?"

The knight’s voice was filled with disdain.

"No more talking. Hand over everything. And that includes the cargo."

A flicker of desperation crossed Roque’s face.

"...Sir, please. We’ve traveled far. Families depend on this trade—"

The knight cut him off.

"I don’t care who lives or dies."

Then, his voice hardened.

"Surrender everything. Now.

Or we’ll take it by force."

As if to emphasize the point, he drew his longsword.

Behind him, hundreds of weapons were unsheathed, a deadly chorus of steel ringing through the fog.

Roque felt his stomach sink.

With a weary sigh, he turned back to the caravan.

"Give them the goods," he ordered.

The caravan workers hesitated.

But when they looked back at the waiting army, the choice was clear.

No one wanted to die.

They moved.

Then—

"Wait."

A voice cut through the air.

Karim stepped forward.

His face was dark, unreadable.

His eyes locked onto the lead knight.

"You’re Ives, aren’t you?"

Silence.

"You serve Duke Theodor. You’re his Knight Commander."

The armored figure remained motionless.

Then, finally—a response.

"You’re mistaken."

Karim smiled.

"No, I’m not."

A pause.

"Just a few months ago, you were chatting me up at a noble banquet. Have you already forgotten?"

The silence deepened.

And then—Karim made his move.

"You touch this caravan," he said, voice ice cold,

"And I will personally see you hanging from Duke Theodor’s gallows."

The caravan fell into dead silence.

No one had expected this.

Karim—the mercenary captain—was boldly threatening a military force.

And more importantly...

Ives wasn’t responding.

He wasn’t denying it.

Which meant—

Karim was right.

This wasn’t just a rogue operation.

This was a mission ordered from above.

And now, the secrecy had been shattered.

Hutson, watching from the sidelines, let out a long sigh.

"Idiot."

Roque glanced at Karim, his face suddenly pale.

He understood.

Karim had just made a terrible mistake.

Ives remained still for several moments.

Then, without warning—

He raised his sword.

"Kill them all."

Karim’s eyes widened in shock.

"You—!"

Ives cut him off.

"No witnesses."

"Erase them."

Then—

The army charged.

Karim’s rage boiled over. His voice thundered across the battlefield.

"You’ll pay for this!"

Ives merely smirked, his tone dripping with mockery.

"No, you will pay for your foolishness," he said coldly. "And remember—these people didn’t die by my hands. They died because of you."

With a single gesture from Ives, the soldiers surged forward, crashing into the caravan’s defenses.

But the mercenary guards did not go down easily.

They held their ground, striking back with fierce resistance.

For all his confidence, Ives’ forces couldn’t break through immediately.

The battle turned into a brutal, chaotic struggle.

The Butcher of the Battlefield

At the frontline, Karim stood like an unshakable fortress.

His greatsword—a massive, bloodstained weapon—cleaved through armor like parchment.

One swing—a head flew.

Another—a body split in two.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Within moments, a pile of corpses lay at his feet.

His unstoppable momentum sent a wave of fear through the enemy ranks.

Even full-plated soldiers—protected by their best steel—were cut down in a single strike.

Seeing this, the archers shifted their focus.

A barrage of arrows rained toward him in unison.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

But none pierced his armor.

Karim’s plate was not ordinary steel.

It was mastercrafted, forged for true warriors.

He ignored the arrows, pressing forward, his greatsword carving a bloody path through the ranks.

In minutes, the soldiers in his vicinity hesitated.

Some stepped back.

Others simply froze.

No one wanted to be the next to die.

Ives watched in silence.

Then, he moved.

Guiding his warhorse through the carnage, he rode forward at a slow, deliberate pace.

Then, without a word, he dismounted.

His steps were unhurried, almost lazy, as he walked into the battlefield.

The moment his boots touched the ground, the soldiers instinctively stepped aside.

Karim’s muscles tensed.

He knew.

This was no ordinary warrior.

This was a true Grand Knight.

Ives stopped just a few paces away, his blade resting lightly in his hand.

He studied Karim with a hint of amusement.

"If I were as rich as you," he mused, "I’d be lying in a manor somewhere, not marching to my own death."

Karim’s grip tightened on his greatsword.

His voice was steady, his gaze unyielding.

"I am a nobleman, but first and foremost—I am a knight."

"I will never rot in luxury. Justice is the path I follow."

Ives laughed softly.

"Justice?"

Karim didn’t wait for a response.

He struck.

The air screamed as Karim’s greatsword descended.

A perfect arc.

A strike fueled by raw power.

A blow that could shatter steel and bone alike.

Ives didn’t move.

With a single-handed grip, he raised his longsword—and blocked it.

The collision rang like thunder.

But Ives did not budge.

Not even an inch.

His stance was unshaken.

His expression unmoved.

He had used only a fraction of his strength.

Karim’s eyes narrowed.

Without hesitation, he launched another attack.

Then another.

And another.

His greatsword became a whirlwind, each strike aimed to kill.

Ives blocked every single one.

Effortlessly.

He was not defending.

He was playing.

And everyone watching could see it.

The battlefield fell silent, save for the ringing of steel.

The truth was undeniable.

Karim was strong.

But Ives was something else entirely.

The gap between them was too vast.

"You truly don’t understand what a Grand Knight is, do you?" Ives said, shaking his head.

"If you had ever witnessed true power, you wouldn’t have been foolish enough to challenge me."

Karim gritted his teeth.

But in his heart—he already knew.

This fight was unwinnable.

And yet—

He would not back down.