The Sword of Arad

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Chapter 52: Encounter on the Battlefield

The Nightblade Panther’s sharp hearing gave it an edge on this battlefield where visibility was limited to thirty meters. Now, it halted to warn its master: enemies were nearby, though few in number.

Advance or retreat? The Blood Fang Panther awaited Midi’s call. During this night attack, while hunting chief magicians, Midi had also cut down unlucky centurions along the way. These strikes weren’t mere kills—they aimed to sow confusion, buying more time for his mission.

Soon, orderly footsteps echoed through the fog. Judging by their density, it was a two hundred-man team blocking Midi’s path.

*Scatter them*, Midi decided.

But before he moved, dozens of throwing axes sliced through the mist, whistling from all angles. Midi stood firm, his greatsword sweeping in a whirlwind. Metal clashed as the blade carved a flawless arc, deflecting every axe.

“Didn’t expect you here,” Midi said coldly, his gaze sharpening.

Ahead stood not a simple unit but a mixed squadron in crimson armor, all above level 18. Great Swordsmen, Heavy Knights with tower shields, Elementalists clutching crystal staves, roaming gunslingers with dual pistols, and clerics woven into the ranks—their formation was flawless, dominating the terrain.

This was the Crimson Flame Legion’s elite: the Flame Guards, half of them transmuters.

Yet Midi’s eyes locked past them to the formation’s center. There stood a blonde boy, posture haughty, eyes venomous.

Fenrir Sais, heir of the Sais family.

In Midi’s past life, after the Belmar Duchy fell and the Sais family rose in the Delos Empire, Fenrir had become his mortal foe. A foe who hunted him relentlessly, driven by hatred beyond mere rivalry.

Midi had once burned to demand answers: Why this vendetta? To crush the Belmar Duchy’s last hope? Jealousy over the Queen of Magic’s favor? Or pride wounded by defeat at the hands of a “mere” demon god’s vessel?

Twenty years after his reincarnation, the answer still eluded him. Yet Fenrir’s gaze—poisoned with envy, spite—was unchanged.

Though fate marked them as enemies, Midi hadn’t expected this rivalry to ignite so soon. Yet now, facing that glare, he felt no urge to kill. Not like before.

This life, Midi held the advantage. The mysterious demon god, his superior transmutation, his family’s support, his bonds with Fina and Alice—he’d long outpaced Fenrir. Why waste effort on a laggard?

Losing loved ones had reshaped him. Twenty years of struggle—was it just for vengeance? No. Since stepping back into the Royal Magic Academy, his resolve had crystallized: protect those close to him. Secure a future for Fina, Alice, his comrades, his family’s knights.

Would killing Fenrir achieve that? If so, he’d pay any cost. But the Sais heir’s influence ended at the Belmar border. Midi’s vision stretched farther. The coming chaos—Gran’s burning forests, wars engulfing Arad—demanded broader sight. Fixating on one noble brat would blind him to greater threats.

Now, anchored by bonds, Modi’s mind had shifted. Meeting Fenrir’s hateful gaze, he coldly assessed tactics—not as a rival, but a commander.

Should they retreat or attack?

If retreating, it would happen instantly. The Blood Fang Panther’s speed surpassed anything human legs could match. Combined with Night Vision Abilities and heightened hearing, Midi held absolute control.

Choosing to attack presented two paths—capture or kill.

Capture was ideal. Midi already held the brainwashed Count Joseph. Seizing Fenrir, the Sais family’s first heir, would effectively end the noble war. The Sais family would accept nearly any demand to reclaim their heir.

Yet capturing alive required restraint and total battlefield dominance. The level 18 Flame Guards—professionally balanced elites—posed a serious threat. Though unable to defeat Midi outright, they complicated capturing Fenrir. Any guard fighting desperately could thwart Midi’s chance.

Killing Fenrir was simpler but less impactful. As first heir, another would replace him. His death would only reaffirm the Sais family’s resolve. Fenrir’s combat strength meant nothing—a level 35 chief magician posed greater danger. Eliminating him barely altered the battle situation.

From a broader view, keeping Fenrir alive held strategic value. Midi knew his enemy intimately—personality, thinking patterns, weaknesses. In their past life, Fenrir had been an untouchable great noble backed by the Delos Empire, while Midi remained a fugitive. Now, if Fenrir rose to prominence, Midi could exploit that familiarity to strike decisively—against the Sais family, the Senator’s faction, even the Delos Empire itself.

This was reincarnation’s advantage.

Yet retreating wasn’t an option.

Thoughts flashed through Midi’s mind. He murmured orders to the crow on his shoulder. The black-winged creature vanished into the mist before even the seasoned roaming gunslinger could react.

Turning to Fenrir’s stormy expression, Midi offered a frosty smile. "Perfect timing. I’ll slaughter you here."

"Arrogant fool! Kill him!" Fenrir roared, hatred masking the gleam in his eyes.

Midi strategized, but Fenrir needed no plans. The Crimson Flame Legion had withdrawn from Asreks family’s castle solely to hunt Midi—the night attack’s commander. Who else deserved death?

Fenrir had gathered the strongest Flame Guards from the garrison, abandoning the slaughtered magicians for this pursuit. Now fate delivered Midi directly. His only fear had been Midi fleeing into the fog on his panther—untouchable in darkness.

Yet here Midi stood, overconfident against a hundred elite Flame Guards.

*If captured, I’ll torture you slowly,* Fenrir vowed, recalling his public humiliation—Midi’s blade at his throat before the academy trial, Dean Lind’s arrest after declaring Fenrir the victor. Rage surged anew.

The image of Fina Hamilton—Belmar Duchy’s peerless beauty, autumn-red hair cascading over her tall frame—laughing with Midi stoked bitter envy. The Sais family alone deserved equality with the Hamiltons! How dare this Count’s son claim what rightfully belonged to a Grand Duke’s heir?

Fenrir would eradicate Midi completely. His Flame Guards would weave a silent net of Kill, leaving no escape.

Reality defied expectations.

One against a hundred—yet Midi alone suppressed the Flame Guards.