Chapter 145: A One-Sided Battle

The maidens leapt into the air.

At that moment, their pristine white robes billowed out like wings. They glided through the air as nimble and graceful as birds in flight before diving straight down.

[Aerial Glide: Only when soaring through the sky can one truly understand the meaning of freedom.]

The ogres charged forward once again, but their sharp claws and fangs failed to even tear through the clothing of the maidens before them. Protective barriers formed by shimmering circles of golden magic runes blocked their further advance. The next instant, cross-shaped sword auras sliced through the roaring, leaping ogres as effortlessly as a knife through butter. The maidens then landed steadily on the ground, before executing a synchronized sequence: drawing their swords, sweeping across, and sheathing them. Soon, waves of sword qi whistled outward in all directions, stirring up another bloody torrent.

Yet, this was not the end.

Just as the maidens in the front rank sheathed their swords, the second rank of maidens still positioned within the carriage camp once again raised the "sword-staves" in their hands. Dancing bolts of lightning immediately burst forth from them, transforming into arrows of light that shot forward. The arrows, formed of pure electricity, pierced into the bodies of the ogres without a moment's hesitation, followed by a thunderous explosion. For a fleeting moment, erratic bolts of lightning spread out to both sides, rapidly forming a barrier of electricity.

"Incredible..."

Watching this scene unfold, Dally's eyes sparkled with excitement. As a mage, she naturally recognized the spell cast by these maiden knights as a third-tier *Lightning Arrow*. The spell itself was simple, manageable for almost any low-tier mage. However, Dally had never imagined such an application for *Lightning Arrow*. Ordinarily, the explosion of a *Lightning Arrow* was merely a secondary effect upon impact, nothing particularly rare to a mage. Yet, the maiden knights' utilization of the spell opened her eyes to an entirely new possibility. The simultaneous detonation of several *Lightning Arrows* utilized elemental resonance to forge a barrier of thunder. Although it would only last for a mere few seconds, to mages, buying even one extra second could make all the difference.

Dally was an orthodox mage—or rather, everyone on the entire continent of Klein, save for the madmen known as battle mages, belonged to that category. Their common trait was learning knowledge first and magic second. The purpose of studying magic was to better grasp the mysteries of the world, while combat was strictly a means of self-preservation.

In truth, only a handful of mages knew that the mysteries they glimpsed through magic were actually fragments of the long, recorded history of the demon race. Throughout the continent of Klein, only the heritage of the gods and demons recorded everything. Yet people feared the gods; even the most favored priests would never dare ask the deities they revered to reveal sealed history. Conversely, the demon race acted purely on interest; given sufficient value, one could acquire secrets previously unknown to predecessors, or even deliberately sealed away.

Under such circumstances, the application of spells among most mages was a matter of convention: cast shields before battle, unleash large-scale crowd control spells, and then engage in a contest of control and counter-control. Magic was a trial of wits, and everyone held their own deck of cards. How to play the most powerful combination depended entirely on the individual mage.

Put simply, a mage's combat was a matter of "the master guides the door, but cultivation is up to the individual."

Magitech Knights, however, were entirely different.

They did not study magic the way mages did—just as a soldier might dismantle and maintain a rifle without possessing the technological craftsmanship to invent and manufacture one. In their eyes, a sword was a weapon, a gun was a weapon, and magic was likewise merely a weapon. To them, magic was no different from the sharp blade in their hands. As long as it could sever the head of the enemy before them, its origin and elemental attribute were completely irrelevant, so long as victory was achieved. Everything else was secondary.

We do not need to know the principles of nuclear fission; we only need to know its destructive power.

Perhaps in terms of spell research, energy conversion, and other academic knowledge, these maiden knights fell short even of Dally, but on the battlefield of war, their effectiveness completely outclassed orthodox mages by a margin of hundreds of streets. Crisp, decisive, and maximizing efficiency. It was no wonder Dally's eyes were shining; this comprehension and application of spells could practically be considered a mage's lifelong pursuit.

Yet the battle did not stop.

Even as the ogres were beaten back by the lightning barrier, the second rank of maiden knights leaped up, flying over the obstacle to land behind the thunder wall, becoming the ultimate safeguard for the vanguard troops who had charged earlier. Just like the first rank before them, the moment they touched the ground, they drew and sheathed their swords. Immediately, accompanied by a flurry of splashing blood, dozens more ogres crashed to the ground. As they sheathed their weapons, the maidens who had previously rushed out as the vanguard reversed their longswords, wielding them like staves as they swept them through the air. A succession of fireballs erupted from the amethysts at the pommel tips, blasting forward in continuation of the assault.

This was the tactic of the Magitech Knights.

Witnessing this scene, even Jean could not help but praise them. While such a tactic might seem mechanical, it undeniably maximized the prowess of both swordsmen and mages. The most troublesome aspect of dual-cultivating swordsmanship and magic was the constant dilemma of whether to cast a spell or execute swordsmanship. Spells required space, while swordsmanship required time—an irreconcilable paradox. Consequently, dual-cultivators either relied on low-tier spells merely as auxiliary enhancements, or leaned heavily into magic, treating swordsmanship merely as a defensive fallback in case an enemy closed the distance.

Yet the Magitech Knights achieved a perfect balance between the two. They did not fight as individuals; they fought as a legion. When stationed on the frontlines, they were knights. When stationed in the rear, they were mages.

Now Jean finally understood why this military force had a verified headcount of fewer than a hundred. To simultaneously master swordsmanship and magic while adhering to strict military discipline, maintaining a lucid battlefield assessment, and executing flawless advances and retreats required operatives who were not only formidable swordsmen and mages, but also resolute and elite soldiers. Finding individuals who met all three conditions simultaneously was rarer than a giant panda, Jean was certain. Perhaps certain legendary powerhouses on the continent of Klein surpassed these Magitech Knights in raw individual strength, but when it came to genuine military discipline and caliber, virtually no one else could measure up. Those legendary figures might dominate others in singular might, but demanding that they charge forward unflinchingly and without fear of death, like true soldiers, was absolute fantasy.

Perhaps that was why the Magitech Empire of that world had chosen to clone the Valkyrie Guard; the requirements for such an army were simply too harsh. Trying to recruit ordinary people for it was an outright impossibility. Both swordsmanship and magic demanded innate talent—swordsmanship required a sound physique, while magic required intellect. Aside from transcendent bloodlines, who else could possibly accomplish this? Not to mention that human hearts were fickle. If some mishap befell a Valkyrie trained through arduous effort, the entire empire would be left weeping. Under such circumstances, direct cloning—while somewhat twisted from a humanitarian standpoint—was, setting aside useless moral debates, a remarkably sound choice.

Observing the performance of his Magitech Knight Corps, Jean nodded inwardly. He had not forgotten that his dungeon units could be upgraded. Who knows, perhaps one day these cloned, weakened versions could be restored to the original Valkyrie Guard. If that ever came to pass, his profits would be astronomical.

Future matters could wait; the immediate priority was exterminating these obnoxious ogres.

He had to admit that as one of the most detested and feared races on the surface of the continent of Klein, the brutality of ogres was undeniable. Although the maiden knights had wiped out seventy or eighty ogres in the span of a moment upon entering the fray, these creatures showed no signs of retreating. Instead, they continued their frantic assault against their prey. The heavy stench of blood not only failed to instill fear in these terrifying monsters, but instead drove them into an even greater frenzy. Dobby witnessed with his own eyes how an ogre, sliced in half at the waist, still stretched out its arms in a desperate attempt to grab the maiden knight before it, its gaping maw wide open as it tried to bite through her slender throat. Without a moment's hesitation, the maiden swung her sword in a backhand motion, decapitating the ogre mid-charge.

This sight caused Dobby to draw a sharp breath. The savage brutality and fearless tenacity of the ogres were truly terrifying. Without the assistance of these maidens, relying solely on himself and Lady Dally, today would likely have been the day they met their end.

By now, the rain had grown considerably lighter. The soldiers had also snapped out of their daze, shouting and hollering as they prepared to charge forward and fight the monsters to the death. Fortunately, Dobby reined in these idiots' foolish impulses, ordering them to use the carriages as a barricade and rain arrows down on the ogres from behind. Though the guards' combat prowess was mediocre, they were at least properly equipped as the elite retainers of a noble household. Soon, the private soldiers picked up their bows and crossbows, opening fire on the ogres from the rear. While the results were modest, it was still better than nothing.

However, for Jean, his target extended far beyond mere ogres.

With this thought, Jean raised his head, gazing deep into the forest. With his legendary-tier strength, his perception had long since detected a faction directing these ogres. Judging by their black robes and hideous masks, these individuals were unmistakably cultists. Moreover, merely by catching their scent, Jean knew precisely what filth they worshiped...

Jean had already noticed that the opposing party had realized something was amiss. At that moment, the group of cultists clearly intended to use the ogres as bait while they slipped away unnoticed. Naturally, Jean had no intention of letting them escape. Having decided that—at least on the surface—he was a brave, noble, benevolent, righteous, compassionate, handsome, deeply beloved, high-status, and exceptionally powerful knight, he certainly could not allow these cultists to run free.

Furthermore, even if he shed his facade and transformed into that insidious, despicable, vile, lustful, and terrifying Demon King, these cultists would still meet a grim end. Only foolish commoners genuinely believed that cultists and the demon race were cut from the same cloth. In reality, given the internal conflicts among upper-tier demons, if a cultist who worshiped the Princess of Lies summoned a Wrath Demon, the demon would undoubtedly invoke the dogma of the Murder Prince to slaughter the entire family of that wretched devotee on the spot. These cultists were not part of Jean's system, so he naturally had to wipe them out, lest his dungeon take the blame in the future for the actions of idiots with an IQ below nine. That would truly be exasperating!

"Patilena."

Noticing those individuals preparing to turn and slip away, Jean gestured without hesitation to Patilena standing beside him. Hearing the command, the little girl immediately nodded. She extended her hand, and amidst a ripple in the void, the massive spear materialized once more in her grasp. Patilena raised the weapon, taking aim at the sky above.

The next instant, artillery fire thundered.

The whistling shells exploded and shattered in mid-air, their brilliant radiance illuminating even the falling raindrops with a golden sheen. For a fleeting moment, the continuous cascade of raindrops felt as though they had transformed into piercing rays of light plunging from the heavens.

Immediately afterward, a chain of explosions and rising smoke erupted from the ground, linking together across the earth in an unbroken sheet.

Pity the cultists; before they could even mount a resistance, they were engulfed by the barrage. Though their reactions were swift, their two legs could not outrun artillery shells. Sent flying in a chaotic jumble, they proved that cultists—as practitioners of dark arts who had countless lives on their hands—were not so easily dispatched. Several figures clad in black robes rolled and scrambled out of the churned-up earth, then bolted away in a desperate sprint for their lives.

Yet, at that very moment, a dark shadow flashed before their eyes. Following closely, a young man attired in noble garments materialized right in front of them.

"Who goes there?!"

At this sight, the leading cultist roared angrily, instantly raising his flail to smash it down toward the intruder's head. Before his flail could even descend, Jean executed a fluid wrist-flip, and the *Blue Sea's Light* in his hand swept forward with a trail of afterimages, severing the cultist's arm and head in one clean motion. That was not the end; the headless corpse, stripped of its arm, stumbled forward under its own momentum, only for three vicious flashes of sword light to sweep past. In the next breath, the body was carved into three distinct pieces like a roasted pig on a dining table.

Seeing this, the remaining cultists froze in their tracks, halting abruptly as they stared pale-faced at Jean before them. They were no rustic villagers; a single move from this youth was enough to tell them he was entirely beyond their ability to contend with. Not to mention, Jean's penchant for dismembering corpses after killing them was utterly chilling. Cultists enjoyed desecrating the corpses of others, but they certainly did not relish having their own bodies desecrated!

While they stood paralyzed in shock, icy blades pressed tightly against the napes of their necks.

"Cultists?"

Jean narrowed his eyes, fixing a gaze of eerie scrutiny upon these fools before him.

"What are you doing here?" (To be continued.)