Lord: I can see loyalty.

In the square, the silver-white Swordtail Flower Knights stood in formation, like a steel dam, awaiting the onslaught of the black torrent.

Norman West, the Great Knight of the Swordtail Flower, stood at the forefront of the formation on horseback. His silver plate armor gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and his longsword, engraved with the swordtail flower, pointed diagonally at the ground, its tip dripping with still-dried blood.

He stood alone at the front, facing Serin's two hundred elite knights and the Sand Knights' personal guard, his expression unchanged.

The king's last trump card has finally been revealed...

Selin reined in his horse and squinted at the silver-white figure.

He had heard of Norman West's reputation—the first knight of the capital, the leader of the Sword Tail Flower Knights, who was said to have mastered two breathing techniques.

This is unique in the Kingdom of Rovia.

"I heard this guy has two breathing techniques?" the adjutant beside him asked in a low voice.

Serin did not answer, but slowly drew the griffin longsword from his waist. The dark red patterns on the blade swirled in the sunlight, as if blood were flowing within them.

"That's right, he has mastered the second level of the Sword Tail Flower Breathing Technique and the third level of the Royal Flower Breathing Technique." His voice was calm. "It is indeed rare for one person to possess two breathing techniques."

"Then you..."

"But rarity doesn't mean we can't win." Selin raised his sword, pointing it at Norman. "Sand Knight, make your move."

Before he finished speaking, he spurred his horse's flanks, and the warhorse shot off like an arrow, with the knights following closely behind. The sound of hooves thundered, and the earth trembled.

Selin raised his hand and waved it forward. "Prepare to charge—!"

Two hundred warhorses started moving at the same time, their hooves thundering and the earth trembling.

The spears in their hands formed a forest, all pointed at the silver-white figure.

Serin charged at the forefront, his griffin sword gleaming a dark red light in the sunlight, his gaze fixed on Norman, his eyes filled with fighting spirit.

Norman, however, did not move.

He simply stood there quietly, watching the approaching black torrent. His breathing was steady, his heartbeat was slow, and with each breath he made the energy within his body even more profound.

Two breathing techniques are operating simultaneously within the body!

Sword Tail Flower Breathing Technique, Level 2; Royal Flower Breathing Technique, Level 3.

One is offensive, the other is defensive, perfectly integrated within him.

The distance is getting shorter: two hundred meters, one hundred meters, fifty meters.

Norman moved.

Instead of heading straight for Serin, he spurred his horse to charge to the flank, crashing directly into the Knights' side!

With a flash of sword light, the three griffin riders fell from their horses almost simultaneously, without even seeing how he drew his sword.

"Scatter!" Serin shouted sharply, turning his horse around and charging toward Norman.

The two clashed in the melee.

Serin's swordsmanship was ruthless; every strike aimed straight for vital points, and the wind from his sword was fierce, like a raging storm.

Norman's swordsmanship was as steady as a mountain, and every parry was perfectly timed, not a fraction too much or too little. His body moved nimbly on horseback, as if he were one with his warhorse, and every dodge was incredibly precise.

"The Sword-Tailed Flower Knight, truly lives up to his name!" Selin gritted his teeth, increasing the speed of his sword once again.

Norman did not answer, but continued to swing his sword.

His swordsmanship was devoid of any frills, consisting only of the purest killing moves. Each strike carried immense power, forcing Serin to retreat repeatedly.

Just then, a gray figure charged in from the flank.

Sand Knight Christ's longsword pierced Norman's back with lightning speed.

Norman didn't even turn his head; he simply parried with his sword, sparks flying, and he swayed on his horse.

"Are both Grand Knights here?" Norman's voice remained calm. "Good, saves me the trouble of searching for them one by one."

Sand Knight Christ didn't speak, he just continued to swing his sword.

His swordsmanship was completely different from Selin's.

Serin's sword was like a raging storm, while his sword was like quicksand in the desert, silent yet deadly.

The two men, positioned on either side, worked in perfect harmony, sandwiching Norman in the middle.

Norman's pressure increased suddenly. His swordsmanship remained steady, but his speed noticeably slowed down.

Serin's sword was too fast, and Christ's sword was too cunning. Both of them were great knights, each capable of fighting him one-on-one, let alone the two of them together.

"Drink!" Norman exhaled sharply, his inner energy exploding instantly.

Wang Hua activated his breathing technique at full power, his speed suddenly increased, he deflected Serin's longsword with one stroke, and then thrust his sword at Christ's throat with a backhand.

Christ sidestepped, the sword grazing his neck. Even with the defense provided by his breathing technique, a bloody gash was still drawn from his neck!

His brow furrowed slightly, but he remained silent, continuing to wield his sword.

The three fought fiercely in the melee, their swords flashing and sparks flying.

The surrounding knights consciously made way for them, and no one dared to approach. This level of battle was beyond their ability to intervene.

…………

On the other side of the square, the knightly orders of the two armies had already engaged in full-scale battle.

The silver-white line of the Swordtail Flower Knights was like an impregnable fortress, blocking the rebels' attacks time and time again.

Their swordsmanship was exquisite, and their teamwork was perfect; every strike of their swords took a life.

But the rebels outnumbered them by almost three times, and they were all veterans who had fought for many years, not just some hastily assembled militia.

"Hold the line!" Alvin Harper shouted, parrying a slashing battle axe with his longsword and then thrusting it through the knight's throat with a backhand strike.

He was the captain of the knights who once greeted Count Vio of the South, and is now the vice-captain of the Swordtail Flower Knights. He was also one of the earliest veterans to follow Norman.

A few months ago, he was only an advanced level in Wang Hua swordsmanship. Through hard work and understanding of breathing techniques, he finally broke through to the beginner level.

Although it's only at the beginner level, it's already a force to be reckoned with in battles at this level.

"Deputy Commander! Enemy cavalry are flanking us from the left!" A knight rode closer, his face full of anxiety.

Alvin turned his head and saw a troop of cavalry rapidly approaching from the left, about fifty men, led by a burly griffin rider wielding a huge battle axe.

"Follow me! Stop them!" Alvin turned his horse around and led twenty knights to meet them.

Two groups of cavalry clashed at the edge of the square, the sounds of metal clashing, screams, and the neighing of warhorses blending together.

Alvin's sword was as fast as lightning; with one strike, he pierced through a knight's breastplate, and with another, he severed the arm of another knight.

Although his breathing technique was only at a beginner level, combined with his years of combat experience, it was enough to carve a bloody path through the melee.

The leading knight charged forward, his battle axe whistling through the air as it cleaved down.

Alvin raised his sword to parry, sparks flew, and he was jolted so badly that he swayed on his horse.

"What strength!" He gritted his teeth, steadied himself, and thrust his sword at the opponent's throat with a backhand motion.

The knight sidestepped, his battle axe sweeping across, forcing Alvin to retreat.

The two were locked in combat, but Alvin gradually fell into a disadvantageous position. The knight's strength was too great, and every collision made his hands go numb.

Although his breathing technique can temporarily enhance his strength and speed, it is ultimately only at the beginner level. The gap in strength cannot be bridged by technique.

"Damn it..." Alvin gritted his teeth, used all his strength to parry the battle axe, and turned his horse around to retreat.

The knight pursued relentlessly, his battle axe raised high, ready to strike—

"Whoosh!"

A beam of light shot from the side, piercing precisely through the griffin rider's neck!

His eyes widened, the battle axe slipped from his hand, and he fell off his horse.

Alvin turned his head and saw a mage in a gray robe putting down his staff not far away.

That was Edmund Red, the only remaining great magician in the capital, and also Norman's old friend.

Alvin looked around and saw that a large number of griffin riders had already been defeated by magic.

The tip of his staff still shimmered with lingering light, and his face was somewhat pale, clearly indicating that the relentless attacks had depleted a significant amount of his magical power.

"Thanks," Alvin called out.

Edmund nodded without saying anything, and continued waving his staff.

A barrage of ice arrows flew from the tip of his staff, striking the rebel lines and forcing them to scatter and take cover.

But his face grew paler and paler, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead—his magic was waning.

On the rebel side, there are also mages!

Two robed mages stood behind the rebel lines, their staffs flashing.

Although only one of them is at the level of a Grand Mage and the other is only at the level of a Mage, it is still far better than the situation in the capital where there is only one Grand Mage.

Fireballs, ice arrows, and lightning bolts rained down on the Swordtail Flower Knights' lines, forcing them to constantly retreat.

"Damn traitor."

The great wizard Edmund gritted his teeth and recognized one of them...

That was one of the former court mages of the capital who chose to defect to the Golden Mane Griffin family a few months ago. Although he didn't recognize the other person, judging from the patterns on his black robe and staff, he should be a high-ranking mage from a family in the Northern Territory.

Two against one, Edmund was no match at all.

He could barely maintain a defensive posture, occasionally launching a counterattack or two, but he was completely unable to change the course of the battle.

…………

In the center of the square, the battle between the three great knights, Norman, Selin, and Christ, had reached a fever pitch.

Norman had several wounds on his body, and blood seeped from the gaps in his plate armor, staining his silver-white armor red.

His breathing became rapid, but his eyes remained calm. Selin was not doing well either; Norman had slashed his left arm, and blood was dripping down his arm.

Christ had a bloody gash on his face, a wound that ran from his brow bone to his chin, but his expression remained calm.

"Norman West, surrender." Lion Knight Selin's voice was calm. "You've clearly done your best against two opponents."

Norman did not answer, but simply gripped his longsword tighter.

"Your knights are almost at their limit too," Christ said in a low voice. "Continuing to fight will only result in pointless deaths."

"Your knights are almost at their limit too," Christ said in a low voice. "Continuing to fight will only result in pointless deaths."

Norman's gaze swept across the square.

The Swordtail Flower Knights' lines were already crumbling, with less than half of their original three hundred men remaining.

Deputy Commander Alvin was covered in blood, but he was still fighting desperately.

Edmund slumped to the ground, his staff now dull and lifeless, its magic depleted. An endless army of rebels surged in from all directions, completely surrounding the silver-white line of defense.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them to look at Celine and Christ.

"The Swordtail Knights," his voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly, "are the kingdom's last line of defense, and they will not yield."

He raised his longsword, the patterns on the blade gleaming in the sunlight.

"Ready—!"

Alone, he spurred his horse toward Selin and Christ, followed closely by the remaining Swordtail Flower Knights who roared in fury.

Selin sighed, raised his griffin sword, and his tone turned somber.

"Make your move, kill them all."

The three clashed again.

Norman's swordsmanship remained steady, but his stamina was nearing its limit, and his speed had noticeably slowed down.

Serin pierced his shoulder armor with his sword, and Christ sliced ​​open his leg armor with his sword. Blood gushed out, and Norman swayed, almost falling off his horse, but he gritted his teeth, gripping his longsword tightly, refusing to fall.

"That's enough, don't kill this man, he's still useful." Selin sheathed his sword, signaling Christ to stop.

Norman knelt on the ground, covered in blood, panting heavily. His longsword was stuck in the ground, the patterns on the hilt of the blade already faded and lost their luster.

"Not kill...? I won't serve you." His voice was hoarse.

"No, no, no, I won't kill you, only because you are a true knight." Selin turned his horse around. "Killing you would be such a waste."

He raised his hand and waved it forward. "Continue onward. Target: Emerald Palace. Capture King Albert alive."

A black torrent swept over Norman, and at the same time, countless swords were held to his neck, while the remaining army surged toward the Emerald Palace.

Norman knelt on the ground, watching the departing figures, his longsword slowly slipping from his hand.

In the square, only corpses lay scattered and weapons were left. The silver-white sword-tailed banner lay fallen in the pool of blood, trampled beyond recognition by horses' hooves.

The Swordtail Flower Knights have no chance of turning the tide.

…………

The Northern capital, the Emerald Palace, the council hall.

The candlelight flickered in the draft, casting the portraits of past kings on the wall in an alternating light and shadow.

The hall was mostly empty; the nobles who had once vowed to live and die with the capital were nowhere to be seen.

Some took advantage of the chaos to escape the city, some hid in their own mansions and locked their doors, and some simply joined the rebels.

Only a dozen or so people remained.

King Albert sat on the throne, his face as pale as paper, his eyes sunken, his cheekbones prominent. In just a few days, the young king had become emaciated.

His fingers tapped the armrest unconsciously, making a monotonous sound that was particularly jarring in the empty hall.

Chief Steward Harold stood beside him, holding a battle report that had just been delivered, but it was meaningless now, as the enemy could already be vaguely seen outside.

His face was expressionless, but the light in his eyes was slowly fading.

Duke Herbert sat on the left side of the long table, his white hair disheveled and his back no longer straight. He looked down at his hands, the hands that once held a sword and killed enemies, now trembling slightly.

"Your Majesty," Harold began, his voice hoarse, "the Swordtail Knights... were almost completely wiped out. Commander Norman was captured, Vice Commander Alvin was seriously wounded and captured, and Archmage Edmund, having exhausted his magic, was also captured by the rebels."

The hall was deathly silent.

"The rebels are advancing towards the Emerald Palace; they'll reach the gates in no more than half an hour," Harold continued. "Your Majesty, please..."

"What do you want from me?" Albert interrupted him, his voice weary. "To run away?"

Harold did not answer.

"Where to run?" Albert stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the gray sky outside. "The East? They're too busy to take care of themselves. The South and the West? We still haven't heard from the Earl of the South."

He turned around, looked at Harold, and a bitter smile appeared on his lips.

"I have nowhere else to go."

"Your Majesty!" Duke Herbert stood up abruptly. "I am willing to lead the last guard to escort you through the siege!"

"The Last Guard?" Albert looked at him. "How many are left?"

Herbert fell silent.

"Less than twenty," Harold answered for him, "and morale is low; many are already secretly taking off their armor, preparing to blend in with the civilians and escape."

Albert smiled, a cold smile that sent chills down one's spine.

"Twenty men against tens of thousands of rebels?" He shook his head. "Minister Herbert, I appreciate your kindness, but it's unnecessary."

He walked back to the throne, sat down slowly, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

"This is an order." Albert opened his eyes and looked at them. "You are the people I trust most, but there is no need for you to die with me."

Harold lowered his head, his arms trembling slightly, while Herbert remained silent.

"Go," Albert waved his hand. "Take your men and go find the Earl of the South. He may be your last chance."

Harold looked up at the king and nodded heavily.

"Yes, ma'am."

He stood up and strode out of the hall with Herbert. Their footsteps faded into the distance, and the corridor returned to silence.

Albert sat alone on the throne, gazing at the empty hall and the portraits of the former kings on the walls.

The faces in those portraits were sometimes serious, sometimes kind, sometimes majestic, and sometimes sinister, but at this moment, their gazes seemed to all be fixed on him.

He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and took a deep breath.