I Became the Black Knight

Dale raised his longsword and began to move forward.

Miles also took a step ahead, visibly tense. The warhammer in his hand was soaked in bright red blood.

"..."

Silence. A thick tension filled the air. One of the attackers quietly nocked an arrow to his bowstring. His hand trembled slightly.

Facing the Black Knight head-on, fear kept rising uncontrollably.

"Huh?"

At that moment, the archer locked eyes with Dale.

Did he… just read my fear? the archer thought, unconsciously swallowing hard.

His concentration wavered just a little.

In the next instant, Dale's left arm blurred.

Crunch!

A hand axe flew in out of nowhere and lodged itself squarely in the archer's face.

"Guh… Guhhk…"

Blood poured down like a river, and soon his body collapsed.

Miles cursed and shouted:

"Get it together and attack!"

Miles took the lead. He raised his warhammer high and brought it down with all his might toward Dale.

Dale held his longsword horizontally in a defensive stance.

Clang!

Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal. Dale measured the heavy impact that reverberated through his hands.

A third-tier warrior wielding a warhammer. Not fast, but each strike is powerful.

It was a combat style specialized for hunting monsters with tough bodies rather than fighting people.

That meant even Dale's sturdy armor wouldn't fully protect him from the damage.

No need to take the hit.

While locked in a power struggle with their weapons, Dale suddenly let go of the tension in his hands and took a step back.

The longsword dropped down, and Miles—who had been pushing forward with all his weight—stumbled ahead.

Miles was caught off guard. A knight letting go of his weapon?

But Miles didn't know—

That Dale was more accustomed to brawling barehanded than with formal swordsmanship.

A straight punch surged forward and smashed into Miles's off-balance face.

Crunch!

The gauntlet completely flattened his ugly hooked nose.

Ordinarily, it would've shattered his entire facial structure.

But the body of a warrior was tough.

Though caught off guard by the sudden blow, Miles quickly regained his balance and raised his weapon again.

He spat out blood and muttered,

"Damn that bastard Garland. He stuck us with a monster."

Cursing Garland, out of nowhere?

Just as Dale was about to ask what he meant, Miles shouted,

"Throw it!"

In that instant, the comrades who had been waiting for an opening behind Miles popped the corks off glass bottles and splashed the contents toward Dale.

A faintly glowing, transparent liquid—holy water.

As soon as the holy water touched Miles's skin, his wounds began to heal. It must have been expensive; the effect was fast.

In contrast, the moment it hit Dale, his body began to bubble and hiss violently.

The war between light and darkness had gone on for ages, and naturally, both sides had developed tools to kill the other.

Holy water was one of them.

This liquid, imbued with divine light, was lethal to beings like Dale.

For the first time in a while, Dale felt pain. Not physical pain, but pain that pierced into his very mind.

He glared at Miles with an annoyed expression.

"So that's why you bought so much holy water—because of me."

"Took you long enough to figure it out."

Dale looked down at his body. The armor where the holy water had touched was slowly melting away.

The damage was worse than he expected.

Seeing Dale's condition, Miles and his comrades regained their composure.

They now believed they could defeat Dale.

"You're getting annoying."

Dale took a combat stance.

Miles, tense, tightened his grip on his warhammer. Dale stared at him for a moment… then suddenly turned and bolted away at full speed.

"He… he's running away?"

Miles muttered in disbelief.

Either way, they had to chase him. If they let Dale escape now and he reported this incident to the guild headquarters, a pursuit force would be sent after them.

Miles quickly took off after Dale.

But Dale wasn't running away.

As he sprinted swiftly ahead, he suddenly made a sharp turn.

What he was heading toward was the corpse of the archer who had died earlier.

Dale thrust his gauntlet into the archer's chest.

Life force was absorbed, and Dale's body quickly began to recover.

Only then did Miles realize his mistake and shouted,

"Throw more holy water! We have to stop him from absorbing life force!"

"Y-yes!"

His comrades hurriedly uncorked the glass bottles to throw them.

But Dale grabbed the hand axe that was still embedded in the archer's face and, without hesitation, threw it.

Whoosh!

The axe spun through the air and struck the glass bottle held in the attacker's hand with perfect accuracy.

Crash!

"Aaagh! My hand!"

The axe shattered the glass bottle and embedded itself straight into the attacker's hand.

Another comrade nearby flinched at the sight, instinctively recoiling in fear.

And when he came to his senses again, Dale was already right in front of him.

Dale spread both arms wide, and as if clapping, he struck both of the attacker's ears at once.

Smack!

The attacker's eyes rolled back, showing only the whites.

From his nose, a liquid—whether it was blood or brain matter—dripped down in a stream.

No need to check further. He was dead.

Dale threw one final punch, slamming it into the solar plexus of the attacker who was clutching his hand and wheezing.

The man collapsed to the ground without even a scream.

Now only one enemy remained: Miles.

Miles stood awkwardly, half-crouched. He had intended to help his comrades, but Dale had finished them all off before he could.

It had happened in an instant.

Miles muttered in disbelief,

"Unbelievable. We worked together for four years... and they died so easily."

Without responding, Dale picked up the longsword he had dropped on the ground.

Watching him, Miles spoke.

"You monster bastard. You were born for this."

Dale asked indifferently,

"For what."

"For killing people. Watching your movements—there's nothing that screams refined technique or anything… But it just feels like you instinctively know how to kill people effectively. Like a natural-born killer."

It was impossible to tell whether that was supposed to be praise or an insult.

Dale replied, annoyed,

"So what do you want me to do about it."

Miles let out a short laugh.

"Nothing, really. Just… I'm jealous. You've found your calling. Some of us bust our asses off, only to end up crawling at the bottom of the barrel."

He glanced around at the corpses scattered nearby.

The bodies of his comrades and fellow mercenaries.

With a self-deprecating tone, Miles muttered,

"Yeah. The weak die. Let's see this through to the end, shall we."

Miles poured the remaining holy water over his body.

He figured doing this might slightly increase his chances of surviving.

Dale stepped forward, long sword in hand, slowly approaching Miles.

Then, he picked up speed for a running start and leapt with all his might.

That massive frame soared through the air.

Dale's body aligned with the sun, scattering light in all directions.

Miles squinted from the sudden glare.

"Son of a bitch…"

Dale thrust the longsword forward—not with any particular technique or finesse, but simply relying on the force and weight of his falling body.

But it couldn't be blocked.

Crash!

The longsword shattered the chainmail armor Miles was wearing.

The tip of the sword drove straight for his chest.

Miles grabbed the blade with both hands, putting all his strength into stopping it from plunging any deeper.

"Ghhhrrrkk!"

Blood trickled down from the hands gripping the longsword. It must have been agonizing, but Miles didn't loosen his grip.

A tremendous tenacity for life.

Dale continued to press down on the longsword.

The deeper the blade drove into the chest, the more blood spattered around. It was warm blood.

To think even the blood of this inhuman bastard was this warm.

While his own blood was cold.

Dale felt a pang of jealousy. The peculiar kind of envy that the undead harbored toward the living.

Squelch!

At last, the tip of the sword pierced Miles's heart.

Miles's eyes flew wide open. The strength in his hands gripping the blade drained rapidly.

The longsword sank fully into Miles's body.

The light in Miles's eyes faded.

'It's over.'

He had killed a man, but felt no emotion. On the contrary, Dale's instincts rejoiced.

At this pace, if he continued harvesting souls, reaching Grade 3 wouldn't take long.

Before absorbing the life force, Dale looked around first.

It was a gruesome sight.

Corpses were strewn everywhere, and pools of blood had gathered on the ground.

'Is anyone still alive?'

The soup laced with paralysis herb had been fatal.

If not for that, a few more might have survived.

Just then, a rustling sound came from somewhere. Dale turned his head.

A small-built man was crawling out from between the corpses.

"Leon?"

"I-Is it over?"

Leon looked around nervously with a frightened expression.

Dale reassured him.

"Don't worry. I killed them all."

"Ah, th-that's a relief."

"You managed to survive."

"I got lucky. My small build made it easier to play dead between the bodies."

He must have pretended to be dead the moment the fight broke out.

'He's pretty quick-witted.'

Leon looked around at the horrific scene with a pale face, then suddenly scurried off to one side.

Then he shouted to Dale.

"Sir Dale! The priestess is still alive!"

"What?"

Dale quickly ran over to where Leon was.

The priestess, struck by an arrow in her chest, was breathing shallowly.

Her breaths were so faint that Dale hadn't even noticed.

Leon, panicking, stammered,

"W-We have to save her. The holy water, is there any left…?"

Dale grabbed Leon's shoulders and shook his head.

"It's too late."

"W-What?"

Dale examined the arrowhead that had pierced the priestess's chest. Something dark and murky was smeared on it.

"There's poison on the arrow."

"W-What?"

Her body had been paralyzed, then pierced through the chest by an arrow, and now poisoned as well.

To use holy water or a healing miracle, they'd first have to pull out the arrow and detoxify her.

But with her already weakened condition, it didn't look like she'd survive long enough for that.

Not to mention, they had no means of detoxifying her anyway.

Truthfully, it was already a miracle she was still alive.

Human vitality was more tenacious than one might think.

Hearing voices, the priestess slowly opened her eyes. Her forehead was drenched in sweat, with drops constantly flowing into her eyes.

Dale took a handkerchief from his coat and gently wiped her face. His touch was careful and delicate.

Leon looked at Dale in surprise. The priestess also widened her eyes when she realized who was wiping her forehead.

She tried to voice her protest, though no sound came out.

"Stop…"

Dale spoke flatly.

"You'll die soon."

A short, but piercing statement.

It was the truth the priestess had been trying so hard to avoid until now.

Resignation flickered in her eyes—then suddenly, fear overtook her.

She grabbed Dale's arm.

Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone on the verge of death.

The priestess spoke desperately.

"Please… I beg you. Don't absorb my soul. Such blasphemy…"

A powerful Dark Knight could harvest not only the lingering soul fragments of corpses, but even the souls of the living.

Though Dale had not yet reached that level of power.

To a devout priestess, the idea of having her soul taken by a Dark Knight was far more terrifying than death itself.

Dale patted her shoulder and spoke calmly.

"Don't worry. That won't happen. If you want, I'll take your body back to the Church. I promise."

Only then did the priestess's expression relax in relief. Dark Knights were blasphemous beings that couldn't be trusted—but for some reason, she found herself believing the man before her.

Dale asked:

"What's your name?"

"M-Maria."

"Maria. Speak your final words."

Maria hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth.

"G-Goddess above in the heavens, I offer my deepest gratitude for granting me life—"

"Enough."

Dale cut her off.

"You can talk to the god you believe in all you want after you die. Use your last moments for those you've shared bonds with on this earth."

Maria's eyes widened.

She felt a little embarrassed. The Dark Knight's words were right.

Maria carefully chose her words.

And with the last remnants of her life, she spoke.

"Tell everyone… thank you. Especially… Brother Phael. But… my last words…"

"I got it. You want your final message to be delivered only to Phael, right? The others might be hurt if they knew."

Maria nodded.

Then, she extended one hand toward Dale. As she opened her palm, a ring emitting a faint glow lay within.

"You're giving this to me?"

"Com…pensation…"

Maria spoke with great effort.

Calling it compensation rather than a gift showed her strong sense of principle.

Dale responded calmly.

"I'll put it to good use."

Maria closed her eyes. A satisfied smile lingered on her lips.

Something departed from her body. As a half-undead, Dale could see it — her soul.

"She's gone."

Leon had been watching everything from the side.

He couldn't bring himself to speak, overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the moment.

A priest and a black knight. Leon felt that he might never witness such a scene again.

Dale turned his gaze.

"Time to get ready."

"Huh?"

Leon dumbly asked back.

Dale pointed around and said:

"There's a lot to pick up."

The equipment worn by the attackers scattered all over the place—

It was all money.