“Guardian Sword Technique, First Form: Circular Blade Shield.”

A barrier of Aura Blade spread in a perfect circle, covering a radius of ten meters. The moment it formed, Gilbert’s face turned pale.

Becoming a Master at his rather old age was an achievement in itself. However, forcing his way to construct an Aura Blade in a single month had taken everything from him.

He had damaged his own life force, exhausting himself beyond recovery, reaching a realm years ahead of when he naturally could have. In doing so, he had even sacrificed his potential as a warrior.

Yet Gilbert had no regrets.

I swore that I would be the sword of Clyde and the shield that guards Prince Lyon’s future.

He had chosen to live not as a fighter, but as a knight. Not for glory, but for loyalty.

“Really, what a boring man to the end,” Cedric snorted, half in disappointment as he watched the shield stretch above them like a dome.

The others marveled at the strength of the barrier, but not him. For someone who had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship, the sight of this Guardian Sword Technique almost felt filthy to his eyes.

It might have seemed like a power that stood opposite to Ten Thousand Severing Strikes, focused on defense instead of offense, but that wasn’t why. Compared to Ten Thousand Severing Strikes, Guardian Sword was an incomplete piece of work.

El-Cid chimed in, —Tch, he rushed it. Or maybe he had no choice but to rush. Either way, he’ll never advance any further like that.

He rushed it? Leon caught the muttered remark and asked in his mind.

El-Cid gave a small chuckle and explained, —That Aura Blade of his is incomplete. More precisely, it’s a form that can never be completed.

Reaching the level of Aura Master didn’t mean one instantly mastered the Aura Blade. One had to reflect on their life, refine their craft, and polish their spirit and technique until the very essence aligned. Unless they were someone like Leon, that process took years—sometimes over a decade.

Gilbert, however, had forcibly shortened that journey. For this war, he needed an Aura Blade, no matter the cost.

—He stacked Aura upon Aura and fixed it into a wall-like form, entering a realm where space itself is sealed. The concept is old-fashioned, but it’s actually not bad. Ideally, offense and defense should exist in harmony, but aside from me, there’s no one who could start there from the beginning.

Hah, been a while since you’ve had an opportunity to pat yourself on the back, Leon quipped, and El-Cid laughed softly.

—It’s just a fact, you damned disciple. Anyway, that old man chose the wrong path at the crossroads. Instead of prioritizing one side, he threw the other away completely.

You mean, he...

—Exactly what you’re thinking. You’re catching on quicker these days.

With El-Cid’s explanation, Leon understood why Cedric had looked so derisive.

Guardian Sword Technique was a purely defensive power. It sealed off space to block all attacks, but those within the barrier couldn’t strike outward either. It was a technique that hid you within an impenetrable shell, like that of a turtle.

At first glance, Gilbert’s Aura Blade was the complete opposite of Nekator or Cedric, both of whom specialized in annihilation. A power meant only for protection, it was a technique that, from its very inception, abandoned offense in favor of shielding others.

No... you can’t even compare it to Cedric or Nekator. Those two focused on offense, but could still defend through their overwhelming strength. Gilbert gave up his offense entirely.

The deeper one delved into martial arts, the more one realized its duality. Even the first step toward Grandmastery—naturality—was a realm of perfect unity between attack and defense. To dig into only one side was, ultimately, a waste of time.

Then, a bolt of lightning struck the barrier of the Guardian Sword. Thunder pounded their ears as the deluge of high-tier spells began.

Fireballs, storms, icicles, lightning, poison mists—a rain of countless spells poured down without pause. The combinations were cruel: non-elemental blasts mixed with decomposition magic that targeted both living and nonliving alike.

“Ghh...!”

Even so, the Guardian Sword held firm. Had it tried to block the barrage through raw force, it would’ve shattered instantly, but Gilbert wasn’t defending with power but sealing space itself. By invoking a concept-level barrier, he withstood bombardments dozens of times stronger than any single spell.

Spatial interference magic began at the eighth tier, but eighth-tier spells, for all their sophistication and output, were severely inefficient compared to the seventh. That was why the White Peak Palace had chosen not to employ them.

However, even a spatial barrier couldn’t perfectly resist the storm. With every hit, the shield warped and restored itself repeatedly. The overwhelming power distorted space itself, and the barrier’s state worsened by the second.

At first, it showed hairline cracks. Then, cracks big enough to be seen even with the naked eye.

If the bombardment had continued for another minute—no, even thirty seconds more—the Guardian Sword Technique would have shattered. In the end, the advantage and weakness were matters of efficiency, and enough brute power could overturn any relation.

However, the bombardment that could have annihilated tens of thousands was stopped by one man alone. When the flow of magic striking the barrier finally ceased, Gilbert collapsed, still clutching his sword.

“Kh... guh, hhgh...”

And the infiltration team moved at once. The barrage wasn’t a one-time attack; it had only exhausted its stored mana. Given time, it would resume again.

“Run at full speed until we’re clear of the hall!”

As Leon shouted, the team surged forward. Leon and Lyon lagged slightly behind, carrying Gilbert between them—but not by much.

Despite carrying his loyal servant, Lyon knew that it was he who was the burden. Biting his lip hard, red blood trailed down his chin.

Even half-conscious, Gilbert seemed to notice and whispered softly, reassuringly. “Please, do not blame yourself, Your Highness.”

“Sir Gilbert! Are you alright?!”

Lyon’s voice trembled as he asked, and Gilbert gave a faint, weary smile.

“Haha... unfortunately, I can’t say that I am. Seems this old, frail body overexerted itself.”

“You just blocked the White Peak Palace’s bombardment all by yourself, and that’s what you have to say?”

“I merely fulfilled my duty, Your Highness. Unlike the other Masters, I awakened my Aura Blade through unorthodox means.”

And that was true. The Guardian Sword Technique was indeed powerful, but it eliminated even the slightest ability for allies inside its protection to attack. In a situation that required a swift advance, it was almost meaningless.

Unless it was an absolute-defense scenario like moments ago, Gilbert could contribute little.

“Your Highness,” Gilbert spoke carefully. “If a moment comes where I become a burden, please do not hesitate to leave me behind.”

“I could never.”

“This is not the time for stubbornness.”

When Lyon resolutely rejected the suggestion, Gilbert’s tone softened, almost like a grandfather advising his child.

“It’s fortunate we made it past the Imperial Guards and Guardians without heavy losses, but from here on... things will be harder.”

The White Peak Palace’s core forces fell into three categories.

The first were the Imperial Guards.

Numerous in number, each one bolstered by the palace’s magic to reach at least Expert-level strength. Yet they had limits. Against a small team of Masters, they could only delay, and no matter how much power they were fed, their skill itself didn’t change—that was their weakness.

The second were the Imperial Guardians.

Massive, nearly indestructible golems whose sheer mass and etched magic arrays gave them devastating power. However, even they had vulnerabilities against focused, one-point strikes like Leon’s Corona or Cedric’s Ten Thousand Severing Strikes. They were strategic weapons, yes, but not perfect ones.

And the third was muttered by Lyon.

“You’re worried about the imperial knights.”

“Yes.”

They were the elite sworn to guard the Clyde Imperial Family, men who had pledged their lives to protect the royal bloodline. Every one of them was beyond Expert-level; the empire’s strongest order of knights. Even the renowned Crusher, Garibaldi, had once served as their captain.

Gilbert muttered, “Here in the White Peak Palace, even guards who are mere Aura users can exert Expert-level strength. So, if the Imperial Knight Order—who are far more skilled and efficient in harnessing that power—were to appear...”

They would be monsters beyond comparison. And if their current captain—the man who had succeeded Gilbert after he stepped down as vice-captain—had truly reached the Master realm? Five Masters might not be enough. Lyon’s expression stiffened as he imagined the possibility.

Leon, who had been listening closely, asked, “If the Imperial Knights are that strong, wouldn’t it have made sense to deploy them earlier? Like when we fought the guards or the Guardians. I doubt Morse would overlook that.”

“Ah, I think I know why,” Lyon answered. “The barrier core is immensely powerful, but the conduits that deliver that power have limits. The mana supply can only support a certain range.”

Leon immediately understood. Concentrating too many troops in one area wouldn’t strengthen them—it would only spread the available power thinner.

Mixing the Imperial Knights with other units would be a waste. Combining them with the guards would reduce efficiency rather than improve it.

“Moreover,” Lyon continued, “unlike the guards, the imperial knights are few in number. They’ve never been more or less than a hundred. It must’ve taken time to gather them from their posts across the palace.”

So, while the infiltration team was breaking through the guards and crossing two halls, the Imperial Knights were being summoned.

It fit perfectly. The guards and Guardians were meant to wear the intruders down, and the third hall would be where it ended.

A cold, crawling sense of dread climbed up Leon’s spine.

El-Cid said, —When you get a bad feeling, always assume the worst. That way, you won’t freeze when it happens.

Not exactly comforting advice, Leon thought, giving a wry smile.

Ever since he’d engraved the four Stigmata as a Hero, his intuition had grown close to foresight. He couldn’t see the future precisely, but whenever he felt dread, something dreadful always followed—and this was one of those moments.

No enemies barred their way as they left the second hall and reached the doors of the third. It could have been a chance to rest, recover from their battles. However, none of the seven relaxed.

Like the stillness of the world before a great wind, each of them steeled themselves for what was coming. It was the calm before a storm.

Then, as the massive doors to the third hall opened with a creak, Gilbert, who had only just regained the strength to stand, couldn’t help but let out a low groan.

“So, it is you, Sir Evans,” his voice echoed faintly through the hall.

Before them stood a formation of men clad in full plate armor, suits forged from enchanted metals, inlaid with multiple magic arrays and gems that amplified their wielders’ power twofold. Weapons that rebirthed already-strong warriors into living killing machines.

From amidst that metallic wave came a calm, ringing voice, clear as a song.

“I knew it would be you, Sir Gilbert.”

The face behind the visor was hidden, but the presence in that tone was overwhelming. Even the arrogant Cedric didn’t step forward. The reason was obvious.

Gilbert’s already pale complexion drained even further as he said, “Congratulations on becoming a Swordmaster, Sir Evans.”

Once, long ago, they had shared the same pride and sworn loyalty to the same banner. However, where Gilbert had barely reached Master through countless hardships, Evans had always been young and gifted, overflowing with talent.

What Gilbert had been fearing ever since displaying his Aura Blade had now become a cruel reality.