The game difficulty was insane.
The Witch’s Knight, Meldborn.
He was one of Penelope’s most trusted subordinates and one of the very few sword-type commanders in the 8th Legion she led.
‘Most of them are mages or witches.’
The Demon King Army’s 8th Legion, led by Penelope, was organized in a way slightly different from other demon legions, where strength alone allowed one to seize higher positions.
Perhaps because she was the representative of the Witch Council, Penelope often placed high-ranking witches from the council into key positions within the legion.
The problem was that in doing so, she did not consider their strength or their ability as commanders at all.
In the 8th Legion, power was determined by how close one was to Penelope.
In other words—
‘It’s a complete mess.’
However, even within such a rotten and decayed legion, there were rare individuals who rose to high positions purely through ability and loyalty to the legion commander.
One was the now-dead vice commander Myuta.
The other was Meldborn, who stood below the castle walls now.
“If there is anyone here who knows even a shred of honor, come down at once and receive Meldborn’s blade!”
Meldborn had fought for the 8th Legion for a full forty years, starting long before Penelope was appointed legion commander—back when her mother, the previous head of the Witch Council, held that position.
And at the age of ninety, he had finally reached the Seventh Demonic Realm and claimed the 4th rank in Penelope’s legion hierarchy.
By all measures, he was an extraordinary figure.
‘But that just means bonus experience for me.’
Glen’s lips curled upward slightly.
No matter how impressive his opponent was, to Glen, Meldborn was simply an enemy he had to defeat.
‘Rank 4 is even better.’
With the difference in forces already massive, such an arrogant duel request from an enemy commander was like rain after a drought.
Defeating Meldborn wasn’t just about eliminating a veteran 7-star demon swordsman—it carried far greater meaning.
‘He probably wants to duel Jaber, our overall commander.’
But Glen had no intention of granting that wish.
Without hesitation, he kicked off the battlements and dropped below the castle wall.
Thud—
A clean landing.
Glen slowly straightened his body.
“I’ll fight you.”
“Hm?”
Through his black helmet, a strange light flickered in Meldborn’s red eyes.
He looked up at the wall.
“Are the Gray Wolves all cowards?!”
He was clearly saying the boy before him was not worthy to be his opponent.
“I see the level of the Gray Wolf Knights well enough! Hiding behind walls while sending out a milk-smelling brat—what honor could such men possibly know?!”
“You filthy demon bastard, what did you say?!”
Enraged, the knights atop the wall cursed loudly and leapt down.
“If honor is what you want, I, Soren, ranked third among the knights, will face you!”
“There’s no need for Sir Soren! I’m rank nine, and I’m more than enough!”
Just as the skilled knights surged forward in fury—
Glen suddenly swung his sword, carving a line across the ground before their feet.
“Cross this line, and I’ll punish you. Personally.”
At his cold, firm command, the knights fell silent.
Normally, they would have rushed forward despite the insult, shouting about pride and valor.
But the beastly instinct within them was crushed beneath the pressure Glen was releasing.
“Young knight. I can tell your presence is extraordinary, and I acknowledge your courage. But return. Meldborn did not come here to take an unripe life.”
Meldborn spoke quietly, issuing a final warning.
“Well. I just didn’t think Sir Jaber needed to come out just to deal with an old fossil like you.”
“…You really have no sense of how precious your life is.”
The air around Meldborn turned frigid, thick demonic energy surging around him.
“Should’ve just fought sooner.”
Glen casually raised Ainherria and walked toward him.
The Gray Wolf Knights tried to stop him from behind, but he didn’t listen.
“Young knight. Know this—you face one who has awakened the Seventh Realm.”
“Is that supposed to be bragging?”
“It means running from a stronger opponent is never shameful.”
“Oh? I agree with that. But you see—”
A chill settled into Glen’s ash-gray eyes.
“That only applies when the opponent is stronger than me.”
“…To waste my final mercy like this.”
Meldborn drew his sword.
“Your ignorance is truly pitiful.”
Lowering his stance, Meldborn prepared himself.
Glen quietly gripped his sword and activated the Gray Ring.
Woooooong—
Seven chains now spun and resonated.
At Glen’s will, they shifted from gray to white.
“Old man. Let me tell you something.”
Dense particles of holy power erupted from Glen.
As the translucent glow deepened—
The white light turned golden.
“…Don’t tell me—!”
Meldborn’s brow furrowed.
At the same time, everyone watching from the wall froze in shock.
“I never fight battles I’ll lose.”
Glen smiled.
Raziel’s Blessing.
A power granted only to humans who had woven together the Seven Holy Rings.
That power was now in Glen’s hands.
Clang—!
The two blades collided.
Demonic energy and holy power exploded outward.
BOOOOM—!
The air tore apart.
Steel bit steel.
After a brief struggle, the blades slid and lunged toward their owners.
Slash—
Slice—
Cuts appeared on each other’s cheeks.
Neither paid them any mind as they continued their assault.
Clang! Kaaang—!
Within the endless clashes—
Meldborn grew increasingly shaken.
At first, he thought it was reckless bravado from a fearless youth.
But the moment he saw the golden holy power surrounding the boy, he realized it wasn’t arrogance.
The boy had already reached the Seventh Realm—a height Meldborn himself had only attained at ninety.
‘How is that possible at such an age?!’
No matter how much experience and wisdom he drew upon, the boy defied explanation.
In the end, Meldborn pushed aside his confusion and gripped his sword seriously.
