Chapter 310: As Though Sunlight Pierced the Clouds!
Margaret's doubts were not without reason.
Especially once their party reached the second floor of the towering spire, where they were greeted by rows upon rows of metallic constructs—lifeless puppets gleaming with the sheen of forged steel.
The moment Margaret saw them lying in neat formation across the vast hall, she knew: even if they somehow managed to pass this floor, there would be almost no one left standing afterward.
And yet, what surprised them most was not the iron puppets, but the knight waiting for them.
He wasn't standing proudly at the pinnacle of the tower, nor perched high above like some lofty ruler awaiting challengers. No—instead, he had set out what looked like a rest station. A table, neatly laid with food and drinks clearly intended to help them recover their strength.
…What kind of final boss went out of his way to pamper the very knights trying to stop him?
"You took much longer to arrive than I expected. And there are far fewer of you left than I had imagined," Steven remarked, his tone tinged with faint disappointment as his gaze swept over the battered, weary knights. "Is this truly all that remains of the Grand Knight Territory of Kazimierz?"
It had taken him considerable effort to arrange his grand array of iron golems here on the second floor, and yet… this was all that had managed to reach him?
The first floor had only been guarded by a handful of illagers. If that had been enough to whittle down their numbers so drastically, wasn't it all just a little too pathetic?
He'd already gone easy on them, or so he thought. But clearly, he had still overestimated their strength.
A hundred iron golems stationed on this floor… was that perhaps a bit too cruel?
As these thoughts flitted idly through his mind, Steven gave a casual wave to the ragtag force before him, greeting them as if he were welcoming guests instead of preparing to crush intruders.
He didn't appear concerned in the slightest about being struck down here and now. And in truth, he had no reason to be.
It wasn't arrogance, nor disdain—just fact. There was no one in the entirety of the Grand Knight Territory whose strength he deemed worth taking seriously.
"…What exactly are you planning?"
Dikaiopolis stepped forward first, his axe clenched tightly in hand.
Never had he thought he would so easily come face-to-face with the very instigator of this catastrophe.
At this range, he could easily unleash his Arts to strike the Black Hole Knight down. Yet instinct screamed at him that doing so would be no different from suicide.
The man before him radiated no aura, no sign of arts, nothing save the appearance of a strangely dressed knight. And yet the pressure he exuded… was suffocating.
It was the first time in his life the man known as the Blood Knight had felt such a thing.
"Questions like that… save them for when you reach the top of the tower," Steven replied lightly, lifting his hands in a careless shrug. "For now, I only came to give you a reminder. You have about two hours left to stop me. After that… well, who can say what fate awaits the Grand Knight Territory?"
With a snap of his fingers, a faint ticking sound began—an improvised timer, mocking in its cheerfulness.
His eyes swept over the crowd once more.
He recognized more than a few familiar faces: the Candle Knight, the Wind Knight, even the young women of the Pinus Sylvestris Knightclub had chosen to join this desperate march.
They weren't the strongest by far, but their presence said enough. They weren't willing to sit back and simply watch the Grand Knight Territory collapse around them.
Perhaps this was what people meant when they said, to protect Kazimierz is the duty of all.
Steven chuckled under his breath.
Then, without another word, a black void opened behind him. His figure was swallowed into the darkness, vanishing from sight even as the knights braced themselves to strike him down before he could escape.
He had other preparations to make. The guardians of the third floor would not set themselves up, after all.
This was far from over.
The moment Steven disappeared, the slumbering iron golems—silent as statues until now—suddenly stirred. Their eyes flared open, dull metal orbs igniting into blinding crimson light.
And then, with a sound like the very earth splitting apart, the giants charged.
The clash was immediate, brutal, and without warning. The knights braced themselves—but the next instant, bodies were already being flung through the air.
Those who had survived the onslaught of the illagers below were all skilled enough, yes. But skill meant little in the face of these juggernauts, each one built like a walking fortress.
Standing nearly three meters tall, the steel giants did not move quickly. They didn't need to. Their raw strength alone was overwhelming—so much so that even Dikaiopolis, famed for his power, found himself driven back with a heavy crash.
Margaret herself raised her shield to intercept a strike. The impact rattled her bones, leaving her hand trembling, numb from the force. She clenched her teeth, realizing grimly that she could not afford to take another blow head-on.
These weren't like Columbia's shoddy combat machines. These constructs were the iron golems—among the mightiest of creatures in the original version of Minecraft. And here, they were more than enough to break the resolve of Kazimierz's knights.
The battle devolved into chaos. Shields splintered, formations collapsed, and the so-called climbing party found themselves scattered, fighting desperately for their lives.
Even Margaret and Dikaiopolis—two champions among champions—struggled under the combined assault of multiple golems. Their weapons struck true, yes, but the results were pitiful. Dikaiopolis's axe, Margaret's radiant spear—each blow left nothing more than a faint white scratch upon iron hides that refused to yield.
As for the lesser knights? Their efforts were little more than sparks against a mountain of steel.
At this rate, stopping the Black Hole Knight within two hours was laughable. Surviving this floor alone was already in question.
And the worst part? Every second of their desperate struggle was being broadcast across the Grand Knight Territory.
Steven had made sure of that, allowing drones into the spire specifically so the entire nation could watch. To see that there were still those who chose to fight—to truly fight—for what it meant to be a knight.
If the challenge seemed excessive, then so be it.
"They're simply too weak," Steven thought with a faint smile as he adjusted preparations for the third floor's guardian. "If they can't even handle this, then perhaps Kazimierz has no reason to exist at all."
Better to let it fall into ruin than to persist in hollow glory.
That was the thought on his mind—when suddenly, he saw it.
From within the abyss of darkness, the endless void carved by his black portals, a single silver radiance shone forth.
Like sunlight piercing through storm clouds, that silvery brilliance split the shadows apart. It was not merely light—it was hope, surging forward from the farthest reaches of despair.
Where it passed, even the white-collar citizens of the proud Grand Knight Territory—those who had always looked down upon knights as relics of the past—found themselves unconsciously stepping aside, parting to open a path.
And in the eyes of the common folk, that light was not just illumination. It was reverence. Worship.
Steven's lips curved upward.
"So… they've finally returned, have they? The true knights of this land."
The ones he had been waiting for.
At last, Kazimierz's answer had come home.
As that silver brilliance cut through the darkness and surged toward the spire, Steven's expression showed no trace of concern. On the contrary—his lips curved into a smile of pure anticipation.
This—this was what he believed knights were meant to be. Not the hollow spectacle of entertainers on a tournament stage, but warriors whose very presence radiated the weight of iron and blood, whose aura pressed down with the gravity of true battlefields.
The knights who had bled, who had charged through fire and slaughter—only they could wield this kind of killing intent.
It was the sight he had once hoped to glimpse during the so-called Kazimierz Majors. A vain hope, as it turned out.
And yet, because of that disappointment, the scene before his eyes now burned even brighter.
Finally, the land's trump card had appeared—the Silverlance Pegasi.
They descended like a gleaming spearpoint, the entire squad a formation of silver armor and lances. The Illagers of the first floor fell before them as though swept aside by the edge of a single blade. And carried by the thunderous cheers of the people watching below, they pressed onward, soaring straight into the chaos of the second floor.
With their arrival, the battle shifted instantly. What had been a desperate, grinding struggle turned into a coordinated assault.
There were only twenty of them in all. And yet, the force they projected was equal to that of an entire cavalry regiment.
Individually, one Silverlance could not match Margaret or Dikaiopolis. But united, their strength became something far greater—an overwhelming tide, a single entity of iron discipline.
Against them, the iron golems faltered. Their bodies were massive, their blows devastating—but they fought like rabid beasts, each strike nothing more than a clumsy swing. Against the perfect cohesion of the Silverlance Pegasi, their lack of order was fatal.
One by one, the golems fell back, pressed down by the relentless rhythm of silver spears.
"This… this is our Silverlance Pegasi! These are our heroes!"
Cries burst from the throats of the watchers below, voices rising as if they themselves stood on the battlefield. They could not fight—but to see the long-whispered legends appear, to see them stand where no others could, was enough to ignite pride in every heart.
Here, the distinction between idol and hero became blindingly clear. The flashy tournament knights had been adored. But these—these were revered.
Margaret exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders at last. Dikaiopolis, too, lowered his stance ever so slightly. The Silverlance Pegasi's arrival carried more than muscle—it was the sign that Kazimierz itself, in its truest form, had chosen to act.
For all the corporate masks, for all the gilded pretenses of the Knight Territory, everyone knew the truth. The true guardians of this land were not the shareholders of the K.G.C.C. It was still the Adeptus Sprawiedliwi, and the knights it commanded.
And now, by sending their silver spears into the fray, they had declared their stance.
They had recognized the Black Hole Knight. Recognized the weight of his question.
What is a knight?
A question with as many answers as there were souls in Kazimierz.
But now, before the eyes of the world, the Silverlance Pegasi had offered one.
A single, irrefutable answer.
They were.
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
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