Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

"Bang--!!"

The window shattered, and shards of wood and glass rained into the study.

A huge black shadow rushed in through the window, its black plate armor gleaming eerily in the candlelight, and its two-handed greatsword slashed toward Alfred's shoulder with a whooshing sound.

Alfred managed to turn to the side, the chair tipped backward, and the greatsword grazed his shoulder before striking the desk.

"Prince Alfred." The dark figure stopped, his voice echoing like muffled thunder in the room, "I have long admired your name."

Alfred saw the face clearly—square and stern, with thick eyebrows and large eyes, a neatly trimmed beard, and a height of over two meters.

His pupils suddenly contracted.

"Who are you……"

He recognized the face; as a prince, he certainly knew what a hero-level professional from a neighboring country looked like.

"Olaf! What are you doing here?!"

No wonder I had to exert all my strength to barely dodge this guy's casual attack.

"Exactly." Olaf grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth. "Your Highness, don't you think it's foolish of you to ask that? Please come with me!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than seven or eight more people jumped in from behind him, their imposing presence overwhelming.

They're all Exemplary class!

They were all dressed in black, their movements were clean and efficient, and they landed without making a sound.

Alfred's heart sank.

He's a level 13 warrior; he definitely couldn't beat Olaf even if he fought one of them, let alone the eight Exemplars on the other side.

Hurried footsteps and shouts came from outside the study—the guards had been alerted.

But Olaf merely raised his chin, and two Exemplars turned and blocked the doorway, the sound of longswords being drawn echoing in the corridor.

Olaf swiftly reached out, about to grab Alfred's collar.

In that instant, the amulet on Alfred's chest suddenly lit up with a white light, forming a semi-transparent shield that deflected Olaf's hand.

Olaf looked down at his hand, then at the amulet.

As expected, how could the prince not have magical equipment to save his life?

Alfred took the opportunity to pull out a spell scroll with the [Teleportation] spell.

This was personally copied by the great master Giboduan; it is priceless.

Just as he was about to tear it open, Olaf was faster than him.

He also pulled out a spell scroll and tore it open first.

[The boundary gate is sealed!]

All teleportation spells in the vicinity were rendered ineffective.

Alfred's face darkened.

Olaf took a step forward. "Your Highness, I advise you to give up resisting. This equipment won't protect you for long."

Alfred gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Olaf slammed his fist into the shield again, causing it to shake violently and crack.

"Look, it's about to break," Olaf said. "If you're hoping to wait for reinforcements, forget about it. You know perfectly well you won't make it that far."

He paused, then said, "Besides, even if someone comes, they won't be able to save you from my hands."

Alfred stared at him, his expression shifting from shock to calm.

That calm made Olaf suddenly feel a little uneasy.

"Olav, as a Paradigm-level warrior, is practically the foundation of a small nation like theirs, and they wouldn't use him lightly. Therefore, the Sassanid Kingdom's ambitions must be far greater."

"That……"

Alfred stared at him, then suddenly laughed.

It was a very natural laugh.

"Olaf, you've misjudged me, Alfred!"

He suddenly raised his sword—

Olaf's expression changed, and he shot forward, his greatsword whistling as it slashed at Alfred's wrist.

But he was unable to break through the barrier.

Alfred's sword did not strike the enemy.

It drew an arc, the blade aimed at its own neck.

The blade sliced ​​across Alfred's neck, and blood gushed out.

Alfred swayed, then slowly fell to the ground, the sword in his hand clattering to the floor.

Blood gushed from the wound, staining the carpet red.

Prince Alfred of the Kingdom of Eriland committed suicide!

Olaf stood before the corpse, stunned.

He never expected that Alfred, a prince, would be so fierce.

I'd rather die than be a prisoner.

The study was deathly silent.

His greatsword was held in mid-air, and he looked like a stone statue.

He stared at the still convulsing body on the ground, his expression shifting from shock to anger, and then from anger to something indescribable.

"……Hold."

He muttered a curse under his breath.

"General, what do we do now? Retreat?" A peerage leader approached from behind and asked.

"Retreat?! Alfred is dead, but the other generals of Rield are still alive!"

"There isn't a single person here who can defeat me! As long as we kill all the generals in the city, Rield will still be mine! Mine!"

"Let's go," he said to his generals. "We'll head to the city lord's mansion first."

……

But after walking less than two hundred meters, Olaf suddenly stopped.

A person was standing in mid-air at the intersection ahead.

She had long, silver-white hair, wore a slightly wrinkled dark blue mage's robe, and had a small black cat yawning perched on her shoulder.

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the clouds, shining on him.

After the war began, Lance and the city's paragons temporarily resided in and around the city lord's mansion.

The commotion had alerted them, and they could all tell that it came from Prince Alfred's residence, so they all rushed over.

Lance, who used the [Flight] spell, arrived the fastest.

Lance hovered in mid-air, looking down, his pupils slightly contracting.

Those eight men in black were all of the Exemplary rank.

There is also a little giant.

He was over two meters tall, broad-shouldered and burly, wearing a black leather armor and carrying a two-handed greatsword.

Lance focused his attention, and the information surfaced:

[Target: Olaf Ironspine]

Race: Human

[Class: Berserker (Warrior Variant)]

[Level: 15]

"Level 15, Heroic Rank." Lance frowned. "Still a variant class."

He silently flew upwards a bit and cast a [Acceleration] spell on himself.

"It was hasty; we shouldn't have come so quickly."

Olaf squinted.

"You're that mage?"

Lance did not answer.

"Olaf should have come from the direction of Alfred, right? But he's nowhere to be seen... Was Alfred assassinated?"

"That doesn't make sense! Olaf, a hero-level fighter, should be able to capture him alive. A dead prince would only be bad for them..."

Olaf slowly tightened his grip on the sword, intending to leap to Lance's side.

Just then, hurried footsteps came from the street.

Graham led a dozen or so men out.

The city lord was wearing a half-body plate armor and carrying a weapon.

After that, one by one, the exemplary generals of Rield emerged from the darkness.

These days they have been sleeping fully clothed, wearing their armor, and with their weapons at hand.

Anyway, the bodies of the Exemplary class are sturdy and durable.

Wearing armor to sleep isn't a big deal.