The leaders of the Ironclad Lion Corps were in complete disarray.@@novelbin@@

Right now, they were supposed to be preparing for Count Crest’s territorial skirmish. What should have been a simple lesson to put some arrogant upstarts in their place had turned into an uncontrollable mess.

Tyron paced back and forth, growling as he snapped at Zark.

“You’re telling me they didn’t even need the others? Just three of them? Three people took out all our men?”

“Yes… That’s correct,” Zark replied, his voice subdued.

“Are you saying those three are at least advanced knights?”

Even among the defeated mercenaries, several were capable of wielding mana. And yet, they had all fallen. Unless the opponents were advanced knights or stronger, such an outcome was unthinkable.

Zark spoke truthfully, without exaggeration.

“That mage… He didn’t even use magic. He just swung his staff and brought us all down.”

“A mage… didn’t use magic?”

“Yes. It seems the rumors about him were false. He never cast a single spell.”

In reality, Ghislain had been using a variety of enhancements—his body layered with magic—but none of the Ironclad Lion Corps had been skilled enough to notice.

Tyron furrowed his brow at Zark’s confident report and nodded.

“I see. So that nonsense about him being a mage must’ve been deliberate misinformation.”

He trusted Zark’s judgment, built over years of working together. If Zark said the mage hadn’t used magic, he believed him.

Still, the fact that they had encountered three fighters of advanced knight-level strength was alarming.

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