Chapter Forty-Eight: The Imperial Guards of the Shadowed Night

Shaya gazed at the man opposite him. The look in the man's eyes seemed to spit flames, the hatred etched so deeply that Shaya felt a shiver run through his heart. The way this fellow stared at him, it was as if he might lose control at any moment and lunge to take a bite out of him.

Hmm, Shaya recalled their last encounter. The two had fought fiercely, but the man's martial skills were peculiar: he executed a series of moves, each one uncannily identical to the techniques Shaya had learned for chopping wood and poking coal.

Could it be... this man had also learned from the old master?

"Enough with the nonsense. I won't lay down my weapon," Shaya rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot. With this setup, what choice do I have but to gamble everything?"

Him sneered coldly.

He felt supremely confident now. His entire squad was here, well-equipped, strong men and sturdy horses, encircling this youth so tightly he couldn't hope to escape—even if he grew wings!

Him raised his long spear, his gaze brimming with murderous intent. "Very well. I'll wash away my shame with your blood!"

He stared at the wild youth before him, murder burning in his eyes—by the gods, Him had every reason to hack this boy into bits and feed him to the dogs!

As a proud member of the "Glory of Osgiliath" Royal Guard Knights, Him could scarcely remember the last time he was so humiliated.

Osgiliath—a name steeped in honor and glory! Throughout the continent, only one knight order dared to claim this name as their own. For "Osgiliath" was the name of the imperial capital of the Byzantine Empire!

Directly loyal to the royal family, taking orders solely from the great Emperor of Byzantium, bearing a tradition written in blood and iron—only such an order deserved the glorious name of "Osgiliath."

In truth, the Osgiliath Glory Royal Guard Knights had another, unofficial name: the Night Guard. For this order belonged solely to the royal house, loyal only to the crown. Unlike the regular palace guards, this group was the Emperor's personal force, unsupervised by the Imperial Military Council or the Senate, their salaries and expenses paid directly from the royal treasury.

Thus, to distinguish them from the empire's regular guards, people habitually called them the "Night Guard." They did not belong to the formal military structure, but were exceptionally fierce and brave. They favored black iron armor, moving with the wind, appearing like death's messengers in the night.

To join the Osgiliath Glory Royal Guard Knights, one had to be the finest chosen from the military, especially with impeccable backgrounds and absolute loyalty to the royal family. Indeed, it was said that their devotion to the Emperor himself far exceeded their loyalty to the empire.

(In the history of the Byzantine Empire, such a precedent existed. Over a century ago, during a civil war, the reigning Emperor was overthrown, and the new ruler could not command the Night Guard. Two hundred Night Guard knights defended the deposed Emperor, fighting bloodily, nearly breaking out of Osgiliath. When all hope was lost, even after the Emperor took his own life, not a single Night Guard surrendered. Half died by their own hands, the other half launched a suicidal charge, and apart from a few who escaped, all perished. Those who broke free refused the empire's offer to return, for they believed their loyalty was to the previous Emperor, not the nation.

A few knights later became rebels and bandits on the empire's frontiers, and it took a full year for the empire to suppress them.

Afterward, the new Emperor decided to reestablish the Night Guard, a move opposed by nearly all imperial officials, but the Emperor persisted.

As Emperor Syvandara I of Byzantium said at the time: "What ruler does not wish for a cadre of warriors so fierce and unconditionally loyal to his own person?" )

Such strict selection meant the Night Guard remained small, even at its largest—never more than five hundred knights formally enlisted.

Any who joined were elite warriors, flawless in both will and loyalty. The Night Guard held the highest prestige in the empire—even among the palace guards, their status was unmatched.

Him had served in the Night Guard for many years, becoming a captain three years prior, the pinnacle of his career. Though a mere captain, nominally commanding only twenty men, a Night Guard captain was no ordinary officer. Among the Night Guard, there were only a dozen or so captains, and even such junior officers could stand as equals before regular generals, never required to bow. Such was the arrogance and privilege of the Night Guard.

Him was stern and harsh by nature, decisive and strict with his men, his own martial prowess formidable. Among the dozen captains, he had started to stand out. With the commander planning to promote two young deputy commanders, Him had been harboring hopes.

This mission was by direct order of His Majesty himself. Him hoped to perform brilliantly and add a shining mark to his record.

Yet, days ago, he had found his target, only to let him escape right under his nose!

Three against one, and still, one dead and two wounded! One warrior slain, and Him, as captain, was defeated in fair combat by this wild youth.

Such humiliation—how could Him endure it?! These days, he had only one thought: to find this youth again, reclaim his honor with blood. As for any earlier admiration for talent, that was long forgotten.

Kill him! He must kill him! He must defeat and slay this youth before all eyes, only then could he restore his reputation! Otherwise, as a proud Night Guard captain, having lost to a wild boy, he might as well forget about promotion and just resign!

Him was no fool. To become an officer among the elite Night Guard, he was no stranger to critical thinking. After his defeat, he cooled down and carefully analyzed his loss. He found two reasons: first, the youth had somehow blocked his most powerful sword technique—a skill Him had painstakingly acquired from a master years ago.

This baffled Him, but aside from swordplay, he was confident in his spear skills.

The second reason for his defeat was the weapon disadvantage. The boy's black weapon was of unknown material, astonishingly sharp. Last time, Him's weapon was broken. This time, he had chosen a heavy cross spear, intended for cavalry but just as effective for a skilled fighter on foot. More importantly, the cross spear was heavy and sturdy—Him was determined to use brute strength to overcome skill!

No matter how sharp the youth's "sword" (he decided to treat the fire fork as a sword), it shouldn't easily break such a thick spear.

Without further words, Him raised his spear and strode forward, shouting, arms tensed. At the tip of the cross spear, a burst of gray battle aura flared, whistling violently as he thrust at Shaya!

As a level-two intermediate warrior, Him's battle aura surged forward—the spear had not yet reached Shaya, but the oppressive gust already pressed against him, the tip seeming to tear the air with a vortex.

Shaya braced his chest, gripping the fire fork with both hands, swinging it in a black arc... Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three rapid collisions—the spear struck the fork, sparks flew. Him's weapon smashed down three times, forcing Shaya back three steps.

One had to admit, the battle aura of a mid-level warrior was overwhelming. No matter how tough Shaya's physique, he was struggling. His arms were numb from the shock, and the battle aura's explosive vibration blasted apart his outer garment, the gale stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, forcing him to retreat.

Him roared, suddenly twisting his body, swinging the spear shaft in a sweeping blow—like a giant python, about to strike Shaya's waist! A muffled thud sounded.

Shaya was flung sideways, stumbling back more than ten steps. His clothes at the waist were torn, shredded by the battle aura.

Having landed a blow, Him was confident. He knew the force he'd just used—it was his full battle aura. Not just a man, even a horse struck by that would have its bones shattered! Surely the boy's spine was broken...

Yet he was puzzled: last time, the youth had blocked all his sword techniques, but now seemed helpless against his spear skills? Could it be he really didn't know martial arts?

Ah, just a reckless fool.

At this thought, Him stood his spear upright, about to speak—when his eyes widened in shock.

Shaya climbed from the ground, annoyed, brushing at his clothes, scraps flying to reveal the "fish-scale vest" beneath.

He flexed his waist, feeling a dull ache but no real injury.

Indeed, after applying dragon blood, his body's resistance to physical attacks was extraordinary! That last blow, Shaya knew, would have broken several bones before—now, just a bit of pain in the waist.

Him's eyes nearly popped from his skull!

The surrounding Night Guard knights, usually cold and indifferent, now showed surprise and disbelief. They had all seen their captain's attack, and this youth had taken it head-on—yet now he simply dusted himself off, unharmed!