In the real world, a Level 4 Dungeon was a nightmare.
Under international law, it required a Raid Team of at least thirteen Gold-Rank Knights just to attempt a clear. Sotis, a Platinum Knight was deployed to ensure survival.
Throwing a bunch of rookies—even elite ones—into a Level 4 dungeon sounded like a massacre.
But there was no panic in the hall.
This was an Artificial Dungeon. The damage was dampened, the fatal wounds were simulated (mostly), and the scenario was a "Guaranteed Victory" history reenactnt. We were the protagonists of a scripted war.
Or at least, that’s what everyone believed.
I checked my equipnt.
[Benelli M4] - Loaded. [Winchester] - Loaded. [Potions] - Secured.
I was alone.
Alicia wasn’t here. Due to a strict regulation regarding "Proxy Knights vs. Direct Heirs" that I had overlooked in the fine print, she couldn’t enter as my retainer for this specific event category. I was on my own.
’Better this way,’ I reasoned. ’I don’t have to worry about protecting anyone. I can go all out.’
I looked around. To my left, Kael was gripping his sword handle, looking stoic. To my right, a few rows down, Elisha was yawning, sparks dancing on her fingers.
"We will now begin!" the Head Butler shouted, raising his hand.
The magic circles beneath our feet flared with blinding blue light.
"Dungeon Dive Comnce!"
With the Head Butler’s resolute cry, the Magic Knights raised their staves, channeling a torrent of mana into the floor.
VMMMMMM.
The world twisted. The opulent banquet hall, the sll of wine, and the polished marble vanished instantly.
My vision flashed white, then faded into a bruised purple.
Squelch.
The first thing I felt was mud seeping into my boots. The first thing I slled was rust and old blood.
"Hey, wake up. It’s about to start."
Soone tapped roughly on the shoulder.
I blinked, adjusting to the gloom. I was crouching beneath dense, wet foliage on a steep incline. Beside was a rugged, burly man with a scar running down his cheek, gripping a rusted battle-axe.
"You okay, rcenary?" he whispered hoarsely. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
I looked around. We weren’t alone. Hundreds of n were hiding in the brush with us. Their armor was mismatched leather and boiled hide. Their weapons were farming tools reforged into spears.
They weren’t knights. They were peasants.
’Militia,’ I realized, checking my own attire. My Shadow-Weave Suit had morphed slightly to blend in, looking like high-quality rcenary gear.
"I’m fine," I whispered back, shifting my grip on the Winchester. "Just checking the wind."
"Good," the militia leader grunted. He turned to his n, his voice low but fierce.
"Listen up! They say the Holy Church is sending support, but we can’t wait for miracles. Our numbers have finally grown enough for them to take us seriously."
He pointed down the slope toward a dirt road.
"Let’s give it our all. If we win here, even the damned Osius Empire will have to pull back their frontlines. Our families, our villages—we have to protect them. We are the spark of the revolution!"
A sense of desperate resolve emanated from the n. They were terrified, but they were cornered rats. And cornered rats bit hard.
’I see.’
I analyzed the clothing and the banner of the enemy empire.
The current ti period was 1,100 years ago. The Era of Chaos. This was the Independence War, where the ancestors of the Aurelian family rose up against the tyrannical Osius Empire that had enslaved half the continent.
I was currently a naless rcenary participating in the rebellion.
I checked my weapon. I had attached a [Mana Suppressor] to the barrel of the Winchester. It reduced the range and impact slightly, but it silenced the gunshot to a re whisper.
In a chaotic ambush, sound was information. And I intended to give the enemy none.
"They’re coming!" a scout hissed.
A silent tension settled over the unit.
Far off, the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed. A long procession appeared around the bend.
Imperial Knights on armored warhorses led the way, followed by a train of heavy supply carriages. Their armor was polished steel, their formation disciplined. They looked like a machine of war compared to the ragtag group beside .
"Wait... not yet..." the leader whispered, his knuckles white on his axe handle.
The convoy began passing the ambush point. The Imperial soldiers looked bored. Who would be foolish enough to ambush an elite supply train?
But the Goddess of Luck is a fickle mistress.
Down below, an Imperial Mage riding on a wagon yawned and looked up at the trees. His eyes widened as he locked gazes with a militia mber whose camouflage had slipped.
The Mage’s mouth gaped open. He inhaled to scream.
’Not on my watch.’
I raised the rifle. [Marksmanship Lv. 8] calculated the trajectory instantly.
Thwip.
A muted sound, like a dry twig snapping, rang in my ear.
The Mage’s head snapped back. A bullet burrowed cleanly through his open mouth, exiting the base of his skull. He slumped forward, dead before his lungs could form the scream.
But the body falling off the wagon made a noise.
Thud.
The surrounding soldiers turned.
"NOW!" the Militia Leader roared, standing up. "KILL THEM ALL!"
ROAAAAAR!
Hundreds of militia rose from the bushes like demons from the earth. They burst through the foliage, charging down the slope with a montum born of pure desperation.
"Ambush!" "Protect the cargo!"
The Imperial formation shattered.
The militia crashed into the convoy. Axes t shields. Spears found gaps in armor. The sheer ferocity of the charge overwheld the unprepared soldiers.
"Focus! Mages, cast defensive barriers! Archers, fire at will!"
An Imperial Commander, riding a white horse, drew his sword and began shouting orders, trying to stabilize the morale.
"Don’t panic! They are just filthy peas—!"
Thwip.
The Commander’s helt pinged. A hole appeared in the center of his visor.
He toppled from his horse like a sack of potatoes.
"The Commander!" "Sniper! There’s a sniper in the trees!" "Where? I can’t hear the shots!"
Panic spread like wildfire. The soldiers raised their shields toward the chaotic lee, but the death was coming from the shadows.
Thwip. Thwip.
A mage preparing a fireball took a bullet to the throat. A sergeant trying to rally a shield wall took one to the knee, then the heart.
"Just one sniper, actually," I muttered, cycling the bolt of the Winchester.
The Militia Leader, seeing the enemy command structure crumbling, smashed an Imperial soldier’s face with his axe.
"That shadow devil is worth every copper!" he roared. "Push! Push them back!"
However, the Imperial Army was elite for a reason. Even without a commander, the rear guard began to form a defensive circle, raining arrows onto the road.
"Take cover!"
The militia dived behind the carriages.
"Boss! Look at this!"
A young rebel tore off the tarp covering the supply wagon closest to them.
Inside, gleaming in the twilight, was racks of pristine weapons and armor. High-Grade Imperial Steel.
The Militia Leader’s eyes widened. This wasn’t food. It was an armory shipnt for the front lines.
He threw away his rusted axe and grabbed a gleaming Imperial Greatsword.
"Jackpot," he grinned, his teeth bloody. "Everyone! Gear up! Take their own steel and use it to slit their throats!"
With the resolve that they’d die if they didn’t, the militia discarded their rags. In seconds, the ragged rebels transford into a heavily armored shock troop.
I watched from my perch, reloading a fresh magazine.
’Smart. But now they look like the enemy.’
"Now... where do we go?" the Leader panted, adjusting his new helt.
He looked up at the tree line, searching for .
I stepped out of the shadows for a split second and pointed toward the Vanguard.
The enemy vanguard was confused. They heard fighting in the rear, but they couldn’t tell who was winning. If the militia retreated, they would be hunted down. But if they charged forward wearing Imperial colors...
"All units!" the Leader bellowed, trusting my judgnt. "Charge the Vanguard!"
The militia, now clad in shining silver armor, scread and ran toward the front of the convoy.
The Imperial Vanguard turned, seeing a wave of armored soldiers running toward them.
"W-What?" "Reinforcents from the rear?" "Wait, why are they screaming like barbarians?" "Are those... our uniforms?"
"Everyone, calm down! The rebels are wearing our uniforms... damn it, stay calm!"
The Imperial Vanguard Captain scread, trying to restore order, but his voice was swallowed by the roar of the charging militia.
In that brief mont of hesitation, the confusion proved fatal.
The militia, fueled by the adrenaline of a successful ambush and clad in stolen high-grade steel, slamd into the Imperial line. It wasn’t a battle of skill; it was a brawl.
I remained in the tree line, cycling the bolt of my rifle.
Thwip.
A Knight trying to rally his squad took a bullet to the knee.
Thwip.
A Mage chanting a fireball spell collapsed with a hole in his chest.
I systematically picked off the commanding officers, severing the head of the snake while the body thrashed in chaos.
’Huh.’
Through the scope, I noticed movent at the rear of the Imperial formation. They weren’t fighting us. They were turning around, their shields raised in panic against a new threat erging from the forest road.
Figures in pure white plate armor, their capes fluttering like dove wings, charged out of the mist.
The Holy Knights.
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