Sorren noticed that something was off about three minutes later.
"Why's it getting noisy outside?" Sorren frowned and questioned the knight beside him. "Did someone come by or something?"
He could hear faint sounds of commotion from outside the building and even some muffled noises.
"Maybe someone accidentally wandered close to the area?"
With a hesitant tone, the knight replied while lowering his head.
"Even though this place is remote, it's not completely deserted. Besides, the sounds tend to get amplified because it's so quiet around here, so sometimes it can sound noisier than it actually is."
Despite hearing this answer, Sorren's frown didn't relax.
He could feel that something was definitely off.
It was already the middle of the night, so who would pass through such a remote area at this hour?
"Rest assured, Your Highness."
Noticing Sorren wasn't convinced, the knight added quickly.
"For concealment reasons, there aren't any magic defenses in place, but we have people on guard and keeping watch twenty-four hours a day. If there were any abnormalities, they'll sound the alarm immediately."
In other words, everything should be fine if the alarm hadn't sounded.
Evidently, the knight didn't think there was anything wrong.
It couldn't be helped.
Since Sorren had started using this place as his hideout to train his private troops years ago, nothing noteworthy had ever happened. Most days, the area was so quiet that it was rare for anyone to even pass by, let alone launch an attack.
As a result, none of the knights present reacted or sensed anything out of place—everyone remained relaxed, except for Sorren, whose eyes gradually narrowed.
He couldn't help it.
He had already started to hear what sounded like screams.
"You pathetic fools!"
*BANG!*
Sorren kicked the bowing knight next to him, sending him flying, and roared at everyone present.
"We're under attack, you bunch of morons! Draw your swords!"
Just as the words left Sorren's mouth, the battle had already begun.
*PENG!*
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering echoed through the room.
A shadowy figure smashed through a corner window and leaped inside, landing in the room.
*PENG!* *PENG!* *PENG!* *PENG!*
It was like a chain reaction—window after window shattered as more shadowy figures jumped in from all directions.
In an instant, countless shadowy figures filled the room, attacking the nearest knights without a word.
"What the—?!"
One of the knights, the first to face the attack, paled as he hurried to draw his sword to block, but before he could, the shadowy figure before him had already swung their sword.
*Pu-chi!*
A sound like fabric tearing echoed as blood splattered.
"AAAHHHHH—!"
With a loud, painful scream, the knight was cut down on the spot, a gruesome slash running from his shoulder to his side and spilling blood in thick streams.
After cutting down the knight, the shadowy figure immediately darted toward another, swinging their sword at him.
At the same time, the same scene unfolded in every corner of the room—one after another, the shadowy figures who had smashed through the windows charged at the nearest knight, slashing their swords without hesitation.
Some knights were cut down in an instant, while others still survived, engaging in chaotic battles.
Inevitably, the room quickly turned into a battlefield, filled with the screams, roars, and frantic shouts of the knights, all echoing through the chaos.
"WHO THE HELL ARE ALL OF YOU?!"
Twisting his face in rage, Sorren barely managed to draw his sword in time to block the slash of one of the shadowy figures and yelled out a question with a ferocious expression.
Upon closer inspection, all the shadowy figures were cloaked in black robes, their faces hidden behind masks, completely concealing their identities. Only their hands emerged from the sleeves, each holding two swords—the cold glint of steel flickering in the room's light.
They moved like emotionless executioners, reapers of life, saying nothing as they attacked Sorren's men with mechanical precision, their aura more like that of cold steel than living beings.
Yet, despite being such cold-blooded executioners, each of them possessed exceptional swordsmanship.
Although their swordsmanship was not quite at the level of Sword Masters, it was still formidable—just a step below.
Currently, there were about a hundred of these skilled swordsmen, enough to rival a small knightly order.
"SPEAK! WHO THE HELL ARE ALL OF YOU?!"
Sorren shouted with all his might, torn between shock and fury, especially upon seeing his private troops, whom he had secretly trained for years, falling one after another under the assault.
Some had already been cut down, and those still standing were barely holding their ground, fighting desperately and clumsily.
Seeing all of this drove Sorren to the brink of madness.
His vicious side emerged in full force, causing him to roar as he unleashed a brilliant, lightning-fast strike at the black-robed swordsman in front of him.
His strike was so fast and powerful that even a Sword Master might not have been able to counter it. Only an extremely skilled and experienced Sword Master could avoid the inevitable fate of being disemboweled.
In this situation, the black-robed swordsman seemed unable to block the strike, having no time to react.
However, as Sorren's strike landed on the swordsman's body, something astonishing happened.
*DING!*
With a sharp metallic clash, Sorren's sword struck the black-robed swordsman's body, but it was as if it had hit solid steel and bounced back—causing the force of the recoil to send him stumbling two or three steps backward, his expression shifting from surprise to a dark scowl.
'All of them... aren't human...'
Sorren finally realized what he was facing.
'They're dolls, being controlled by someone...'
'The ones attacking us aren't swordsmen, but a magician...'
'A magician skilled in the Control System.'
Sorren's guess was half right and half wrong.
The right part was that the black-robed swordsmen indeed weren't human—they were dolls, or more precisely, combat mechanical dolls.
The wrong part was that the one controlling them wasn't just a magician but also a genuine swordsman.
As Sorren was lost in thought, carefully observing the doll before him, a thin, faint mist suddenly began to fill the room, appearing swiftly and unexpectedly.
"What's this?"
Sorren jumped back, dodging the mist.
It was clear he was worried the mist was dangerous, suspecting it might be some kind of magic from the magician or even poisonous.
However, he was overthinking it, as the mist was actually only serving as a cover.
Proof?
Right after the mist passed like a breeze, a figure silently appeared in front of him where nothing had been a second ago.
It was a swordsman cloaked in a black robe, just like the surrounding dolls, with one arm holding a sword extending from the sleeve. Even though the swordsman didn't seem to be wearing a mask, with their head slightly lowered and a hood covering their face, he ultimately couldn't make out what they looked like.
Nevertheless, he felt a deadly threat radiating from this swordsman.
'Dammit, this guy is strong... not just strong, but insanely strong...'
Sorren instinctively realized this fact.
He tightened his grip on his sword, his attention no longer on the surroundings but locked onto the swordsman who had appeared with the mist—his mind screamed with warning signs.
However, the swordsman didn't immediately look at him but instead glanced toward the corner of the room.
"Wh-What happened?!"
"Somebody help us!"
"I-I've had enough!"
At this moment, the three members of the Brynhart family were huddled in a corner, clutching their heads, crouching on the ground, trembling uncontrollably, and crying helplessly.
"..."
Seeing them, the swordsman stayed silent, watching the Brynhart family for a few moments before turning back to Sorren.
"?!"
Suddenly, Sorren's warning signs exploded in his mind, causing him to instinctively leap back.
Almost simultaneously, the swordsman surged forward, cloaked in mist, sliding swiftly across the ground as he closed in on Sorren.
"Mist Breathing - Fourth Form - Shifting Flow Slash."
A low murmur, only audible to the swordsman, echoed.
*Swish!*
In a flash, several sword lights sliced through the mist, cutting toward Sorren with astonishing speed.
*Splurt!*
Blood spurted from Sorren's chest.
It was clear he had been hit.
Although he had desperately leaped back to avoid being cut in half on the spot, he hadn't completely escaped, as a slash now marked his chest.
"UGH!"
Stumbling backward, Sorren grunted, then quickly pulled a potion from his pocket and downed it in one gulp without thinking.
Before long, a faint glow spread over the wound on his chest, healing rapidly before his eyes.
"Oh?"
Seeing this, the mist-shrouded swordsman, with a slightly heavy and distorted voice, sounded a bit surprised, maybe even mocking.
"As expected of a prince—carrying around a magic potion that heals injuries so quickly... Truly a man of wealth."
Upon hearing this, Sorren didn't feel the slightest bit of pride.
"WHO, THE, HELL, ARE, YOU?!"
Sorren's expression darkened as he glared at the swordsman with pure rage, shouting each word venomously.
It was clear from his clenched teeth and furious tone alone that he wanted nothing more than to tear the swordsman apart.
It was perfectly understandable.
If he hadn't reacted in time just now, he might already be dead.
If not for the magic potion he carried, even if he survived, he would have been seriously injured before eventually dying from blood loss.
He was convinced that this mist-shrouded swordsman was here to kill him.
Understanding this, Sorren's mind was filled with intense rage.
Unfortunately, such a rage was meaningless to the one standing before him.
"Who am I? Heh..."
Seeing Sorren's angry expression, the mist-shrouded swordsman sneered before speaking in a calm, indifferent tone.
"You can call me... Mist."