Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 122: Hand it over

Chapter 122: Hand it over

The wind howled across the high ramparts of Marciel Duchy’s outer walls. Duke Marciel stood tall in his cloak, the golden embroidery around his shoulders fluttering. He narrowed his eyes at the distant hills where the dungeon had appeared just days ago.

"We received the report," he muttered, arms crossed. "But I didn’t think it would be like this."

From atop the wall, he saw them—trolls. But not normal ones.

These were massive, towering beasts with thick blue skin and arms like stone pillars. Their heads brushed the tops of the trees, and the earth shook with every step they took.

Beside him, Commander Alric cursed under his breath. "What in the name of the gods...? They’re several times bigger than the trolls in the bestiary records."

"And they’re coming straight for the wall," Marciel said grimly. "This is unnatural. Monsters don’t leave their dungeon zones like this... unless..."

His voice trailed off.

Unless something stronger pushed them out.

That thought made his blood run cold.

The trolls weren’t alone. From the wide open mouth of the dungeon, more creatures spilled out—horned lizards, crawling centipede-beasts, and shadow hounds that moved in packs. It was like a flood of monsters.

"Sound the horns," the commander ordered. "Ready the magical cannons! Mages, prepare your barrage spells! Archers, nock and wait for my command!"

Below them, soldiers scrambled into position. Rows of archers took stance, and the large rotating magical cannons along the wall hummed as mana crystals locked into place.

Duke Marciel stood unmoving, staring at the trolls’ slow march. The monsters showed no hesitation, no fear.

What frightened them from the dungeon?

He didn’t want to know.

Alric stepped beside him. "We’ll blast them before they get close, Your Grace. Even if arrows can’t pierce that skin, our magical cannons will. They’re made to tear through dragonbone plating. Those brutes won’t stand a chance."

Marciel didn’t answer. He just kept watching.

The trolls drew nearer.

"Now!" Alric roared.

A storm of arrows loosed into the sky, darkening the sun for a moment before raining down on the trolls. At the same time, a thunderous BOOM shook the walls as the magical cannons fired. Bright blue energy exploded from their barrels, striking the monsters in bursts of flame and force.

Flashes lit the battlefield. Dust and smoke rose.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Then the growling came.

Low. Deep. Angry.

The smoke cleared.

The trolls were still standing.

Their skin was scorched in places, slightly blackened. One even had an arrow sticking from its neck like a toothpick. But otherwise, they looked fine. More than fine.

Commander Alric’s jaw dropped. "No... That—That should’ve brought them down! The magical blasts—they should’ve blown holes through them!"

The trolls roared, a sound that shook the very sky, and broke into a lumbering run.

"Fire again! Keep firing!" Alric shouted, panic in his voice.

More explosions. More arrows. More fire. The battlefield became a haze of violence and desperation.

Finally, one troll stumbled. Its leg had been shredded by a concentrated blast of three cannons and multiple flame lances. It groaned and fell, the ground shaking like an earthquake.

Cheers went up from the soldiers, but it was short-lived.

Another troll reached the wall.

It was enormous—almost as tall as the rampart itself. It held a black, jagged log in its hand, crusted with dark minerals that glistened like obsidian.

With a guttural howl, it slammed the weapon into the wall.

CRACK.

The stone shuddered, then cracked wide open. The wall crumbled, stones falling like rain. Soldiers screamed as the section gave way. Many were crushed instantly. Others fell to the ground below.

Duke Marciel’s eyes widened. "Damn it!"

"Defend the breach!" Alric called. "Mages! Form a line! Archers, support them! Don’t let anything through!"

The surviving mages stepped forward, staff and hands glowing. They launched spells into the breach, beams of lightning and blades of wind slashing at the oncoming monsters.

Then, Marciel drew his sword.

It was a curved blade of shimmering steel, engraved with runes of old. He jumped down the stairs, cape fluttering behind him.

"Your Grace!" Alric called after him. "You don’t have to—"

But he was already gone.

The Duke leapt through the ruined wall and landed before the approaching troll.

The beast saw him and roared.

Marciel moved like a shadow. His feet slid across the dirt, and his blade gleamed.

Shiiing!

He ducked under the troll’s swing and sliced across its knee. It stumbled. He jumped up a broken piece of the wall, springing higher. His blade spun in the air like a wheel of light.

SLASH!

The troll howled in pain as Marciel carved a deep wound into its shoulder. Not stopping, he dashed along its arm and jammed his sword straight into its eye.

The monster staggered, groaned, and collapsed with a thunderous crash.

The soldiers stared in awe.

"That’s the Duke of Marciel for you..."

"He took one down alone!"

"But why weren’t our swords useful? What is his sword made of?"

But there was no time to celebrate.

More trolls were coming.

From the ridge near the dungeon, three more giant blue figures appeared. Behind them, hundreds of smaller monsters followed.

Marciel stood over the dead troll, breathing heavily.

His sword dripped blood.

"This is..." he muttered, "a nightmare."

But then—suddenly—the trolls stopped.

They stood still, eyes staring off into nothing.

The lesser monsters also slowed.

One of the soldiers shouted, "They’re... they’re retreating!"

It was true. The trolls began turning back. The shadow hounds whined and followed. The crawling beasts scurried after them. Within minutes, the battlefield was quiet again.

Only two troll corpses remained.

And the wall was broken.

Dozens of soldiers were dead.

"What... just happened?" Alric said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Marciel sheathed his sword slowly, his face grim.

"They were ordered to retreat. Something strong enough to command all those monsters..." he looked at the dungeon, "It’s still in there."

He turned toward the surviving officer.

"Send messengers to the capital. I want emergency reinforcements and top-ranked hunters sent here immediately. Tell them Marciel Duchy is under attack by a threat we’ve never seen before."

The man saluted and ran.

Marciel turned back to the field.

Two massive troll bodies lay in the mud. The walls were cracked. The scent of blood hung thick in the air.

Whatever was coming... this was just the beginning.

***

Reports were piling up like snow in a storm, and Archmage Mandira was at the center of it all.

The academy had gone on holiday, so she finally had time to read through the documents carefully. But before she could finish them, a royal summons had arrived—urgent and sealed with the king’s sigil. She arrived at the Council chamber only to find Sir Juno already there, looking... rattled.

The massive oak doors opened once more. This time, King Soris Sturgon himself stepped inside, his face dark with fury.

The king rarely attended dungeon briefings personally. But this time, something was different. He tossed a crumpled report onto the council table.

"Explain this to me," he barked, glaring at Juno. "Who is this boy named Shennong? And why is his name at the center of this disaster?"

Sir Juno straightened, clearing his throat nervously. "Your Majesty... the boy personally threatened me telling he would make me regret everything in my life because I refused to stop investigating about him and his connection to Percival Barony where the dungeon first appeared. At first, I merely thought it was a coincident but i cannot longer see it as such."

Mandira frowned, her eyes narrowing.

Soris slammed a fist down. "You mean to tell me, a young man is behind all of this? When Princess Maria is here? We cannot afford this madness during her visit!"

He turned to Mandira sharply. "How is her protection?"

Mandira didn’t flinch. "She’s protected by five enchantments of the Seventh Circle. Nothing can penetrate them, not even spatial tears. And in case of emergency, I’ve prepared three different teleportation routes. One of them leads directly to the Mage Sanctuary."

The king gave a slow nod, but his eyes were still burning. "Good. She must be safe, no matter what."

Then, his attention snapped back to the report.

"But this boy... Shennong. Where did he come from? Even if he’s gifted, how could someone his age command so many monsters? It makes no sense!"

Sir Juno hesitated, then pointed a finger—at Mandira.

"She might know the answer to that, Your Majesty. According to my scouts... she met with him several times."

The room fell silent. Even the guards at the wall turned their eyes toward her.

Mandira’s lips tightened. "I did meet him," she admitted calmly. "But not for any sinister reason. I sensed something strange in his presence—some kind of power. But it wasn’t mana. It wasn’t the kind of power that controls monsters."

The king raised an eyebrow. "Then what was it?"

She paused, recalling the sensation. "If I had to guess, I’d say... it was more like fate. A weight, something deeply bound to his soul."

"Don’t speak in riddles, Archmage," Soris growled.

Mandira lifted her chin. "By magical standards, he’s barely on par with our average academy students. And I haven’t seen him duel... but the way he walks, the way he holds his sword—there’s something there. Those hands of his... he’s no child when it comes to combat."

Sir Juno cut in, eyes narrowing. "Then it has to be an inherited power. A bloodline curse, maybe? Or something sealed inside him?"

Mandira nodded slowly. "That would explain a lot."

But inside, she was conflicted. Why did I trust that man so easily? Why did I feel... safe around him?

She clenched her fists under the table. Foolish. Look where that got me.

She murmured, so low only she could hear, "Next time I see him... I’ll kill him."

Yet, as she thought that, a memory rose up—something Shennong had said when they spoke in the forest.

"There are things coming, Archmage Mandira. I am no the harmful thing to this kingdom. It is your own strongest knight who uses dark powers to fight."

Her eyes flicked sideways—toward Juno.

More specifically... toward his sword.

A long, blackened hilt peeked from beneath his cloak. Normally, she wouldn’t think twice. But now? Now, her instincts screamed.

There’s something wrong with that blade.

A cold feeling spread through her chest. Not magical cold. No, this was deeper. Dread. The kind that clings to the soul.

"Sir Juno," she said carefully. "Where did you get that sword?"

Juno turned, confused. "This? What are you talking about Archmage? This is the famous Ebonfang"

She squinted at it. "May I examine it?"

The king raised a hand. "How is that important now?"

Mandira quickly answered his question. "I think Shennong was after this sword because he constantly questioned me about this sword."

The council was waiting since the felt the tension build up and King Soris after thinking for a second ordered Juno to ahnd over the sword, but unlike waht they exepcted would happen, Juno did the exact opposite.

Juno frowned and refused. "I think this sword is my personal belonging and I’m not obliged to hand it over to anyone,"

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