The dark night rang with a rising and falling chorus of horse hooves, growing steadily clearer by the second. To judge by the sound, at least several hundred knights were approaching.
Old Wilson had already emerged outside the castle. Numerous knights carried torches, illuminating a hundred-meter radius around the exterior of the fortress, yet the vast crowd of riders pressing forward remained shrouded in obscurity.
"Form up, prepare for battle!"
Old Wilson drew his greatsword, vaulted onto the back of a black warhorse, and locked his sharp gaze ahead. The moment he discovered the approaching force belonged to the Church, he would charge without hesitation at the head of nearly five hundred knights.
The thunder of hooves drew closer, but the space outside the castle stayed dead silent, broken only by the occasional snort of a warhorse.
Merlin also faced the biting wind, pulling his heavy coat tightly around himself as his mental power gradually reached outward to observe the uninvited guests in the dark.
"Haha, Wilson, it's me, Barman!"
From far off in the darkness, a booming laugh carried across the clearing. The tension vanished from Old Wilson's face as he heard the voice, and he finally let out a breath.
"Barman, I thought you were people from the Church. What brings you to my domain?"
As the visitors drew closer, Old Wilson finally made out the figure leading them: none other than Barman, one of the few nobles in Blackwater City and a close friend of Old Wilson.
Barman wore a suit of black armor, grasped a greatsword, and looked thoroughly exhausted, bearing the travel-worn air of a long journey.
"Wilson, the Light Church's influence is immense. Before long, I fear the entire Bright Kingdom will be under the Church's control. I have no desire to submit to