The gap in strength was obvious, and the techniques Nolan used, things that did not exist in this world, left Godrick flustered for a moment, unsure how to respond.
Godrick used his golden great axe to stop the Claymore's slashes, and used Scholar's Shield to block the magical impacts.
But the golden lightning wrapped around his body kept tearing at his flesh, suppressing even the powerful regeneration of the Aspects of the Crucible and making the pain even harder to bear.
"Ahhh!"
A scream ripped out of Godrick as his body jolted violently.
The unbroken stream of sword flashes cut off one of the arms gripping his great axe.
The pain was secondary. The real problem was that only one of his main arms remained, and that was no longer enough to stop the next wave of strikes.
Damn it!
Seeing Nolan rushing toward him, Godrick hurled the golden Battle Axe with all his strength. The weapon spun through the air at high speed as it flew straight at him.
But Nolan was just as fast. He beat his wings, lifting himself higher, and shot forward along the face of the axe.
At the instant he skimmed past it, a sharp crack rang out, and one of the Crayfish heads was cut clean off.
The two of them were like shooting stars, crossing for a brief moment before streaking past one another again.
But neither of them had any intention of stopping. Almost at the same time, both turned back around.
Godrick was furious, roaring at the top of his lungs as he swung his thick fists wildly.
Nolan gave no ground either. His twin blades slashed at Godrick again with full force.
The storm struck Nolan head on. Even his plate armor could not fully withstand the impact, and blood rose up into his throat.
But Nolan did not even grunt. The wings at his back whipped up a fierce gale, throwing Godrick's hair into disarray.
A white arc froze the air itself. The force behind it was overwhelming, and the edge of that slash was impossibly sharp.
In the blink of an eye, a huge opening was torn straight through the raging storm.
Through that gap, Nolan saw at once the face on the other side, twisted with unwillingness.
Godrick was raising his Greatshield, but he was too slow, and the storm could not hold long enough.
He stood there blankly, as if pinned in place by some binding spell, unable to move at all.
Time itself seemed to freeze in that instant as he watched those two white lines streak toward him with terrifying speed.
They were like lightning tearing through the sky, like meteors falling to earth, leaving trails of dazzling light behind them, as if sunlight itself had spilled down into the world.
Heaven and earth fell silent in an instant. Only the shriek of those two white lines remained, echoing in his ears.
They passed with perfect precision across his already grotesque and twisted body.
In that moment, time seemed unbearably long.
He could feel the tremendous force raging through him, tearing his muscles and bones apart inch by inch.
When the light finally faded again, Godrick slowly lowered his head and stared blankly at his own chest and waist.
Two sword wounds had opened there, deep enough to expose bone. Blood poured from them like a spring, staining the ground beneath him red.
His body was severed. The air was severed. Even the earth was severed.
And standing before him in the daylight was the Lord of Darkness with sword in hand.
O Lord who had lost his wings, he would never again stand above and look down on all living things.
He had still been defeated. He had not gained limitless power. In the end, he was still this small, still this fragile.
Heavy shadow gradually swallowed Godrick's body as he began to fall uncontrollably.
He hit the ground hard, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The massive axe that had followed him through years of battle was now buried deep in the earth nearby, with only half the handle left exposed.
All the limbs he had grafted on were gone. Only a single head and a ruined torso remained, lying alone in a pool of blood.
He saw that beautiful figure walk up to him.
Godrick raised his head, his heart filled with a tangle of emotions.
He had wanted to curse loudly, to vent the rage and resentment inside him, to condemn his subordinates for their incompetence in failing to find better limbs for him.
But for some reason, when the words reached his lips, he could not force them out.
In the end, he could only mumble in a low voice, with the broken tone of a crying child,
"...I am... the Golden Lord... One day, we will return home... together, return to our homeland at the foot of the Erdtree."
That was the oath of the Golden Descendants.
But he knew he would never fulfill it.
Nolan stood quietly beside him, with no intention of mocking the Grafted Lord for overestimating himself.
He gently planted the Claymore into the ground at his feet, then silently looked at the figure before him as it slowly lost the last of its life.
"Really does look like a tombstone. Would dying on the battlefield disgrace the glory of his ancestors?"
The Golden Descendant could not help thinking that, and the light in his eyes gradually faded.
At that moment, the camp fell into dead silence. Only the scattered clatter of hoofbeats and the occasional ring of colliding weapons broke the suffocating stillness.
The whole camp was so quiet it was frightening, as though the earthshaking battle from moments ago had been nothing more than an illusion.
Half a meter away, the Lord of Cinder stood with his head lowered, looking at the Golden Descendant like a statue frozen in place.
At the edge of the battlefield, those who still had no idea what to do stood rooted where they were, their armor already stained red with blood.
Whether common soldiers or noble knights, every one of them stared with eyes wide from shock, their bodies trembling without control.
He won? Nolan Bethel actually won? A Graceless One had truly defeated a Demigod?
That unbelievable result kept pounding through the minds of everyone present.
And just as everyone stood there stunned, a sudden cry of celebration burst out like thunder.
"Victory!"
They had seen the Demigod fall, defeated by Nolan's sword.
In that instant, every last trace of doubt vanished, replaced by overwhelming excitement and exhilaration.
Nolan stood where he was, the roaring cheers echoing in his ears.
But he seemed not to hear them at all. He merely closed his eyes and focused on the strange transformation taking place inside his body.
The moment the Great Rune merged into him, he felt as though he had gone from something unreal and insubstantial to something truly real.
Just then, Dolores walked lightly up to him.
A faint smile rested on her face, and there was a trace of admiration in her eyes.
She extended her pale hand, offering Nolan a small delicate bottle, and said softly,
"A bet is a bet. From now on, I will follow you willingly. Looks like that Golden Descendant was no simple opponent either. This is for you."
Nolan slowly opened his eyes and turned toward the bottle in Dolores's hand.
Through the clear crystal glass, he could faintly see a mysterious liquid shimmering inside.
A Sacred Tear.