Varré could not help gasping for breath.
Nolan's sword strike had not only been unbelievably fast, it had also been terrifyingly heavy.
That kind of force was simply impossible to withstand. Compared to it, the opening they thought they had seized now seemed laughable.
How could such a world-shaking change happen in just a few short years?
Like a fallen leaf caught in a gale, Varré rolled for more than ten meters before finally managing to stop himself in a miserable sprawl.
The White Mask on his face had already shattered, and his black, medium-short hair hung in disarray.
His mature face was marked by heavy dark circles, as if he had not had a proper night's rest in a very long time.
This utterly exhausted-looking middle-aged man slowly lifted his head, and there was even a trace of confusion on his face.
But that confusion did not come from physical weariness. It came from the cold gleam rapidly filling his vision.
Slash!!!
With a sharp tearing sound through the air, the Dark Moon Greatsword in Nolan's hand swept across and cleanly cut through Varré's neck.
The head that housed those frenzied thoughts rolled to the ground, and with it vanished the obsession and madness in his heart.
Nolan lowered his eyes slightly and cast a cold glance at the weathered man lying on the ground, his neck marked by several bowl-sized scars, yet his face strangely peaceful.
He said nothing and withdrew his gaze.
The killing had only just begun. Ahead of Nolan, aside from those fanatical followers, only two enemies remained for him to face.
As the Blood People behind them let out waves of screams and shrieks while the Those Who Live in Death pushed upward from the rear, Nolan seemed not to hear any of it.
He merely held his head high, his eyes fixed on Ansbach and Esgar ahead, and on the solemn temple behind them.
"You crave wounds? Fine then. In that case, this Lord will grant you more wounds, so you can savor pain to your heart's content. Lord who delights in suffering, it is time for you to show yourself."
As those cold, openly provocative words rang out, the entire space seemed to fall under an invisible pressure.
Deep inside the grand hall, far beyond the reach of ordinary sight, an enormous cocoon lay silently at the very center.
In the blink of an eye, movement stirred within the dark-red cocoon, and fine cracks began spreading from the top.
With a crisp cracking sound, a thick arm thrust out from within. The great cocoon was torn apart, and a tall figure slowly rose from inside.
He stretched his limbs, and the broad, magnificent wings on his back spread wide, like a demon waking from a long, deep sleep.
The Blood Lord, Mohg, took in a deep breath of the bloody "sweetness" in the air, donned the raiment of a Lord, and retained that same elegant bearing in every movement.
He stared at his brand-new left hand for a moment, then walked with heavy steps to the temple entrance and looked down from above at everything happening below.
When his gaze fell in a certain direction, he could not help frowning slightly as he muttered, "So it really is him..."
Mohg's brows knit together. Even before awakening, he had already received one piece of terrible news after another.
He was still considering how to respond, and yet the other side had already reached his very gates.
At a glance, he recognized the figure he would never forget. The wounds and pain this man had left on him were far too deep.
Nolan Bethel, the Lord who had sworn a vow with Miquella, had not only inflicted grievous physical wounds on him, he was also the greatest obstacle standing in the way of obtaining the Empyrean.
If not for him, the battle at the Haligtree would not have been lost, his plans would not have fallen apart, and the grand design he had so carefully laid would not be hanging by a thread.
Without this man, Miquella would inevitably have belonged to him. The goddess would probably have already emerged from the cocoon. Why would he need to hide himself away like this, skulking in this dark, damp underground world?
"His growth exceeded my expectations." Mohg's face darkened. With the battle between Lords now close at hand, there was no point clinging to schemes and tricks any longer, and even less reason to think of retreat.
Miquella, I will make you understand that you chose wrong!
Though his heart surged with turmoil, Mohg still maintained his composure and elegance.
He lifted his head, his gaze passing beyond the layers of rock overhead, as if it could pierce through every obstruction and see the towering tree standing in the far north.
The thought that Miquella was there stirred a nearly crazed longing in Mohg's heart.
"As long as I kill him, the Empyrean of gentleness and love will return to my embrace. His blood will be the finest nourishment for a god."
After several years, he could already sense that Nolan was no ordinary foe, and a battle between Lords was never something that could be avoided.
So he gripped Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear with both hands and raised it high, his gaze full of tenderness, as though he were holding his most cherished treasure.
Then he thrust the sacred spear fiercely toward the sky. In that instant, space itself seemed to tremble.
Bloodflame erupted from the void, like countless crystalline teardrops scattering down in a shocking rain of scarlet fire.
"Followers of blood, do not fear wounds. Continue to seek suffering. The Great Mother is with us!"
Mohg's roar rang out like divine revelation, and with that furious cry, the army of Blood Men surging in from all directions became even more frenzied.
"That is Lord Mohg's power." Ansbach stared at the rain of Bloodflame from below the mountain, stunned for a moment, thinking that Lord Mohg had indeed chosen to answer the challenge.
A man had to be either a hero or a tyrant for others to willingly follow him. Failing that, at least he needed some kingly presence. No matter what, he absolutely could not be a coward.
Nolan swept his gaze around, snapped the neck of the Esgar he had just caught, and stomped down, sending thunder surging through the ground.
The approaching Blood Men were instantly torn to pieces by that force, and even the mountain itself seemed unable to withstand the impact as it began to shake violently and collapse.
"You finished on your side too?" Nolan strode up the steps, leaving his back to the approaching Melina.
The girl had little interest in slaughter, but this damned place truly was enough to make anyone feel mentally uneasy.
"They were too weak." Melina gave a calm little nod. Her breezy tone carried a conviction no one could doubt.
It was not that she was deliberately showing off or putting on airs. With her strength, dealing with those priests and nobles really was little more than bullying.
With a light wave of her jade-white hand, the long sword shining with golden light in her grasp reverted to the form of a dagger. Then streak after streak of deadly cold light shot forth.
The golden blades ripped through the air, and wherever they passed, shrill screams followed one after another. The once-crowded mass of enemies fell in swaths like harvested wheat.
Melina had no time to care how many enemies still remained ahead. All of her focus was on the golden incantation shining in her hand.