With every swing of her Dagger, Melina brought forth a dazzling flare of light.
She was like a merciless reaper. Wherever the golden blade passed, enemies fell, wiped out in swaths.
The shadow of death hung overhead, yet more enemies who had forgotten life and death kept pouring out of caves and hidden corners.
At times like this, size showed its worth. Those enormous skeletal frames had struggled their way up the mountain, only to crush whole groups with a single slap. One sweep of an arm sent blood-soaked figures raining down the slopes.
In moments, the battlefield ran red. Vivid crimson blood gathered into a rushing current, rolling down the mountainside before finally spilling into the blood lake below.
The screams of agony and cries of ecstasy did not lessen in the slightest. Praises to the gods and the Lord continued unabated. The more blood flowed, the deeper the frenzy became.
Yet Nolan, standing in the midst of this Shura hell, did not fall into the same wild excitement as the others. His eyes even looked somewhat numb.
Expressionless, he lifted his foot and stomped down hard, crushing a ferocious hound that had lunged at him into a mangled pulp of flesh and blood.
Then he casually swung the Claymore in his hand. In the blink of an eye, a giant raven's head was severed, and its massive body came apart.
Nolan's body gave a slight tremor, and golden lightning vaporized the blood splattered across him, leaving not even the faintest trace behind.
A sharp sound cut through the air above him. He raised his arm, caught the war spear hurled down from above, spun once with the momentum, and threw it back with force.
With a dull impact, a noble Omen leaping from the heights was pinned to the rock face.
The Dynasty Spirit Temple had fallen into complete chaos. Ansbach was trapped in a corner, and more and more of Those Who Live in Death closed in around him. Even swinging his battle scythe nonstop, he could no longer cut them all down. Yet Nolan's gaze turned once more to Melina.
"I'll leave Those Who Live in Death under your command. I'll make sure they listen to you."
"And what about you?"
Nolan smiled faintly, a firm and confident look in his eyes.
"My opponent has issued a challenge. After coming this far, I can't exactly back down now."
He lifted his head and looked toward the Blood Lord, who was also watching him.
The next instant, Bloodhound's Step carried him forward, and Nolan vanished.
Nolan appeared before Ansbach with his Claymore raised, dense arcs of sword light shredding the blood-red flying blades that came at him.
Blood spread through the air, and the blood mist grew thicker, making the already dim surroundings even more hazy and indistinct.
But the golden lightning surging from Nolan's body was like a blazing pillar of light, forcibly scattering the dense blood mist and illuminating the bloody battlefield once again.
Nolan spread his gray-white wings and crashed through the Bloody Fingers trying to block him from both sides like a Flying Dragon unfurling its wings. Endless sword light bloomed before Ansbach.
The seasoned veteran reacted. Almost by instinct, his Scythe moved under the guidance of muscle memory, and in that instant, he gave everything he had.
But he still could not stop it. In both skill and strength, he fell far short of that young Lord. Bloody cuts opened across his body one after another until he was drenched red.
Countless wounds were added to the old veteran in the blink of an eye. In that brief instant, Nolan had defeated the foremost knight under Mohg's command.
Yet he took no pride in it. Everything had gone exactly as it should.
Under equal conditions of strength, Nolan had never believed he had an opponent, let alone Ansbach, whose power was weaker than his to begin with.
Ansbach was still standing, gasping for breath. He was not dead yet. Only now did he understand why Mohg had lost back then despite possessing greater power.
He roared and charged, drawing strength from some unknown place as he swung his Scythe once more.
But friendship and bonds were a cheat that existed only in fantasy. Willpower could not overturn a battle, and Nolan did not squander the tenderness in his heart. There was no miracle. The Claymore pierced the old man's chest.
Without confusion, without hesitation, Nolan looked at Ansbach as he fell into a pool of blood and said nothing.
He took out the Sacred Tear from the Flask and drank a mouthful. Then he spread his wings and flew high with the old man's body, shooting straight toward the temple towering above, bringing this knight to meet the Lord lost in love.
Nolan streaked past like lightning, his flight terrifyingly fast.
He drew farther and farther from the ground, and closer and closer to the Lord high above.
Then came a tremendous sound.
"Clang!!"
The Claymore and the holy spear collided with a thunderous crash, scattering countless dazzling sparks like fireworks blooming across the night sky.
The force of the impact drove Mohg's legs backward, carving two deep furrows into the hard ground.
Nolan's charge came to a halt. His gray-white wings folded slightly, and he descended to the earth with the grace of a dragon.
He slowly raised his head, his cold gaze fixed on the Lord who had steadied himself not far away.
"We meet again, Lord Mohg."
When sworn enemies meet, their eyes should blaze with hatred, and the air should be thick with killing intent. Yet as Nolan and Mohg looked at each other, despite the blood feud between them, neither showed any extreme emotion.
Mohg simply stood there in silence, motionless, watching as Nolan placed his knight-captain beside his throne, as though letting him witness the end of this duel.
A slight change crossed Mohg's expression. This was his most capable and most beloved knight, but faced with his death, Mohg was powerless. He could not save him.
Blood Teleportation was not an instantaneous spell. Though this method of movement could cross the limits of space, it still required time to cast.
In short, the technique was highly useful over long distances, but at close range, it was less practical than the two legs beneath him.
And in a battle where everything changed in an instant, even a delay of just a few seconds could lead to an irreversible outcome.
But the battle between the Pureblood Knights and the White Lord had ended far too quickly. From the moment Mohg saw them clash to the moment he moved to intercept, no more than a second had passed.
The beast-like Mohg had a face covered in twisted horns. They were like a thick layer of armor, hiding his true joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure completely.
Perhaps even if countless emotions churned within him, no one could glimpse the slightest trace of them through that horn-covered face.
Mohg tightened his grip on Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear, as if he were holding a scepter that symbolized supreme authority.
With his towering body, he lowered his head slightly to look down, and every movement carried the composure and elegance befitting a true monarch.
Across from him, Nolan slowly raised his head, yet his gaze seemed level. He first glanced calmly at Mohg, then turned his eyes toward the distant horizon.