The Dynasty beneath the "Starry Sky" was lit by Bloodflame, and the air echoed with the faithful's devout prayers, rising and falling like helpless children crying their hearts out for their mother.
The young assassin was still firing off Golden Order Incantations like an anti-aircraft gun, and after losing the Pureblood Knights, the Blood Army had no hope of standing against her.
But none of that seemed to matter anymore.
The surroundings were simply too quiet. It was the kind of quiet that could leave the heart calm as still blue water, or as dead and stagnant as a lifeless pool.
Mohg slowly drew his gaze away from Ansbach, then fixed it once again on Nolan.
"To be honest, I truly never expected the first opponent on my path to becoming a Lord to be you."
Mohg's voice was calm as water, though it carried a faint trace of surprise he could not quite hide.
"Only now do you truly look like a Lord. Then come. Words are always pale and powerless. Only spear and sword are the proper language between Lords."
Mohg straightened, meeting Nolan's gaze with a faint smile.
Bearing and virtue were important, of course, but they were only adornments that lent shine to the path of Lordship.
Like actors on a stage, dressed in finery and speaking with silver tongues. However brilliant the performance, it could never conceal the emptiness within.
Power, however, was real. Only those with power had the right to be a Lord.
An elegant, deep, cold roar echoed through the palace, followed by the sound of a war spear scraping across the floor. The noise reverberated through the hall like it was trying to flay the skin from a person's body.
This calm acceptance of his "declaration of war" made the corners of Nolan's mouth lift. Even his long-numbed blood stirred faintly.
The Mohg standing before him was not the madman in his memories, obsessed with the Empyrean. He still carried a deep love, but that strange madness was nowhere to be felt.
After their brief meeting, it seemed this Demigod had fully awakened from the enchantment. Emotion and reason now coexisted within him, his love endless, yet his wisdom intact.
Good. There was no pleasure in fighting the old, weak, sick, crippled, or insane. An opponent like this was enough to raise the Lord of Cinder's interest. Excitement gradually prickled through his mind, but Nolan remained calm.
Gripping Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear tightly, Mohg approached with heavy, measured steps.
His huge body was like a moving hill. Each step made the ground tremble faintly, spreading a suffocating pressure.
That face covered in twisted horns looked like a hideous demon from the Western Hell, reeking of blood and terror. One look was enough to know he was a boss.
Mohg glanced at the delicate doll on Nolan's shoulder. It was this little thing that had given him no small amount of trouble during their last clash.
This time, however, the doll's owner, that mysterious younger sister, did not seem to be here.
That meant this battle would have no outside interference. It would be a pure one-on-one contest, a true battle between Lord and Lord.
Nolan narrowed his eyes. This was the first time he truly intended to go all out.
As for those figures in the Lands Between who had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity, they no longer seemed to weigh on his mind.
Hoo.
As the two of them exhaled almost at the same time, the air around them instantly grew scorching hot.
A few soft breezes drifted by, carrying fine dust slowly past their eyes.
At that moment, acting on instinct, Nolan swiftly raised the blade in his hand and took a defensive stance.
Immediately after.
A deafening boom erupted, and the ancient temple atop the mountain trembled faintly.
The first thing that filled his vision was a vast black shadow, so large it nearly blocked everything from sight, along with a trident spear gleaming with cold light.
The footsteps of the Son of Omen thundered like drums as he pressed forward step by step, bringing an endless stench of blood with him.
Within the empty temple, only two figures remained, flashing past and colliding at tremendous speed. For a time, blade light and spear shadows intertwined into a dazzling, deadly scene.
Clang!
Nolan held his sword as if charging forward, gripping the Dark Moon Greatsword in both hands as it collided with the war spear. The heavy force traveled along the blade and into his wrists. His feet sank into the ground, but he did not retreat half a step.
In that instant, a violent gale erupted from the center of their collision.
The overwhelming force rapidly spread outward. Wherever it passed, the thick stone pillars standing around them were uprooted one after another, destroyed as easily as brittle dead grass.
Even Ansbach's lifeless body swayed violently beneath the raging wind, like a torn banner that might be swept away at any moment.
The Son of Omen suddenly withdrew and swiftly beat his broad black wings, coming to a steady hover in midair.
This time, he did not thrust. Instead, he gave a seemingly casual swing of his spear and split the wall of wind in two with ease.
"An Omen is still human." Nolan kept his eyes fixed on the Lord of Blood hovering not far away. The Son of Omen had felt pity for the old man who had followed him for so many years.
Nolan slowly raised the Dark Moon Greatsword toward the Lord of Blood. The wings behind him snapped open, and he soared into the sky like a silver-white dragon.
Nolan took a deep breath. The sound of that breath seemed to resound through heaven and earth. Thunder, flame, and aura bloomed in silence, like a world being rebuilt from chaos.
Gradually, a wondrous change began to come over Nolan's body. The power of the Flying Dragon mingled with something else.
Sharp bone spines burst from his body one after another, and clear silver scales pressed tightly against his skin. When his huge white wings spread open, the hazy world itself seemed to become distinct.
In that instant, Mohg suddenly felt an utterly terrifying power, like a surging flood, pour out from the body of that mysterious white Lord and descend upon the world.
Wherever that power passed, even the surrounding space seemed disturbed, rippling in layers, as if even "Mother" were responding to it from the unseen beyond.
This was not Miquella's power. What god did this Lord truly worship?
Filled with doubt and shock, Mohg charged forward without hesitation, the golden holy spear descending toward Nolan's head.
The dazzling white membrane wings behind Nolan burst open in an instant, like an angel of divine wrath spreading its wings, while thunder, flame, and black mist coiled around the Dark Moon Greatsword.
Mohg's holy spear could no longer advance so much as an inch, because the Claymore in Nolan's hand had struck upward against it. In the next instant, he unleashed his strength and sent the towering, beast-like Omen flying.