As the blinding white light dissipated, it revealed a landscape of scorched, blackened earth. Countless Beastmen, caught in the direct path of the Golden Sun and Fortissax's lightning spears, had been vaporized instantly, reduced to drifting ash.
Those who were slightly luckier fared little better, their bodies transformed into charred husks by the terrifying heat of the impact.
In contrast, the Golden Order's forces had fared significantly better. Protected by layers of Golden Lightning Fortification and Golden Vow, coupled with the sturdy defense of their heavy plate armor and the fact that they had retreated to a safe distance in time, most had survived.
While the shockwave still carried immense power, after being dampened by multiple defensive incantations, the majority of the soldiers suffered only minor injuries. Even those unfortunate enough to be seriously wounded were quickly mended by the rapid application of healing incantations.
This was the terror of the Golden Order's military. Unless one could eliminate the clerics and warriors capable of channeling incantations, any army facing them would find itself pitted against a force that was utterly fearless, indifferent to pain, and capable of recovering the moment they caught their breath.
With the faith of the Erdtree Burial behind them... and the promise of a hero's return... an army akin to a natural disaster was the most accurate description of the Golden Order's legions.
Though the Beastmen suffered heavy casualties, they were far from broken. Their sheer numbers and the presence of the powerful Ancient Dragons were the foundation of their defiance against Leyndell.
As if to prove this, a fresh swarm of Beastmen moved to fill the gaps in the line. The powerful Ancient Dragons had not been critically injured in the previous clash; they now beat their four wings, hovering in the sky and watching the heavens above.
"ROAAAAR!"
When that familiar dragon roar echoed through the air once more, the Ancient Dragons finally breathed a collective sigh of relief. The one who roared was recognized as the strongest among their kind in this era.
However, as Fortissax reappeared before his kin, their hearts couldn't help but tremble.
His once-pristine white scales were now scorched black. Numerous puncture wounds riddled his massive frame, with blood gushing from the openings. One of his wings had been torn halfway through, and even his hardened dragon horns were chipped and cracked. The mighty dragon looked utterly battered.
"Fortissax, are you alright?"
"I am fine, Sister."
Fortissax shook his head slightly at the other dragon—Lansseax, who was only slightly smaller than him—before turning his grim gaze back toward the sky.
Godwyn's figure was slowly descending from the heavens. His golden armor was etched with the jagged marks of lightning strikes, and the golden spear in his hand was twisted and warped. His face was noticeably pale.
Still, compared to Fortissax's state, he looked much better.
"Your strength is formidable. May I know your name?" Godwyn glanced at the ruined spear in his hand before tossing it to the ground, focusing his eyes on Fortissax.
"Fortissax, the Strongest Rock of the Ancient Dragons!"
Fortissax's eyes burned with an unquenchable fighting spirit; he seemed completely indifferent to his grievous wounds.
"I shall remember that name, Fortissax. Let us call it a day."
With those words, Godwyn's form transformed into a streak of golden light, flying back toward the rear of the Golden Order's lines. Simultaneously, another golden figure ascended from the army to meet him—Archbishop Furo of the Golden Church.
Furo kept a wary eye on the Ancient Dragons, positioning himself to intercept any potential surprise attack.
"What do you plan to do next?" Lansseax asked, turning to her brother.
Fortissax looked at his sister. "We retreat for now. Continuing this fight today will yield no result. Furthermore, if the other side brings in more reinforcements while we are spent, we might suffer a true disaster."
He beat his four wings and ascended into the clouds. The other Ancient Dragons followed suit. The remaining Beastmen, after exchanging confused glances, began their own orderly withdrawal.
Faced with the retreating dragons and Beastmen, the army of Leyndell secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Despite the aid of healing incantations and the promise of the Erdtree, no one truly wished to die—especially the common soldiers.
Furo returned to the formation and rushed to Godwyn's side. The moment he arrived, he saw Godwyn cough up a mouthful of blood.
"Your Highness!"
Furo turned pale with shock. He lunged forward, immediately channeling the power of incantations to nourish Godwyn's body.
"I am fine, Archbishop Furo. Do not be overly concerned." Godwyn stood up slowly, shaking his head at the worried cleric.
"Do not push yourself, Your Highness. Your internal organs have sustained significant damage. Was that dragon truly that powerful?" Furo did not let go, his confusion evident.
"His strength is great, but he alone is not my match," Godwyn explained with a weary sigh. "The issue is that my wounds from the battle with Gransax had not fully healed. This duel aggravated those old injuries; that is why I am in this state."
Godwyn sighed again. To put it simply, the majority of the Capital's top-tier powerhouses had been taken by his father, Godfrey, to fight in the War against the Giants.
Currently, the strongest individuals remaining in Leyndell were himself, Furo, and the Bishop of the Two Fingers. While others possessed respectable strength, they were a tier below these three.
Among those Godfrey had taken were the battle-hardened Archbishop Wenger, several heads of the Great Houses, the Commander of the Tree Sentinels, a host of powerful Crucible Knights, and various other strong blood-relatives of the Golden Lineage.
Godwyn was left with a limited pool of champions, including his own personal guard.
"Then, Your Highness, what do you intend to do? The battle with Gransax drained much of our strength, and now the war with the Ancient Dragons has reached a stalemate."
"Mmm... we take it slow. We take things as they come. I believe the turning point will lie in the final duel between myself and Fortissax," Godwyn mused.
"I understand. Then please, do not refuse me as I continue to mend your wounds."
"Archbishop Furo, you still have to face the other dragon, Lansseax. That is no easy task. There is no need for this."
"Do not worry about me. Even if I expend a portion of my power, that dragon cannot overcome me. There is a gap between her and Fortissax, and I specialize in auxiliary incantations. You may rest easy."
Seeing that Furo wasn't just being stubborn, Godwyn relaxed. But then, a flicker of irritation crossed his face—not directed at Furo, but at Karlow, the Bishop of the Two Fingers Church.
Even with Godwyn's legendary patience, he couldn't help but feel angry at the man.
Karlow claimed he needed to guard the Two Fingers' headquarters within the Capital to prevent intruders and civil unrest, and thus refused to participate in the war. In Godwyn's eyes, this was nothing more than a pathetic excuse.
In reality, Karlow was using this opportunity to exploit his own power and expand the influence of the Two Fingers Church within Leyndell while the main army was away.
The Two Fingers saw everything, of course, but offered no objection. This expansion favored their long-term goals. Furthermore, the Fingers knew exactly how this war would end, so they allowed Karlow to play his games. If the Capital were in genuine mortal peril, they would never have permitted such cowardice; Leyndell was their foundation, and if it fell, they fell with it.
"Lord Karlow, the matters you requested have been arranged."
A man clad in light armor, his face hidden behind a mask and his body draped in a black robe, knelt before Karlow.
"Mmm. Well done. Continue to approach our 'Hero' and bolster his reputation."
Karlow nodded with satisfaction and waved the man away. The "Hero" he referred to was Radagon. This was a task assigned to him by the Two Fingers. Although he didn't fully grasp the Fingers' reasoning, his only job was to obey.
"Is the Sovereign still unable to meet with us?"
Niebla turned to Horouf and asked.
"He is." Horouf nodded helplessly. "Lord Mohg is tied up with matters on his end and cannot leave just yet. For now, we must rely on ourselves."
"Understood." Niebla nodded. He had no other complaints; his desire to see Mohg was simply born of a wish to know what kind of King he truly served.
Over the past six months, the tension between the two men had softened—mostly. Lang was the exception.
"Are things in Caelid progressing smoothly?"
"Mmm, quite well. The Storm Lord's forces have drawn the attention of most factions in Caelid. Our people took that opportunity to complete basic construction and infiltration. By the time the formal war breaks out, we should see even greater gains."
"Good." Niebla breathed a sigh of relief.
Over the last half-year, he hadn't dared to relax for a single moment. As someone who had received such high favor from the Sovereign immediately upon joining the Blood Dynasty, he felt the need to prove his worth. Fortunately, he hadn't disappointed.
"Lord Niebla."
Suddenly, Lang's voice rang out from outside the door. Horouf's expression immediately soured.
"Mmm. Come in."
Niebla noticed Horouf's reaction but couldn't do much about it. Lang's mindset was what it was; it wasn't realistic to expect it to change overnight. It would take time.
"How is the task I gave you?"
"Progress is smooth. The veterans who retired due to injuries are all willing to join the Dynasty once they hear your name. They want to be part of your command."
"Excellent. This gives us the foundation for our future army." Niebla nodded with satisfaction.
Beside him, Horouf's expression grew heavy. A flash of wariness and caution flickered in his eyes as he looked at Niebla.
Commanding such a heavy force, possessing such prestige... if the Sovereign remains absent for too long and fails to manage this new army personally...
Horouf feared that things might take a dark turn.
Noticing Horouf's thoughts, Niebla spoke up directly. "Lord Horouf, I plan to split the newly joined soldiers. I want you to take half of them for training and management. What do you say?"
Horouf was stunned. After a moment of thought, he shook his head.
"No. There is no need. I am not suited for such things. Since the Sovereign entrusted the command and training to you, you should see it through."
Niebla didn't press the issue and simply nodded. "In that case, where is the Vice-General the Sovereign promised us?"
"This old one has arrived."
A raspy, low voice echoed from behind them. The newcomer was Pilar.
Half a year had allowed him to master his physical form even further. He had used a suit of armor to disguise his appearance, making him look more like a traditional knight.
Mohg had chosen this former Clayman Priest as the Vice-General. His vast age and knowledge made him the perfect mentor, and his formidable strength made him the ideal candidate to keep an eye on Niebla.
"Pilar." Horouf's brow relaxed, and he gave the newcomer a respectful nod.
"Mmm. Lord Horouf. Lord Niebla."
"I believe this is our first meeting, Lord Pilar," Niebla said, stepping forward to study the man. He nodded inwardly. He had feared being saddled with an incompetent "backdoor" appointee—a common occurrence under the Storm Lord.
But it seemed his fears were misplaced. Then again, why would a ruler truly seeking to build a legacy choose such a person? Niebla smiled self-deprecatingly. His cynicism came from watching the Storm Dynasty slowly decay; even though the Storm Lord remained powerful and wise, the rot in his subordinates was undeniable. Especially during the long years without foreign threats before the Golden Order rose, the Storm Lord had become arrogant. It was only with Leyndell's rise that he had returned to his true self.
"It is, Lord Niebla. However, I have already heard of your great name. To be honest, I have long wished to duel you. I wish to know what kind of man has earned such high favor from our King."
Pilar spoke with extreme politeness, yet his words were laced with the scent of gunpowder.
Faced with Pilar's challenge, Niebla didn't hesitate. He nodded and accepted.
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (459 Chapters – Full)
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