"My King, our forces have completed their mobilization. Preparations in Caelid and the Weeping Peninsula are finished. We await your further instructions."
Koruzé, a close minister to Engvall, spoke with a slight bow.
Engvall lowered his head, sinking into thought.
The territories under the Storm Dynasty's banner were essentially ready for war. The unstable factors in Caelid—the Kouler Dynasty and the two other minor kingdoms—had been thoroughly crippled and posed no real threat. Furthermore, the strategic outposts and transport fortresses used by the Kouler Dynasty for northern aggression had been seized by the Mohgwyn Dynasty, further securing the border.
The Weeping Peninsula remained stable, ensuring a steady flow of grain, weapons, and other vital supplies. It served as the primary logistical backbone for the Storm Dynasty's inevitable confrontation with the Golden Order.
Their immediate concern was the pressure mounting from the Lakes.
The marriage alliance between the Carian Royal Family and the Golden Order was being broadcast without any attempt at concealment. There was no need to hide it; the union of two such powers was enough to suppress any who harbored treacherous thoughts. With the few factions capable of challenging the Golden Order already dwindling, the remaining riff-raff didn't even dare show their faces.
However, for the Storm Dynasty to move into the Lakes was unrealistic. The great bridge was not held by their forces alone, and with Caria and Leyndell now allied, they would never be permitted to cross or establish fortifications.
"Continue to reinforce the defenses at the bridge. Deploy more golems and garrison more men. Furthermore, purge the unstable nobility within our borders. I know what they are plotting, but I am not dead yet! As long as I draw breath, only one will, and one voice, shall exist in this Dynasty!"
"Your will be done."
Koruzé bowed deeply, acknowledging Engvall's absolute authority.
"One more thing. Summon Oleg. I have a task for him."
"Understood."
As Koruzé withdrew, a figure clad in black light-armor materialized from the shadows.
"My King."
"Mhm. Go and watch Koruzé. I do not trust him."
"As you command."
The shadow vanished into a gust of wind. This was the Eye of the Hidden Wind, an assassination unit under Engvall's direct command. Their techniques and spirit-summoning rituals focused entirely on stealth and elimination. The man who just left was a Deputy Commander. In a direct confrontation, his strength was average for a Hero-class warrior, but assassins never fought fair. In the dark, he was capable of slaying even the most elite of Heroes.
Using such a man to watch Koruzé was, in a sense, using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, but Engvall was short on reliable hands—especially Hero-class assassins. Of the entire Eye of the Hidden Wind, only the Commander and two Deputies remained; the rest were deployed on missions. To keep tabs on a man like Koruzé, who had only just stepped into the Hero-class, this Deputy was his only option.
"My King, you summoned me?"
Shortly after, Oleg entered the hall. After saluting, he looked at Engvall with confusion. He had been busy managing the deployment of defenses and training recruits, and he hadn't expected to be called away at such a critical juncture.
"Oleg, I need you to make contact with the Mohgwyn Dynasty at their Caelid stronghold."
Engvall nodded to him, his gaze turning solemn. "I must remain here to guard the capital. To show the proper respect, only you or Engvall could go—and Engvall has already been moved to the front lines of the Lakes."
"I understand. I am honored to share your burden," Oleg replied, though he hesitated. "However, there is one thing I do not grasp. Is the Mohgwyn Dynasty truly worth such an effort?"
Oleg had accepted the mission, but his skepticism remained. In his eyes, the Mohgwyn Dynasty was a newborn compared to the ancient Storm or the sprawling Golden Order. Their rank-and-file were nothing special, and as for their top-tier power... aside from the Lord of Blood himself and that Ancient Dragon, Oleg felt they were lacking.
"They are worth it. Whether it is the strength of the Sovereign or the 'Cursed Blood' he wields, they are a force to be reckoned with. In fact, if the power of Cursed Blood didn't require faith in that Formless Mother, I would simply take it by force!"
Engvall's eyes were cold, but he quickly sighed in resignation. Cursed Blood was not something just anyone could touch. As a survivor of the ancient era, he knew the fate of those who worshipped the Mother of Truth. The Bloodfiends had lost their sapience, becoming creatures of pure hunger and religious zeal. Others were either assimilated or turned into similar monsters.
He didn't know how the Lord of Blood had solved the side effects, but it was clear the Sovereign had researched primordial spiritual culture extensively. This made Mohg their closest potential ally—closer even than the fading dynasties of Caelid. Those "lost dynasties" had long ago abandoned their original faiths for simple hedonism.
If the cost of conquering Caelid weren't so high, Engvall would have personally scoured the region before the Golden Order's main army arrived. He didn't want someone suddenly appearing behind him to stick a knife in his ribs.
"Hmm? Who is there?!"
Engvall's eyes snapped toward the center of the hall. He swept his arm out, and a violent gale erupted. The furniture was tossed aside by the force, and wind-scythes gouged deep, terrifying marks into the stone floor.
Only after Engvall's shout did Oleg react. He blurred forward, positioning himself before the King and drawing his twin greatswords.
As the wind settled, Engvall narrowed his eyes, searching the room.
"The Storm King's reputation is well-deserved. Truly, a man who lives up to the legends."
A deep, gravelly voice echoed through the hall. Engvall's gaze locked onto the center of the floor.
Beads of blood were seeping from the stones, coalescing into a small pool. A pale red mist began to drift through the air, though it remained contained around the blood pool, held back by Mohg's control.
In the next second, the pool surged upward, taking the form of a tall, imposing figure. Dressed in ornate black-and-red robes and covered in dark, shimmering scales, Mohg appeared in the form he had taken during the Liurnia campaign.
Engvall shook off his surprise and began to size up the intruder. He had guessed the visitor's identity the moment he saw the blood pool; now, he was simply confirming it.
"Lord of Blood... I did not expect you to be so lacking in etiquette. Do you truly believe I won't strike you down where you stand?!"
Engvall roared as he stood. A violent hurricane swirled around him, and a massive axe crackling with golden lightning appeared in his hands.
Mohg remained perfectly calm. He gave a slight, respectful bow before speaking.
"Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. The threat of the Golden Order is imminent. I trust the Storm King is wise enough to understand this. The Storm Dynasty craves help from external powers, and the Mohgwyn Dynasty craves the resources and manpower that other factions possess."
Engvall narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the handle of his axe. "It has been a long time since anyone dared speak to me in such a tone."
"Perhaps that is because it has been a long time since the Storm King spoke with an equal."
Facing the King's pressure, Mohg didn't yield an inch, meeting Engvall's gaze directly.
At those words, Engvall's aura exploded. The stone floor beneath him and the throne behind him were shredded by the wind, and lightning thundered through the hall.
"Arrogant whelp! Let us see if you truly have the right to call yourself my equal!!"
BOOM!
With a thunderous explosion, Engvall blurred forward, a bolt of golden lightning. He was upon Mohg in an instant.
Mohg didn't dare hold back. He gripped his Sacred Spear and met the charge.
CLANG!
Crimson energy collided with the storm and lightning. Oleg, who had been ready to defend his King, found himself unable to intervene. The sheer force of the shockwave forced him to cross his greatswords in a block just to keep his footing, lest he be blown away by the aftershocks.
While his strength was close to the demigod level, he was watching two true powerhouses clash. Engvall's strength was comparable to Godfrey's—a peak demigod level that touched the domain of the gods themselves.
Suddenly, a sharp CRACK of breaking metal echoed through the hall. The pressure from the combatants vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The hall returned to a deathly silence, as if the struggle had never happened.
The guards from outside burst into the room. They had realized something was wrong the moment the clash began, but the pressure had been so immense they hadn't been able to force their way in until now.
"Get out!"
Before the guards could take a step, Engvall barked the order. As the doors slammed shut, Engvall turned his gaze back to Mohg.
Mohg looked down at his broken Sacred Spear with a touch of helplessness. It couldn't be helped; the Mohgwyn Dynasty's smithing techniques and supply of top-tier Smithing Stones were still lacking. He didn't have a weapon capable of enduring a direct confrontation with the Storm King's armament.
"To think our duel would end like this. A pity," Engvall said.
The arrogance was gone from the King's face, as was his irritability. He looked exactly like the wise, martial king Nimbula remembered.
"A loss is a loss," Mohg replied, shaking his head. "A weapon is an extension of one's strength. There is no shame in admitting it." He waved a hand, and a blood pool rose to swallow the fragments of his spear; he would have to melt it down and reforged it later.
"I acknowledge your strength," the Storm King said, driving his axe into the floor and sitting down casually on the steps. "You truly are the one who defeated the Golden Order's commanders in Liurnia. You have earned the right to speak with me as an equal."
Oleg, seeing the transition to negotiations, sheathed his swords and took his place silently beside Engvall.
Mohg glanced at the floor beneath his feet. He was standing nearly four meters away from where he had started—the physical gap revealed during their brief test of strength. His hands were still throbbing with pain, and his forearms felt numb.
Having experienced Engvall's power firsthand, Mohg now understood the true distance between himself and his "dear old dad." The physical disparity alone was staggering; without a weapon, his father could probably beat him to a pulp with his bare hands. (Though, ironically, his father was at his most dangerous when he discarded his weapon...)
"Let us cooperate, Storm King," Mohg began. "The Golden Order's ambitions are plain to see. After the Mountaintops and the Lakes, Limgrave is next. You are the last 'hard bone' left for them to choke on."
"I agree to an alliance," Engvall said, his eyes burning with intensity. "But I want to know: what can the Mohgwyn Dynasty bring to the table?"
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