"Miles called dueling before the lines the act of a stupid brute," Ivan said carefully. "And besides, you're not worth his time."
Finlay's fingers clenched the reins. Her face burned crimson. Humiliation clawed at her chest, sharp and hot. For a moment, she wanted to charge forward herself, to tear the man's head from his shoulders with her bare hands. She forced herself to breathe, slow and steady, until the fire in her veins cooled.
There was no other choice. Commander Niall guarded Castle Sol. O'Neil refused to lead the army. Loretta lacked the authority to mobilize troops. And Marais? Marais clung to the Haligtree like a dying man, ready to throw himself into the flames for His Highness at a moment's notice. Fools, all of them. This disaster had been inevitable from the start.
The Leyndell Army outside were jackals, circling in the frozen snow. Days of waiting had sharpened their hunger. Did anyone truly believe they'd leave the Haligtree untouched? The Tree Sentinels wouldn't act rashly, but the soldiers beneath them had marched thousands of miles. They wouldn't rest without their prize.
Finlay's jaw tightened. As a knight sworn to loyalty and courage, she couldn't stand by while Elphael was reduced to filth by these scavengers.
"My lady," one of the Cleanrot Knights spoke up, "perhaps we should hand over the sorcerer. It might buy us time."
"Foolish!" Finlay snapped, her voice low and sharp. "The enemy's supplies are dwindling. Handing him over would only chain us to dishonor. And what good would a few more days do us?"
The knights bowed their heads. Leyndell's forces looked ready to swallow the Haligtree whole. Could His Highness truly awaken in just a few days? But the Golden Army before them wasn't something they could hold off forever.
"We could gather our forces," another knight ventured. "Perhaps Commander Niall or Lord O'Neil could be persuaded?"
"It's no use," Finlay said bitterly. "Those fools care only for His Highness. Nothing else matters to them."
The banners fluttered in the cold wind, but her tone held no blame. O'Neil and the others had their reasons. The disparity in strength was too great. Protecting His Highness was enough for them.
But Finlay wasn't like them. As the lead knight of the Blade of Miquella, she wouldn't retreat. The Haligtree wasn't just His Highness's sanctuary. Retreating now would mean losing their courage. Without that edge, they'd be nothing but fish on a chopping block, waiting for the blade to fall.
"Beat the drums! Sound the horns! Full army, advance!"
Her voice cut through the cold.
"Let's see if these Leyndell Knights have the stomach for a real war."
The horns blared, low and mournful. The Haligtree Army, less than two thousand strong, began to march. At the forefront of the Leyndell forces, a knight clad in golden armor raised his hand. His mount, a massive warhorse draped in golden bard, stood like a statue beneath him.
The army halted. Thousands of boots stamped the ground in unison, the sound rolling like muffled thunder. Every eye turned to the golden knight. Miles. He was a towering figure, clad in airtight armor, a battle-axe resting on his shoulder as if it could split a fortress in two.
His horse, armored in gold, bore a bit shaped like dragon wings. On the battlefield, Miles was a force second to no demigod. As Godfrey's vanguard general, he'd even wounded gods. In the Golden Order's prime, Crucible Knights guarded the King's side, their loyalty unshakable. As for leading large armies in battle or serving as the commander of a detached force, that role naturally fell to Miles or other high-ranking nobles.
"They're coming," Miles said, his voice low and gravelly, like steel grinding against steel.
"Morgott hasn't given the order yet."
"Are we really starting a war?"
The Leyndell Knight commander rode forward, only to meet the Draconic Tree Sentinel's icy gaze. He bowed his head instantly, eyes fixed on the ground. These nobles and knights—eager to provoke war yet unwilling to bear its weight—were a disgrace to their lineage. Each generation grew weaker, more cowardly.
Miles' lips curled into a contemptuous smirk. He remembered the glory days when his iron hooves had thundered across the Lands Between, his great axe cleaving through heroes like wheat. Now he was entangled with vermin. Time had dulled the world, robbing it of its heroes. His gaze shifted to Finlay, riding boldly under the Haligtree banner. A flicker of anticipation stirred in him.
"Engage them," Miles ordered, his voice cutting through the cold air. "But remember—this isn't for those cowering behind you."
He gestured forward, his peripheral vision catching the three Tree Sentinels trailing him like shadows. His focus narrowed on the endless snowfield. Hughs was dead, slain by some Bloody Finger. The Draconic Tree Sentinel couldn't shake the feeling that this battlefield was the nexus of it all.
"My lord, the Black Knives won't make it in time," a Tree Sentinel murmured, riding up beside him. "Caria dealt them heavy losses."
Miles snorted.
"I never relied on them anyway. You three, follow me. That Finlay—she's worth speaking to."
"Yes, my lord."
"As you command."
The trio surged forward, breaking away from the main force. Their presence alone was enough to halt the Cleanrot Knights, who exchanged uneasy glances.
"They're formidable. Especially the one leading them—that's Miles," one muttered.
"Godfrey's blade. A hero among heroes," Ivan whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
He glanced nervously at his comrades. Years of training felt like child's play compared to this man.
"Don't confront him. If he decides to kill, we can't protect you."
"I have no choice. Everyone else, stay back. Ivan, you're with me."
Finlay's voice was steel.
The Cleanrot Knight blinked, startled. He'd never expected such defiance from her. He spurred his horse, trailing her as she rode toward the mound at the battlefield's heart. In the distance, the Golden Army deployed with precision. The nobles might be corrupt, but they'd never let their martial prowess erode.
Three towering Tree Sentinels stood at the forefront, each a match for Finlay—and their leader surpassed them all. Yet she rode straight at them, her voice ringing across the snowfield like a war horn.
"You have no right to invade the Haligtree! Lady Malenia and Morgott are allies. The covenant stands unbroken!"
Her words carried the ferocity of a tigress. Some knights lowered their heads, ashamed. No matter their excuses, they were exploiting Malenia's coma to strike at her weakened state. Miles, however, remained unmoved. He rode forward to meet her, his presence as unyielding as the mountains.
"You're loyal. Brave. But your words are meaningless."
His voice was cold iron.
"You disgrace honor. You slander the knight's code!"
Finlay's glare could shatter stone.
"Strength is honor. Power is justice."
Miles' tone brooked no argument.
"It's because we ended the chaos of the Lands Between that you can even speak of a knight's code. As for the covenant, Morgott himself ordered this search. This is your last chance. Stand aside. Knights like you are rare. I'd prefer not to kill another."
As someone who had survived since the ancient era, he didn't care for rules. If they existed at all, they were written atop the corpses of enemies.
The mountain-like knight surged forward, his charge kicking up a swirling storm of snow. Finlay tightened her grip on the spear, squinting against the icy onslaught.
"If I hand over the sorcerer," she called out, "will you retreat?"
"I can't promise that," Miles replied, his voice steady. "Our mission is to bring them back. As for the Leyndell Knights—they're not my concern."
Finlay let out a bitter laugh. Of course. If it had been just these three Tree Sentinels, she might have considered handing over the sorcerer. But an army of nearly ten thousand, marching thousands of miles—this wasn't about one person.
"Then," she declared, her voice sharp as steel, "you'll witness my valor!"
Her scythe-spear pointed forward, gathering the full momentum of a top-tier warrior.
Miles smiled, a faint, knowing curve of his lips. "Little girl, stubbornness leads to death."
His golden warhorse pawed at the ground, snorting plumes of steam into the frigid air. He wasn't letting her leave. Both sides braced for war.
Finlay didn't waste breath cursing the Tree Sentinel's shamelessness. She had her own plan—slay the general, leave the Golden Army leaderless. Both armies shifted, drums and horns echoing as they moved toward the high ground.
Just as Finlay prepared to charge, a cluster of azure particles shimmered beside her.
A woman appeared, barefoot in the snow, her slender frame draped in a sorcerer's robe and crowned with a Witch's Glintstone Crown. She stood between the two armies, utterly out of place amidst the clash of steel and hooves.
"Sorry," Sellen said, her voice soft and rational. "I stayed up late last night and overslept."
She yawned, ignoring the stares fixed on her, and looked up at Miles with a hint of confusion.
"Big guy, I heard you were looking for me?"
Her sudden appearance in the heart of the battlefield would have sent an ordinary person to their knees, crushed by the weight of killing intent. But Sellen was no ordinary person. It was as if, in the midst of a life-and-death struggle between hardened warriors, a girl had wandered in, casually asking the lead boss if he'd had breakfast.
Ivan, who'd been ready to die, covered his face. The tragic resolve he'd built up evaporated instantly. Miles, his fighting spirit boiling moments ago, froze. He hadn't expected the target to appear. And what was this feeling? Sellen had no concept of sacrificing herself to buy time.
It was as if she'd stumbled upon them during a stroll and casually asked if they'd eaten. How… casual. Did she not see the overwhelming army?
"Are you the Primeval Sorcerer?" Miles asked.
"It's me," Sellen replied, tilting her head slightly. "Are you a Tree Sentinel? I've killed many people, but I've never provoked you, have I?"
Her words carried a naive innocence.
Finlay couldn't help but interject.
"You're just an excuse. They want the entire Haligtree!"
She admired Sellen's courage. Despite being told to run, she'd stayed and now stood here voluntarily.
Sellen looked at her blankly, then pointed at Miles.
"Didn't he just say he was only ordered to take me away and doesn't care about anything else?"
The three Tree Sentinels exchanged glances. The atmosphere turned awkward. That had been a pretext. Who'd expected the actual person to walk out?
At a signal, Caerlus rode forward, reaching out to grab Sellen.
"Then you're coming with us!"
The moment he moved, Finlay raised her scythe-spear.
Sellen stood frozen, unmoving. The sight caught in her peripheral vision sent a spike of panic through her chest. Just as the outstretched hand reached for Sellen's shoulder, the woman snapped into motion.
"Only my foolish apprentice has the right to touch me!"
Her voice was low, sharp. A flick of her wrist summoned azure particles coalescing into a long spear. She drove it hard into the Tree Sentinel's chest.
Clang—
The impact reverberated like a gong. Caerlus and his mount staggered back several paces. He glanced down at the dent in his breastplate, then snapped his gaze upward.
"You dare resist?"
"Hehehehe," she laughed, her voice dripping with mockery. "I came here to help Finlay deal with you fools."
"Then why waste time with all that nonsense earlier?"
Sellen crossed her arms, her innocent facade melting away. She tilted her head, her smile infuriatingly smug.
"Because it's fun."
This woman! Caerlus seethed, his anger mirrored by Miles. To be toyed with by a mere witch—humiliation burned in their chests. Miles spurred his horse forward, his massive axe arcing down with the force of a cleaving mountain. Mid-swing, a blur shot in from the side.
Finlay, her movements fluid with her steed, lunged with her spear. Screeech—
The spear's tip sparked against the colossal shield. Miles, towering and unyielding, raised his shield and sent the knight reeling. When he turned back, the witch was gone. Where had she vanished to? His eyes darted, then snapped upward.
Above, Sellen plummeted through the frigid air, arms outstretched. A sphere of pure azure magic swelled between her hands, growing to several meters wide. Her excitement was palpable—this was no battle for her. It was a test, a chance to unleash years of research. Stars of Ruin!
The brilliance of the spell momentarily dimmed the sky.
The Tree Sentinels spurred their mounts into retreat as the orb fractured into dozens of beams, raining down like a torrential storm. Boom boom boom boom… The ground shook as if an avalanche had been unleashed. Earth and snow erupted into the air, the heat melting the wind-driven snow into vapor.
"What absurd magic!"
Ivan muttered, his horse sidestepping as he glanced at the dust-choked high ground.
"It won't kill the Tree Sentinels," Finlay said, her tone grim. She signaled to the advancing knights.
"Fall back to Ordina. We'll fight them house by house."
"Is there even a point?"
Ivan's voice remained calm, pragmatic.
"They won't retreat just because of casualties."
"There is a point."
Sellen landed lightly in front of the horse, bare feet crunching in the snow.
"My research has borne fruit. Your Highness should awaken soon."
The words struck like a thunderclap. Finlay froze, and the hundreds of Cleanrot Knights behind her erupted into wild, disbelieving joy.
"You're not joking?"
"Why would I waste my time here if there was no hope? I might as well have fled earlier. That spell was payment for my meals."
Sellen's expression remained blank as she conjured a cyan projectile and hurled it into the dust cloud. Thump—
The muffled impact scattered the obscuring haze. Miles sat astride his horse, his massive shield smoking but intact.
Behind him, countless banners and spears emerged, a wall of steel and resolve. So strong. My foolish apprentice would be flattened in an instant. Sellen's azure eyes narrowed. She glanced at the knights, their jubilant energy palpable, and added quietly,
"As for who wakes up, I take no responsibility. But I'll fight with you."
The pillar of fire tore through the sky, staining the clouds crimson for miles. Throne Wright's silver gauntlets gripped his helmet as he watched from the mountain peak. The scent of ozone clung to the wind.
"Sellen's really here."
That crackling aura of magic tasted like lightning on his tongue—familiar and bitter.
Since Liurnia, he'd crushed Volcano Manor beneath his boot, throttled the Frenzied Flame in its cradle. The Shaded Castle's nobles now fertilized its gardens. The Two Fingers' bishop? A smear on cathedral stones. Godfrey's axe had shattered against his shield. Astel's void-born flesh still stank in his nostrils. But this—Sellen's presence—made the bloodshed worth it.
Ranni's voice cut through the smoke.
"Two armies clashing, and your teacher wades into the slaughter instead of hiding? Explain that."
Her fingers twitched toward the spectacle—fascinated despite herself.
"Wants the conflagration to consume everything. Even if the Haligtree burns, its ashes won't grace Leyndell's vaults."
"Ruthless."
Throne smiled and slowly put on his helmet. "Except toward me, my teacher has no feelings, even if she has to take huge risks herself."