The Black Mist churned, ghostly cries shrieked through the air, and thunderous booms echoed all around.
A mass of dark clouds seemed to gather overhead, making the already dim weather even darker, as if a storm were about to break.
The pitch-black Mist spread slowly outward, swallowing all five ships and blotting out every trace of moonlight.
Eerie green light flickered in the darkness, unsettling beyond words.
Hecarim's full form emerged completely from the Mist. He was an enormous wraith, nearly ten feet tall, his chest encased in demonic armor lit by pale green flames.
Only then did everyone realize he was not merely riding a horse. He and his mount had fused into one towering beast born for destruction alone.
Behind him followed a great host of ghostly riders, galloping through the Mist.
Pale green translucent fire burned across their bodies, and in their hands were spears and blades wrapped in black vapor.
Hecarim raised a hooked glaive, its murderous edge blazing with sickly green fire, and stared coldly at the people aboard the ships.
Everyone felt as though they were being watched by some freezing abyss, and more than a few found it hard to breathe.
When people face something unknown, fear naturally follows.
And the oppressive presence radiating from Hecarim pressed down on everyone with terrifying force.
"Prepare for battle!"
Luke shouted, drawing his silver-white blade, which seemed to flash with a pale radiance.
His whole aura changed. He stood upright in righteous majesty, his eyes cold and sharp, and the Black Mist around him recoiled and parted on its own.
He truly had not expected to run into Hecarim.
But since they had, there was only one thing to do—prepare to fight him.
At his shout, everyone snapped back to their senses. They crushed down the fear in their hearts and turned toward the enemies in the Mist.
Hecarim loomed there like a general looking down upon the world, standing above the fog itself. His gaze settled on Luke.
Within those skeletal eyes was unmistakable scorn, as if he found this army of fools beneath contempt.
He casually lifted his glaive, then pointed it straight at the ships.
A violent stir broke out.
From behind him, a squadron of charging cavalry burst forward first, roaring like a battle horn.
The next moment, the undead in the Mist could no longer restrain themselves and surged toward the living aboard the five ships.
"Keep sailing! Don't let the ships be breached! Turn left—there's a small island over there!"
Luke raised his sword and cut down a soldier-wraith charging at him as he shouted the order.
The Black Mist gave these undead the ability to drift through it.
And with the five ships trapped at sea, the terrain of this battle was terrible for them.
If they fell into the water, they would lose half their fighting strength instantly.
Not to mention that if the hulls started taking on water, everyone aboard would be doomed.
And there were still at least three or four hours until dawn.
So stopping in place and waiting to die was not an option. The ships had to keep moving.
At the same time, everyone's top priority was protecting the hulls from damage.
Luke had studied the sea chart for this route. There was indeed a small island somewhere along the path, about one-tenth the size of the one they had just visited.
It was the kind of island that vanished under high tide and reappeared when the tide fell.
At that moment, however, Luke had no idea how far away they were from it, or even where exactly it was. The Black Mist wrapped around them completely, leaving the route impossible to see.
His order to go left was based entirely on an estimate from how long they had been sailing.
But at a time like this, all they could do was gamble on luck.
Otherwise, none of the five ships would survive the night.
Following Luke's command, the soldiers began resisting the undead assaulting them from all sides, and the first squadron of ghostly cavalry was held back.
The ships also adjusted course within the Mist, pushing left through the darkness.
"There's a ship!"
Someone cried out.
A vague outline appeared in the Mist—some great ship coming straight toward them. For a heartbeat, people thought it was an ally and nearly rejoiced.
Then they saw the pale green glow spilling from it.
Luke's eyes narrowed.
"Ghost ship! Evasive action!"
The vessel barreling toward them at full speed was indeed a ghost ship. It was packed with skeletons, and its captain steered it with wild delight, howling like he was at some drunken carnival, aiming straight at one of their ships.
That ship immediately veered hard, trying to avoid the collision.
But it was too late. It had only managed to turn halfway.
With a deafening crash, the ghost ship smashed the stern apart and passed straight through.
The entire ship shuddered. Several soldiers were thrown overboard on the spot, splashing into the sea.
The instant they hit the water, countless glowing green hands shot up from beneath the surface, wrapping around them and dragging them into the abyss below.
Those warriors had their mouths covered and could not even scream. They cast terrified looks back toward the ship.
But before anyone could do anything, they were already pulled deep beneath the water.
That sight made everyone's eyes widen, fury igniting in their chests.
"Keep sailing! Don't stop!"
After confirming the rammed ship could still move, Luke could only give that order. With a cold expression, he slashed out with his sword, and a gale roared forth, severing the undead hands stretching over the sea.
The fleet continued accelerating to the left.
Then the ghost ship returned again.
This time, it came straight for the center of the ship.
If it hit like that, the Dauntless would split apart on the spot.
Hecarim stood above the Black Mist, watching with a mocking gaze.
Luke looked at the fast-approaching ghost ship, took the curved bow from his back, and drew it without hesitation. Even with the ship moving at that speed, he still took aim.
At the same time, he poured righteous energy into the arrow.
He aimed for a split second, then released.
A streak of white shot out with terrifying speed. The air around it rippled so violently that even in the Black Mist it carved a visible line.
Godspeed Tracking Arrow!
In the next instant, the arrow blasted straight through the ghost captain's skull and exploded.
The laughter stopped abruptly. The captain's body dissolved into smoke, and the crew around him let out shrieks like souls being torn apart.
Hecarim looked toward the man who had fired from one of the ships, as if narrowing his eyes.
Luke's arrow had sent the ghost captain straight to the afterlife. The uncontrolled ghost ship still rushed forward, but it narrowly missed its target.
Then a ghostly first mate stepped into the captain's place and took over the wheel. It had just started to turn the ship—
Another arrow whistled.
Its head exploded on the spot.
Vayne raised the relic weapon in her hand, her gaze icy as she locked onto the undead aboard the ghost ship and fired again with a thought.
After several holy bolts struck, the undead on the ghost ship panicked and steered it away in a hurry, disappearing back into the Black Mist.
That exchange sent morale soaring across all five ships.
As the warriors fought off the undead pressing in on them, they pushed toward the unknown on their left.
Luke cut toward a ghost rider thrusting a spear at him. The instant steel met steel, the spear snapped cleanly in two.
Shock flashed in the rider's eyes for the briefest instant.
The next second, its head hit the deck.
Without any hesitation, Luke turned and charged another ghost rider.
His blade was coated in righteous energy, and that energy was highly effective against dark spirits. In Luke's hands, its killing power was no weaker than a weapon of light.
He was no longer that cheerful guy back in Wraith Cave who had hacked his sword dull for absolutely nothing.
Poppy held her hammer and waited for the undead that thought she looked easy to bully. Every spirit that drifted toward her got smashed with a single swing.
And by the time her hammer came down, it was far too late for regrets.
Cithria stood with shield in one hand and sword in the other, locked in combat with a ghost rider.
Meanwhile, Luke cut down three ghost riders in a row.
Just then, the ship suddenly jolted with a heavy boom, and seawater began rushing up from below.
Luke steadied himself immediately. He knew the ship had been attacked from underneath.
He looked toward the surface and saw a ghostly two-headed shark several yards long gliding through the water, its jaws full of serrated fangs and its face twisted into something hideous.
And farther back, there were many more undead sea creatures like it.
Luke's heart sank. Feeling the ship lurching as it lost stability, he knew none of the five ships would last at this rate.
Once they fell into the sea, he might be able to save himself—but what about all these people?
"There's an island ahead!"
Someone shouted at that exact moment.
Luke looked up at once. Through the Black Mist ahead, a small island emerged above the sea. Most of it was still underwater, but its outline was visible.
This time no one even needed to wait for his order.
All five ships rushed toward the island as fast as they could.
During that time, the bottoms of the ships were hit several more times and were on the verge of giving out.
"Abandon ship! Head for the island!"
At last they got close enough.
Luke leaped first, landing on the island. Seawater soaked into his pant legs, leaving everything below the knee freezing cold.
More than four hundred people abandoned ship and scrambled onto the island. It was not large, but there was still enough room for everyone to fight.
They watched the ships sink one by one into the sea, their expressions grim.
Everyone understood.
There was no retreat left in this battle.
"Hold until dawn!"
Luke raised his sword and shouted. The righteous energy surging through his body stirred a powerful gale, and the wind carrying that energy swept outward in all directions, blowing away the Black Mist nearby.
A brilliant white radiance seemed to burst from him, and that noble, upright presence instantly bound the army's resolve together.
At that moment, no one felt fear toward the Black Mist anymore.
"Hold until dawn!"
"Kill!"
Answering shouts rose one after another, powerful and unyielding. Even before countless undead, not a trace of weakness could be found in them.
The spirit of the Demacian soldiers united and soared skyward, unafraid of the Mist.
Above the Black Mist, Hecarim looked down at the army that had landed on the island, and a flash of appreciation crossed his eyes.
In life, he had led armies across battlefields for years. Even after death, as an undead horror invading countless lands during the Ruination, he had never encountered a force that gave him this feeling.
Though there were only a few hundred of them, they were so tightly united they seemed like a single unbreakable whole.
And especially that young man at their head—his bearing was exceptional indeed.
For the first time in a long while, a spark of battle-lust rose inside Hecarim's dead heart.
Such a force, such elite warriors—once dead, they would make perfect additions to his ranks.
Even so, he kept his lofty stance and made no move to enter the field himself.
In his eyes, this was still a trapped beast's struggle with a certain outcome.
This army might be stubborn, but before the Black Mist, there was no way it could hold out.
He lifted his glaive and pointed at the island.
Another force of nearly a hundred ghost riders charged out from behind him, launching a ferocious assault toward the shore.
The one who stepped forward on the island was a tiny figure carrying a massive hammer.
Poppy gripped Orlon's hammer and looked at the oncoming wave of undead cavalry. Despite the overwhelming momentum, there was not a trace of fear on her face.
She ran forward several steps, then sprang high into the air.
Compared to the charging cavalry, her tiny body looked almost laughably small.
But in that instant, the hammer she raised above her head burst with golden light.
"You're not getting through!"
Poppy let out a sharp cry and brought the hammer down on the charging riders.
A thunderous hum exploded outward, so violent it seemed to blast away even the Black Mist around them.
That single swing smashed the mighty cavalry formation into total disarray. Such a massive charge had been stopped dead by one tiny figure.
That sight drove the island's warriors into an even greater frenzy.
Hecarim's gaze fell on Poppy, then shifted to her hammer, and his eyes narrowed.
The moment Poppy landed, she began smashing the undead riders who had crashed down with her.
Vayne's relic crossbow spat deadly bolts.
Her shots were viciously precise.
Every bolt pierced through multiple undead in a line, wasting not a sliver of her energy.
And any undead struck by those holy bolts let out a wail of complete annihilation before vanishing, as though even the Black Mist's gift of rebirth could not restore them.
The battle raged on.
Everyone held their ground.
They withstood charge after charge from the ghostly cavalry.
Then came the heavy pounding of immense footsteps from the sea.
Luke looked out and saw a giant striding toward the island, at least fifteen to twenty feet tall.
Black Mist coiled around its body, pale green light flickering from within, and in its hands it held an enormous hammer.
It was more than twice the size of the one Poppy carried, and it looked devastating.
Then it brought that hammer down.
With a tremendous crash, the whole island seemed to shake, and the deafening sound rattled everyone's bones.
"That is one huge hammer!"
Even Poppy looked startled at the sight of something that large.
The ghost giant turned toward her and let out a challenge-filled roar.
Fighting spirit lit in Poppy's eyes at once. She hefted her hammer and charged straight at it.
"Then let's settle it! We'll see whose hammer is tougher!"
She swung Orlon's hammer.
The ghost giant swung its own.
The next second, the two hammers collided.
Poppy traced a bright arc through the air, her tiny body sent flying backward.
She hit the ground and rolled several times before finally coming to a stop.
Everyone watching could not help worrying for her.
"I think I just saw my great-grandma."
Poppy pushed herself back up, her vision wobbling.
A kind little old yordle woman was waving to her.
Then Poppy shook her head, cleared her mind, and looked back at the ghost giant like nothing had happened, baring her little fangs defiantly.
"That one doesn't count!"
And with that, she shouted and raised her hammer again, charging the giant once more.
At that moment, no one could spare a hand to help her.
Everyone else was still fighting for their lives.
Luke included.
He was surrounded by six ghost riders.
As a surge of wind gathered around him, Luke stepped forward and slashed.
A roaring gale burst from around his body, and though he swung only once, a ring of tornado blades erupted outward in a vast arc.
Those spiraling winds were also infused with righteous energy.
That single strike dropped all six ghost riders with howls.
Then the air suddenly grew heavy.
A dreadful pressure descended from above. A chill ran through Luke's bones, and he looked up.
The Shadow of War.
Hecarim had finally moved.
His four iron-shod hooves trampled across the Black Mist, green ghostfire burning beneath them as he descended from the sky.
Seeing the humans on the island continue to resist so stubbornly, Hecarim had lost patience. He knew it was time for him to end things personally.
After this, he still meant to sweep across the villages and towns around the kingdom called Demacia.
He could not keep wasting time here.
And the first target he chose was Luke.
This man whose status and strength were clearly far from ordinary.
"You are impressive."
Stopping within a dozen yards of Luke, Hecarim let loose a terrifying aura and looked down on him as he raised his glaive.
"I grant you the right to join my Iron Order after death. It will be the greatest honor of your existence."
"Wow. I'm overwhelmed."
Luke planted a foot and vanished in a blur, appearing directly in front of Hecarim.
His blade, wrapped in howling wind, slashed down at the Shadow of War.
At the same moment, Hecarim's glaive—burning with ghostly blue fire—swept toward him.
Their weapons collided with an explosive crash. Luke felt a massive force slam through his sword and was blown backward on the spot.
The blow had not caused him any real injury. While airborne, he used Godspeed Shifting Steps to bleed off the impact.
He landed steadily and looked at Hecarim, who had not moved an inch, a deeper seriousness settling into his eyes.
This centaur before him was the strongest enemy he had faced so far.
Hecarim looked at the small crack carved into his glaive by Luke's blade, as well as the force behind that strike.
For the first time in a very long while, it felt as though the heart he no longer truly possessed was pounding again.
"Good! Let us fight to our hearts' content!"
His voice rolled through the Black Mist like thunder.
The next moment, his iron hooves moved.
He charged Luke.
Luke held nothing back.
All the sword intent in his body exploded outward at once. A gale burst from him and swept in every direction, driving the Black Mist away.
The aura around him became razor-sharp.
With one slash, he unleashed a tornado several yards high.
Hecarim swung his glaive in a great arc and smashed the tornado apart with brute force before chopping straight at Luke.
Luke had no intention of meeting that head-on. His figure flashed to the side, and he thrust out with Steel Tempest.
Hecarim's glaive was already there to meet it. Their weapons crashed together again, throwing sparks and producing a shrill metallic scream.
The next second, several sharp white flashes of sword light burst through the air as Luke's blade cut with blinding speed, carrying overwhelming sword intent.
Even Hecarim did not dare underestimate such a strike.
His glaive spun with him, the ghostfire upon it spreading a biting chill as he smashed down at Luke.
Neither side gave the other an inch.
But this time, Luke's sword was faster by a step.
A long wound was carved across Hecarim's horse-body, and the burning sensation from the righteous energy made him feel pain again for the first time in ages.
Luke flashed back out of range.
"It seems I underestimated you."
Hecarim studied the man before him again, all contempt gone from his gaze.
Then Black Mist drifted in and seeped into his wound. The flesh scorched by righteous energy began to heal.
"The Black Mist has made me immortal. What could you possibly use to fight me?"
Hecarim still stood there with effortless arrogance, sneering at Luke.
Luke sighed inwardly.
It was irritating.
He hated this kind of enemy—the kind who regenerated while fighting.
But inside the Black Mist, this was Hecarim's domain, and there was not much Luke could do about that.
Even righteous energy, for all its natural advantage against darkness, was not enough.
If he wanted to bring Hecarim down, he would need one chance to land a devastating blow. Otherwise, there was almost no way to finish him off.
Nearby, repeated crashes rang out.
A twenty-foot giant and a tiny figure not even three feet tall were furiously trading hammer blows.
After being launched backward again, Poppy hit the ground, then looked at the ghost giant, who had stumbled back even farther than she had. A few smug traces appeared in her eyes.
"Well? Bet you know how strong I am now!"
Disbelief flashed across the ghost giant's face. It looked suspiciously at the hammer in its own hand, then tightened its grip.
With a furious roar, it charged the tiny little yordle, unable to accept this humiliation, and brought its massive hammer down.
"Then I'll just…"
Poppy watched it come without the slightest fear. She gripped Orlon's hammer with both hands and raised it high above her head.
Golden light blazed across the hammer, as though some earthshaking power were gathering inside it.
"…hit back harder!"
With that shout, Poppy swung.
The ghost giant swung too.
The impact exploded like a peal of thunder, and the violent shockwave blasted the surrounding Black Mist away.
Then an astonishing sight followed.
The ghost giant cried out in pain as its body staggered backward and dropped hard to the ground.
The arm holding the hammer had been broken outright.
And that massive hammer of its own shattered in an instant into several pieces, collapsing into fragments.
The ghost giant looked at Poppy, terror flooding its eyes, fear plainly visible there.
"Looks like my hammer's tougher after all!"
Poppy huffed, sprang high, and brought the hammer down again.
She smashed the giant's head straight down into its neck.
Then she landed, turned with total swagger, and did not bother to glance back.
With a heavy crash, the ghost giant's enormous body fell, dissolved into smoke, and vanished.
The commotion there even drew Hecarim's attention.
He spared a glance at the fallen ghost giant and the hammer strapped to the tiny yordle's back.
"That hammer…"
He had no time to think further.
Luke's sword drew his attention right back.
In that brief moment of distraction, another sword wound appeared on Hecarim's body.
He realized then that he truly had underestimated this man.
Luke had cultivated his sword intent to an extraordinary degree, and not just one kind of sword intent, but several at once.
His movement technique was also absurdly fast, flexible, and difficult to track.
Still, Hecarim was no easy foe himself.
He had once been a grand general who dominated battlefields, with a vast store of combat experience.
After becoming undead, he had fought countless more battles.
More than once, the sweeping force of his glaive struck Luke directly and sent him flying.
The pressure of this fight was greater than anything Luke had ever experienced.
Fortunately, righteous energy protected his body, greatly enhancing his defense and granting him a measure of resistance to darkness itself.
And as the battle dragged on, more and more righteous energy continued gathering within him.
Enough to withstand dozens of Hecarim's attacks.
Hecarim looked at Luke, who had taken several blows from him and yet still seemed perfectly fine, and even he began to feel something strange was going on.
Worse, the sword intent around Luke was growing stronger and stronger.
That made even a veteran of endless battles like Hecarim realize something was wrong.
"You… are excellent."
His entire aura shifted as he looked at Luke, finally becoming completely serious.
Black Mist gathered over him. The pale green flames burning across the Shadow of War flared brighter, and a terrifying presence burst outward.
His iron hooves scraped against the ground, leaving trails of fire.
The next instant, Hecarim exploded forward with terrifying speed, swinging his glaive and crashing straight at Luke.
Luke responded without hesitation. A fearsome sword intent erupted from his body as well, his Wuju sword intent released without restraint.
The air itself turned suffocating.
As spiritual power surged out, an ultimate green sword intent followed Luke's full-force slash.
The two overwhelming powers collided with an earthshaking explosion. A violent wave of energy rippled outward, and the wind screamed in every direction.
Several cracks appeared on Hecarim's ghostfire glaive.
Luke's blade, meanwhile, shattered outright into pieces. His sword intent broke apart with it, and he instantly flashed away without hesitation.
Hecarim's glaive carved across the shallow seawater covering the island, leaving behind a furrow dozens of feet long.
Looking at the cracks in his weapon, the battle-lust in Hecarim's heart surged to its peak.
Luke glanced at his broken sword. The spare weapons in his system inventory were already gone.
If he managed to survive this, he decided, it was definitely time to find himself a better weapon.
Having them break mid-fight every time was getting old.
"A magnificent battle," Hecarim said, staring at the now unarmed Luke. "But it ends here."
He had no intention of giving Luke time to find another weapon.
He meant to kill this man quickly, then claim him for the Black Mist afterward.
"Your Highness! Use this hammer!"
Over there, after dealing with the ghost giant, Poppy had been about to rush over to help Luke.
But the moment she saw his weapon break, she did not hesitate at all.
She hurled Orlon's hammer at him with all her strength.
The hammer traced a beautiful arc through the air.
Luke looked up at it and twisted neatly aside, letting it sail right over his head.
Poppy instantly panicked.
"Why didn't you catch it?!"
Luke said, "My hand slipped."
Poppy froze.
You didn't even raise your hand!
The hammer landed, with uncanny precision, right beside Hecarim.
Hecarim looked at the hammer embedded in the ground and paused, a little surprised. He had not expected to pick up a sacred relic for free.
With his experience, he could tell at a glance this was no ordinary weapon.
It was an exceptional relic.
A cold grin spread across his face as he reached out and took Orlon's hammer in his left hand.
Then he summoned the Black Mist. It clung to the hammer, and pale green ghostfire began to rise from it.
In only moments, the golden sacred hammer had transformed into something else entirely.
Now it looked sinister and haunted, black with streaks of sickly green.
Poppy clutched her head.
"Oh no, he took my hammer!"
Seeing that, Luke suddenly thought this might actually be a good thing.
Hecarim finished corrupting the hammer, then threw aside his cracked glaive and gripped the hammer in his right hand.
He tested it with a few swings.
A deep hum rang through the air, and the weapon seemed to carry hidden thunder within it.
Satisfaction flashed through his eyes. As expected of a relic—this would make a fine personal weapon.
Then Hecarim looked at Luke and said in praise, "You have let me taste the joy of battle again after so long. You are worthy. I will grant you a swift death."
"Come on, then."
Luke nodded, looking strangely expectant.
Seeing that expression, Hecarim instinctively felt that something was off, though he could not say what.
His iron hooves scraped the ground, gathering force. Ghostfire flared fiercely along the hammer.
Luke immediately turned and ran.
Godspeed Shifting Steps burst into motion, sending him shooting forward in an instant.
Watching him flee, Hecarim was not worried in the slightest. When it came to speed, he believed no one could compare to him.
The moment his momentum peaked, he drove his hooves forward.
Blue fire streaked across the ground behind him as he shot after Luke almost instantly.
The chase carried them away from the island.
Luke ran across the surface of the sea at blinding speed.
Hecarim found that odd, but it had been a very long time since he had enjoyed running this hard, so he only accelerated further, moving so fast he became a blur.
Just as he was about to catch Luke's back and smash the hammer down—
A familiar sound rang out.
Luke tapped the surface of the sea with the tips of his feet, leaped high into the air, then sprang again off the water.
Hecarim looked ahead.
A ghost ship was charging back at full speed, steered by one terrified crewman, brimming with murderous intent as it came to ram every last human to death.
When he saw it, the centaur's eyes went blank for a heartbeat.
The crewman saw Hecarim in front of him and was scared stupid on the spot. He had no time to stop the ship.
The next second, the prow of the ghost ship slammed directly into Hecarim's body with a colossal impact.
Hecarim roared in pain.
Massive as he was, he was still nothing compared to the full bulk of a ship.
He was launched like a cannonball and hurled straight back onto the island.
Seeing that scene, countless undead were left completely dumbfounded.
At that moment, several cracks had split open across Hecarim's armor from the collision, and ghostly flames bled out through them like spectral blood.
Several exposed bones in his horse-body had snapped as well, leaving him in a miserable state.
The ghost ship drifted off to the side, its crewman shaking uncontrollably.
"Honestly…"
Luke came running back, clicked his tongue, and shook his head.
"Boat like an idiot, and somebody ends up in a coffin."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he fired several arrows without hesitation, unwilling to waste even the slightest chance to finish the job.
Lying there after being smashed to the ground, Hecarim sensed the danger and immediately swung the hammer up, batting the arrows away.
But one still slipped through and struck him square in the rear.
Hecarim let out a horrific scream.
That piercing pain was something he had never felt before.
He looked at the hammer in his hand, anger and confusion rising in his eyes.
He did not understand how he had made such a stupid mistake.
If he had been using his glaive, not a single arrow would have gotten through.
Even so, Hecarim still had no intention of giving up the relic. But he understood that he had been badly wounded.
The Black Mist gave him immortality, yes, but even that needed time to repair injuries.
So he decisively pushed off with his iron hooves and charged upward into the sky, intending to rise above the battlefield and heal before returning.
Soon he reached the upper edge of the Black Mist and regained his high, superior posture, looking down on everything below.
Then, with a booming crack, a violet bolt of lightning crashed down in a pillar and struck Hecarim directly.
He shrieked as violent lightning tore through him, agony surging through every corner of his body.
Even he could not withstand the dreadful force of thunder.
Then his body fell from the Black Mist, trailing black smoke and looking even more battered than before.
The undead surged around him, protecting their leader.
Luke's arrows were blocked by the sacrifice of lesser undead, and he sighed inwardly, knowing he had missed the window to finish Hecarim off.
Hecarim staggered back to his feet and flung the hammer away in pure disgust, then picked up his glaive again.
That hammer…
…was cursed.
Luke was secretly amazed too.
Good thing he had not caught it earlier. If he had, then he would have been the unlucky one, wouldn't he?
That hammer was absolutely cursed. Whoever ended up using it was practically doomed.
And that was no joke.
The Shadow of War had made such a grand, domineering entrance as an undead warlord.
Now he looked like a complete disaster.
Seeing it with his own eyes, Luke made up his mind even more firmly.
No matter what happened, he was never touching that hammer.
Poppy ran over in a flash and picked Orlon's hammer back up. Then she puffed at the ghostfire on it with her mouth.
After blowing on it a few times, the ghostfire actually went out.
And before everyone's eyes, the hammer rapidly returned to normal.
Seeing it restored, Poppy grinned.
It felt really good to have her hammer back.
She clearly did not think for a second that it was her hammer that had just brought Hecarim so much bad luck.
She was simply delighted to have recovered what she had lost.
"Iron Order! Assemble!"
At that moment, a roar that shook the heavens thundered through the Black Mist.
A horrifying aura burst from Hecarim's body. The flames in his eyes burned with tremendous fury as he entered a state of uncontrollable rage.
He was ready to end this meaningless fight once and for all.
At his roar, one ghost rider after another began appearing behind him, lining up like shadows into a cavalry formation.
One, ten, a hundred, a thousand—
Thousands of towering ghost riders gathered behind Hecarim, their momentum reaching the heavens as ghostly energy flooded the air.
The undead and spirits still on the island wailed and fled from the area.
Everyone broke away from combat and looked over there, their hearts sinking.
Even Luke's expression turned grave.
At that moment, an even greater force was still building behind Hecarim. Rage blazed in his eyes.
He gripped his glaive tightly, determined to crush the island—and Luke with it.
Then suddenly, an utterly discordant strain of music rang out.
Along with it came a wave of spreading golden light that pierced through all the ghost riders, Hecarim included.
After that came music like a rolling tsunami, thunder in the heavens, and the hum of mountains—like the final movement of a symphony rising above everything else.
The momentum of the Iron Order faltered instantly.
Its aura broke.
The weaker undead shrieked and were destroyed on the spot.
Even the ghost riders of the Iron Order twisted in pain.
Hecarim's face changed drastically—if he had still had a face to change.
The melody ringing in his ears was achingly familiar.
It was Crescendo.
He felt as if the music itself had seized control of his body, locking him in place.
Forcing himself to turn, he looked toward the source of the song.
A Dauntless emerged into view.
And at the bow stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman, holy in bearing, with water-blue hair, her hands moving across the strings of her etwahl.
In that moment, she was so beautiful she seemed untouchable, like a goddess herself.
"That instrument…"
Hecarim stared at it, shock roaring in his mind, fear appearing in his eyes.
He had seen that instrument before.
Back when he was still alive.
On that island.
On that island that had once been called the Blessed Isles.
In the next instant, Hecarim felt overwhelming danger descend. His long-silent heart seemed to pound again in terror.
A terrifying sword intent came from behind him.
He turned back and saw Luke holding another sword.
His black hair moved in the wind, and the sword intent pouring from his body pierced the clouds and tore open the Black Mist.
A mighty force of wind gathered around him. Storms howled in every direction, and all the brilliant white radiance of his righteous energy concentrated into the blade.
"No! No!"
Hecarim roared furiously at the sky and twisted himself around by force.
"Iron Order, charge!"
But under the field-locking control of Crescendo, the Iron Order could not move at all. Every rider could only let out a wail of pain.
Only Hecarim himself could still barely act.
Ignoring everything else, he raised his cracked glaive. Ghostfire exploded across his body as he charged Luke like a mad beast, determined to unleash his strongest strike.
Luke's eyes were sharp and unyielding as he slashed with all his might.
A hurricane screamed into existence.
A tornado more than thirty feet high tore outward, shot through with lightning-like currents of righteous energy and filled with overwhelming sword intent.
Every undead touched by that storm was obliterated instantly, without even time to scream.
"I have never known defeat!"
Hecarim threw back his head and roared, smashing his glaive into the approaching tornado with all his strength.
The glaive shattered the moment it touched the storm.
The tornado did not stop for even an instant. It swallowed Hecarim whole.
His body—and his soul—let out a wrenching scream of agony.
His armor broke apart within the storm and dissolved into smoke.
The ghostfire dimmed.
His body was covered in wounds.
Then, with hatred burning in his eyes, he glared at Luke.
Never, not once, had he imagined that the undefeated Iron Order would fall in a place like this.
Never had he imagined that he, undefeated, would lose to this man.
"One day…"
"One day, my army will grind your homeland beneath its hooves!"
His unwilling roar echoed beneath the night sky and through the Black Mist as Hecarim's massive form finally dispersed and vanished.
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