Soldiers clenched their teeth. The fighting was savage beyond words. Both sides suffered grievous losses, and blood ran across the stone beneath their feet.
Blades flashed everywhere. Bodies soon began to pile up atop the walls.
Blinded by killing intent, neither side cared anymore. They trampled over the wounded and the dead, hacking and stabbing without hesitation.
Shouts of battle and screams of agony rose and fell without end.
Five winged Misbegotten units from the Haligtree legion climbed up to reinforce the line. For a brief moment, the allied forces gained a numerical edge, and morale surged.
One Redmane soldier distinguished himself in the chaos. Seizing an opening, he broke through the defenders and tore down the garrison's banner.
Beaming with exhilaration, he raised the flag high above his head and waved it toward his comrades below.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the allied ranks.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
For an instant, everyone believed the city would fall.
Then, at that critical moment, Margit, vice-commander of the Royal Capital's forces, arrived with reinforcements.
One unit consisted of Erdtree Guardians clad in heavy golden armor. Broad-shouldered and towering, they carried massive shields and gleaming halberds, like moving fortresses of steel.
The other was the newly formed Omen Legion, a grim and fearsome force directly under the Fell Omen's command.
Margit's true identity—Morgott, ruler of the Royal Capital—had granted them the right to fight in honor.
The nobles within the city had resisted fiercely, but under the pressure of drawn blades from every faction, they had no choice but to agree.
Twisted horns, grotesquely curved, silently told the tragedy of the Omen's curse in this age.
Margit charged at the forefront. His blade rose and fell in a single clean motion, cutting down the Redmane soldier who had seized the banner.
With unstoppable momentum, he fought his way forward and reclaimed the standard that symbolized honor and pride.
The Royal Capital forces began their counterattack.
A tight formation of sturdy shields, curved sabers, and sharp spears advanced like a tide of iron.
Knights wielding Greatbows exploited every gap, drawing and releasing heavy arrows into the allied ranks.
Under the leadership of fearless commanders, they pressed the coalition back toward the outer edge of the wall.
In less than a few minutes, the allied troops who had gained the battlements were already suffering heavy losses.
Before they could be driven off entirely, dark shapes swept across the wall.
Flying Dragons darted through volleys of Lightning Spears and heavy bolts launched from within the city. One by one, they dropped heavily armored hero-knights onto the battlements before wheeling away.
The heroes had entered the fray.
The true war had only just begun.
...
They're here.
At the Haligtree, almost the moment Nolan stepped into the harbor, several dark figures lunged at him at once.
He tightened his grip on the Saintess in one arm. The reek of thick, rancid blood hit him instantly, unforgettable.
This was his first time facing a hero of the Dynasty of Blood.
Not on some drifting ship, not at a distance, but right here outside towering walls. The chill that crawled up his spine was instinctive.
If the gap in strength weren't so obvious, his intuition wouldn't be screaming like this.
Still, the ones in front of him clearly weren't at that level.
Nolan swung the Promised Claymore. A brilliant arc of swordlight tore through the air, forcing the ambushing shadows back.
Without slowing, he shifted the Saintess onto his shoulder and burst forward at full speed.
The enemy wouldn't let them go. Transforming into a dragon or boarding a ship now would only restrict their movement.
He hadn't forgotten that Mohg could fly. One misstep into the open sea, and they'd be fish waiting to be carved up.
"Where's your Lord?" Nolan called over his shoulder as he sprinted.
The Golden Needle Knight Captain and the Valkyrie clone raised their weapons, but the Ancient Dragon had already vanished. No need to guess—she was somewhere nearby, watching.
"Not a shred of loyalty," Nolan muttered.
Still, he had never counted on outsiders in a fight. If they wanted out, they'd carve a path themselves.
The two Empyreans had clearly been watching. Ranni clung to one side of him, Trina to the other. For a first-rate hero like Nolan, carrying two small figures posed no problem.
"Hold tight. Don't fall."
"Mm! Even if I die, I won't let go of Nolan!" Trina nodded vigorously.
"...Tch."
Hey. Princess. Was that a click of your tongue? What happened to your composure?
There was no need for explanation. Even with the city walls blocking the view, a blood-red storm was rising into the sky, darkening the heavens.
Weapon arts, incantations, sorceries, and bloodflame clashed together. The defenders inside were already fighting at full strength. The thunder of impacts rolled endlessly through the air.
Mohg had arrived.
If there was a way to go straight in, why bother cutting through from outside?
That Blood Lord, scheming in the shadows, had clearly intended to take everything in one stroke. He just hadn't expected someone to move first.
A Demigod's strength stood several tiers above that of an ordinary knight—especially one as battle-hardened as Mohg.
The son of Godfrey and Marika not only possessed an unmatched bloodline, he had also been chosen by the Formless Mother.
The Haligtree's guardians were quite literally buying time with their lives.
"He's almost here. It won't take long. Kill these quickly. We can't let him catch up." Malenia made her judgment in an instant.
Right now, the Haligtree had three Demigods present. Ranni only had one chance to act. As for her sister, apart from flirting and putting people to sleep, she was useless in a fight. Malenia would have to protect her herself.
As for Mohg, she didn't even consider him a Demigod.
In the Golden Dynasty, "Demigod" was as much a status as it was a matter of blood—a special recognition of kinship, not merely lineage.
Take the Radahn siblings. In the eyes of the world, they had no direct blood connection to the goddess Marika. Their bodies bore no divine blood openly, yet as royal in-laws, they were granted Demigod status.
Morgott and Mohg were the opposite. The goddess's blood flowed in their veins, yet it meant nothing.
Without Marika's acknowledgment, no matter how loudly they proclaimed themselves sons of the Eternal Queen, the Golden Dynasty would not recognize them as Demigods.
In short, by blood they were noble Demigods. In the eyes of the world, they were nothing more than despised Omen-born.
If not for the horns crowning their heads—and given their extraordinary talent—their treatment would likely have matched that of their other siblings: honored princes, true Demigods.
"Then we kill them all." Nolan felt a sudden ease settle over him. Having reliable allies at his side was exhilarating. He even felt ready to clash with a Demigod head-on.
"Don't worry. Even if you die, we'll bring you back." Malenia spoke quickly, urgency creeping into her voice.
"What kind of reassurance is that? I know you mean well, but couldn't you say something nicer?" Nolan rolled his eyes.
"I'm not comforting you. I'm saying that even if it costs your life, you will protect my sister." The Valkyrie let out a cold snort.
"Don't listen to her, Nolan. Just protect yourself. They wouldn't dare harm me," Trina said from his shoulder.
Nolan glanced at her.
Come to think of it, she had a point.
The one truly in danger… was him.