Miquella and Trina felt a terrifying force descend from the heavens, pouring straight into Nolan's body.
Flames like flowing water instantly wrapped around him, greedily licking at his skin as if determined to ignite and consume him, flesh and bone alike.
A roar like that of an Ancient Dragon rang out. Power drawn from the First Flame manifested within Nolan. Bloodflame was forced back by golden lightning bursting from his body, driven inch by inch away from his skin.
Mohg charged in, his black-gold spear crashing down toward Nolan's head as his black wings flared wide.
The accursed Child of Omen could not advance another step. Nolan's twin blades caught the holy spear, and in the next instant he surged forward, forcing the beast-like Demigod back with sheer strength.
Mohg staggered to a halt. Nolan looked at the gravely wounded Demigod with cold, unfeeling eyes.
Scorching lightning coursed along the hands gripping his twin swords. The moment he blocked Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear, he had drawn upon the power of the Lord Soul...
This was a clash between gods. The Formless Mother had been driven back by the God of Light.
The Saintess held the knight's face in her hands, staring at him in a daze. Then Miquella stepped forward and looked at Mohg.
"Brother, give up. How much longer can you last in your current state? Even if you win, you may not leave the Haligtree alive."
His brother's face looked almost demonic, his expression distorted beneath twisted horns.
He seemed to be smiling, yet it looked more like a cry twisted by unbearable pain.
At last, it was clear. He was smiling.
Through countless dark days and nights, Mohg had finally found that gentle Empyrean. That sudden tenderness made the Dynasty's dream feel within reach.
Of course, only Miquella could turn the world of dreams into reality.
Nolan had no space left in his mind for any of it. An unseen force seemed to drive his body forward as he lunged straight at Mohg.
In a flash, like lightning tearing across the night sky, the Promised Consort and the Blood Lord collided again and again.
Their figures crossed and split apart, striking and countering at a blinding pace, leaving only blurred afterimages behind.
Spears and Claymores whirled through the air. Every clash burst into showers of sparks, carving streaks of dark-red blood through the battlefield.
The Lords roared as they charged, fighting with their lives on the line. This was a war between Lords. It would end only when one of them fell.
To the south of the Haligtree, the Erdtree within Leyndell stood like a silent witness to the brutal carnage.
Its radiance flickered, dim one moment and blazing the next, shifting with the tide of battle.
The siege had dragged on for three full days and nights.
The two armies were like savage beasts locked in a death grip, tearing at one another without pause. Exhausted and bloodied, they still refused to retreat, determined to decide victory or defeat here and now.
Beneath the city walls, the Royal Allied Army's assault showed no sign of slowing. They pressed forward in relentless waves, surging like a rising tide.
Corpses lay piled high, layer upon layer, forming thick mounds of the dead.
The commander of the Royal Capital army continually redeployed his forces, sending fresh troops to reinforce the front lines. Yet soldiers, heroes, and omens alike were nearing their limits in both body and spirit.
What unfolded before them was enough to chill the blood. The advancing legions seemed endless, charging in wave after wave.
Reserve units rushed forward one after another, only to fall moments later, collapsing into pools of blood.
The heavy stench of blood filled the air, thick enough to make one retch.
The ground underfoot had long since been soaked through, turned into a mire of mud and gore. Mangled flesh lay everywhere.
Flowing blood gathered into crimson streams. Whether from the Lords' forces or the Royal Capital army, fear had begun to creep into every heart.
Orders continued to ring in their ears, yet the soldiers' steps slowed despite themselves. Forcing their way through the wall of bodies was nearly impossible. They could only inch forward bit by bit.
All except for one unit.
The Haligtree Army's morale remained high. Greed could be crushed by the fear of death, but Faith was not so easily shaken. Now and then, the cry of "Fight for Miquella and Malenia!" still rang out across the battlefield.
As time dragged on, however, the defenders' offensive began to lose momentum.
Greta was the first to sense the shift. Her sharp gaze swept over the field before she turned to the Cleanrot Knight and Golden Needle Knight at her side and called out:
"Everyone, the Demigods' battlefield lies just ahead. Break through these units, then we move to support His Highness. Kill Margit, and the Royal Capital's defenses will collapse!"
The knights' expressions hardened. Brows knit tight, they answered in unison, "Understood!"
Greta lifted her head and looked toward the sky, toward the distant buildings collapsing one after another. The clash between Demigods was far too dangerous. From the moment they entered the battlefield, they had instinctively kept their distance from the chaotic melee of the main armies.
Meanwhile, The Fell Omen rampaging across the field displayed terrifying strength.
Fighting alongside the formidable Crucible Knight, he had held three Demigods at bay without defeat.
To possess such power without being a Demigod reminded them of Finlay. And yet, even that legendary hero would pale in comparison.
Time slipped by, and the slaughter raged on until dusk.
Whether it was the aggressive Royal Allied Army or the stubborn Royal Capital forces, any hope of ending this brutal war before nightfall faded along with the sinking sun.
Both sides understood the truth. The battle would continue until dawn. Orders were adjusted, formations shifted, and preparations were made for a night of unbroken fighting.
At that moment, the two strongest knight orders of the allied forces converged. The Cleanrot Knights and the Golden Needle Knights formed a single assault unit.
More than thirty heroes gathered into an elite spearhead, driving forward like a sharpened lance thrust into the body of a colossal war beast. As they tore a breach through the enemy ranks, the Royal Allied Army could hardly believe what they were seeing.
An infantry detachment, unable to contain its excitement, shouted as it rushed to follow, eager to become the first to set foot in the Lords' domain.
What met them was not the light of victory, but a torrent of steel surging from the Royal Capital's lines. The wave crushed them instantly, reducing them to mangled flesh and blood.
The Draconic Tree Sentinels of the Royal Capital had taken the field.
In the era when the Crucible Knights defied the will of the throne, the Draconic Tree Sentinels had stood as the unbreakable bulwark of the Royal Capital.
They rose to fame during the Ancient Dragon War, clad in golden armor marked with the hundred aspects of the dragon. With Dragonclaw warhammers and Dragonclaw Shields, they crushed every enemy before them.
Once, their foes had been the Ancient Dragons themselves.