Ten days of clashes had left both sides exhausted. But the mages hadn't truly entered the fray yet, and the Tarnished kept getting reinforcements. Throne watched another wagon rumble past, laden with siege engines. "Better late than early," he muttered. Then, sharper: "Sir, when do we move?"
"Today."
Hoslow didn't waste words. The brothers were a study in contrasts—the younger one flinched at shadows, the older carved through flesh without blinking. Throne pressed his lips together, eyes scanning the silent sprawl of the Eternal City. Either the Nox had already sent hunters for them, or they were walking into a slaughterhouse.
A dozen fighters couldn't take Nokstella. Not a chance. So why—
"Are they really throwing everything at us just to bait out the last Nox reserves?"
"Two stay. The rest, with me. When I give the order, you run—no hesitation." The Knight of the Bloody Finger cleared the shattered wall in one leap, boots hitting the shallow water with a crack.
Splash. Splash. One by one, the Tarnished dropped in, weapons drawn, eyes darting. Throne lingered, watching Rogier's knuckles whiten around his sword hilt.
"The second I shout, you bolt."
"That… that extreme? Place looks empty." Throne tilted his head toward the spire veiled in mist.
The complex loomed like a corpse. A few foolhardy snails lay split open on the stones. Nothing else. The silence pressed against his eardrums. He grinned. "Here? It's always extreme."
"The Tarnished return."
Far ahead, at the highest temple, figures draped in white scarves murmured in a tongue like scraping metal. They stood too tall, too thin—some gripped hammers, others curved blades. At their center, twin golden crowns gleamed under veils: Night Maidens, Nokstella's high priesthood. Swordsmen and monks flanked them, but none charged. Instead, they parted.
The witches weren't united.
"Annelina. Letting these mongrels trample our sanctum?"
"They're strong. Unless we break them completely, the war never ends." Annelina's voice was winter. The veil hid her face, but not the way her fingers flexed around her staff.
"Yet they're cautious. Our traps failed." Another witch twisted her hands. "They advance while our forces are scattered. Do they think to claim Nokstella?"
"Strange. But if they've come in earnest, we answer." Annelina's gaze lifted to the false stars clogging the cavern roof. "Hurt them enough, drive them from the underground… perhaps then the Black Moon will wake." A nod to her guard. Dozens of blades vanished into the dark.
By now, the Tarnished had reached the staircase. The air stank of old magic. Throne's pulse hammered. This place was wrong. A city this grand shouldn't be this dead. No Nox swordsmen flitting between pillars. No Silver Tears oozing from cracks. Just empty halls and too many unlocked chests spilling rare ore.
"Captain—they fled. Left the loot behind."
Hoslow said nothing.
The Tarnished were not fools; they could see something was wrong. Every step was measured, every alcove searched for tripwires or ambushers. The treasures felt like bait. The silence like a held breath.
Nokstella split into left and right halves, connected by a soaring overpass. He'd already climbed to the second level on the left—uncharted territory. "Take everything you can carry without slowing us down. Avar, secure the escape rope."
"Done."
The middle-aged Tarnished who'd spoken to Throne earlier pulled a coiled rope from his pack and lashed it tight around a pillar. If things went south, they could rappel straight down to open ground outside the city walls. No need to waste time on stairs. Scouts took point, shield-bearers formed the rear guard, while Throne and the mages lurked in the shadows, last in line.
Ten minutes of nerve-wracking silence passed before the group stepped onto the third level. Open doorways revealed grand halls stuffed with treasure chests and gilded paintings. The scouts swept every inch—ceilings, corners, hidden alcoves—confirming no monsters lay in wait. To their right stretched a two-hundred-meter stone bridge flanked by cyan sculptures.
The bridge stood empty. No cover. No debris. Just smooth stone leading to an even more imposing complex on the far side, its peaked roofs temple-like in their grandeur. Juno Hoslow halted and turned to Throne and Rogier at the back. "You two take point. Don't worry—we've got your backs."
Rogier swallowed hard. Throne exhaled through his nose. No such thing as a free lunch.
"Remember what I told you." Throne yanked Rogier forward and shoved a brass shield into his hands, borrowed from a nearby warrior. "You're dressed like a festival banner. Try not to catch every arrow in the chest."
The spellblade glanced down at his embroidered sleeves, then back up just in time to see Throne stride onto the bridge without hesitation.
With the two leading, the dozen-odd Tarnished followed in cautious formation. Staves glowed. Bowstrings creaked. Every shadow was scrutinized.
The underground wind howled past their ears.
The sculptures lining the bridge loomed unnervingly lifelike—depictions of the Night Maiden, standing solemn with hands cupped as if holding something unseen.
Rogier barely had time to study them before a deep rumble shook the air.
From a chamber above the far staircase, a massive black sphere rolled into view.
It moved slowly at first, thumping down each step with deliberate weight.
"Pick up the pace! Charge across!"
The Knight of the Bloody Finger made the call instantly—no way that sluggish thing could catch them.
But Throne, at the front, whirled around and bellowed at Rogier:
"RUN!"
The spellblade froze for half a heartbeat—then his legs moved before his brain caught up.
"Why run? That iron ball can't—"
The protesting Tarnished's words died in his throat.
The sphere accelerated.
Not gradually.
Not logically.
It launched forward, transforming from a lumbering curiosity into a murderous juggernaut in the span of a breath.
Two veteran knights raised their shields to meet it.
The impact sent them cartwheeling through the air.
The rest scattered—one archer dove into a side corridor, rolled to his feet, and turned just in time to see—
The black sphere halted mid-roll an inch from the wall.
Then it reversed direction with a sickening splat, crushing the archer into paste against the stone.
Throne, dangling one-handed from the bridge's outer edge, grinned.
Idiots.
This thing turned.
Rumble—
A large black ball rolled back and forth between the stone bridge and the corridor, shredding the Tarnished formation. Some clambered onto pillars. Others hung from the bridge's underside. Everyone had expected traps—just not one triggered by a sentient, physics-defying sphere of death.
The Knight of the Bloody Finger clung to the bridge's edge, his steel whip coiled tight. With a surge of power, he launched himself upward. The black iron ball rolled toward him, its momentum deadly. He activated Bloodhound's Step, a blur of motion as he leapt onto the railing. His speed was inhuman, his balance flawless. In an instant, he'd circled behind the ball.
It stopped abruptly, reversing course. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then lashed out with his whip. Blade of Qi! The whip cracked like thunder. The iron ball shuddered, knocked back, but the fight was just beginning. From the buildings across the river, enemies poured forth—agile Nox Swordsmen, sluggish Silver Tears, and frenzied red ants charging headlong.
"Covering fire!" Hoslow barked, dragging two wounded warriors as he fell back. Arrows and spells rained down, cutting through the Nox ranks. Shield-bearing slimes crawled to the front, their iron shields deflecting magic with unnatural resilience. "Fall back," Hoslow growled.
The Knight of the Bloody Finger didn't hesitate. He charged down the stairs, nearly colliding with Rogier, who was rushing to aid him. He grabbed Rogier by the collar, dragging him into retreat. The Tarnished were elite, their coordination sharp. Despite the ambush, they pulled back in disciplined formation, inflicting heavy losses as they went.
A spell shattered a Silver Tear's shield. Sword strikes pierced through their gelatinous bodies. The slime-like creatures swelled, ready to burst. The Nox behind them scrambled for cover, but without shields, they were obliterated by a barrage of Comet Azur. Boom—debris and blood erupted skyward.
Hoslow smirked, cruel and satisfied. An ambush? Fine. But he still held the upper hand in raw power.
"Block the path with Fire Pots. Retreat slowly—make them pay." The pots exploded, engulfing the bridge in flames. No one could cross the inferno. The Nox's ambush had been clever, but the Tarnished's counterattack was brutal.
Below the bridge, one figure swayed in the updraft. "You're retreating," Throne muttered. "Did you forget about me?"
He watched as a Night Maiden extinguished the flames. The Nox pursued overhead, both sides trading blows. The clang of weapons faded into the distance. Throne cast Gravity Magic on himself, climbing from beneath the bridge to the opposite side. He gripped the railing. "Not retreating?"
Melina emerged from the shadows, her gaze following the Tarnished as they rappelled down to the plaza. One slash severed the rope, and they ran faster than the Nox. "Do they look like they're luring them away?" Throne tilted his chin downward. "The Nox are mobilized. Their core area's barely guarded. Perfect chance for someone to cause trouble."
"Any idea who?"
"No. But whoever stirs things up, I'll kill them." Melina paused. She respected Throne's cunning but never forgot—he was a madman at heart. When action called, he didn't hesitate. Throne leapt onto the right-side buildings.
The cold underground wind whipped past. He could clearly see a group of Tarnished retreating to the plaza's center. They were elite, pouring relentless firepower as they fell back, forcing their pursuers to duck for cover. Rogier unleashed Carian Phalanx without pause, like a human machine gun, his spells firing nonstop. He seemed to have forgotten himself entirely.
Throne grinned. The man before him was decent, but not soft. "Let's handle this. If we're wrong, we'll apologize to the Night Maidens."
"How?" Melina tilted her head, curious.
The man shot ten meters into the air, defying the slow climb of the stairs moments before. He kicked off the railing, flipping onto the fourth floor with the grace of a prowling tiger.
"With a sword, obviously!" The intricate architecture posed no obstacle for Throne, a master of Gravity Magic. Beyond combat, the technique excelled in mobility; reducing his weight amplified his leaps, propelling him effortlessly to higher floors.
The Nox had abandoned their posts to chase the Tarnished, leaving only scattered Silver Tears behind. Most guarded the stairwells. What were they planning? That black orb was unsettling, but their strategy was flawed. Once the Tarnished left, the Nox would return to harass them.
Throne clung to the outer wall, musing about the Nox's lack of intelligence, when a deafening explosion tore through the air.
Boom—rumble—
The southern rock wall of Nokstella shattered. The shockwave sent Throne swaying mid-air. He drove his rapier into the wall to steady himself and turned toward the chaos.
A massive hole gaped in the rock. A grotesque dragon's head emerged, followed by a clawed hand gripping the edge. The creature hauled its entire body inside, perching atop the temple to the left. Its mountainous frame radiated crushing pressure, commanding immediate attention.
A Dragonkin Soldier?
Throne's breath caught. Wasn't that thing supposed to be next door?
The beast roared, shaking the city. Its wings unfurled, arcs of white electricity crackling across its body. The Knight of the Bloody Finger's eyes narrowed. Nokstella had a secret weapon—a trap laid just for them.
"Full retreat!" he bellowed.
Boom—
The Dragonkin Soldier crashed into the pool's center, sending a geyser skyward and sealing their escape. Hoslow tightened his grip on his steel whip. "Three cover the retreat. The rest, with me!" Throne exhaled sharply.
Watching the Tarnished unleash their skills against the Dragonkin Soldier, he felt a pang of relief. Exploring Nokstella alone would've been a mistake. Secret weapons didn't just linger in pools next door, waiting patiently after their homes were plundered.
"The Dragonkin Soldier—the pinnacle of the Eternal City's technology." He licked his lips, staying put. These colossal creatures were a nightmare. Two seconds passed in silence. Throne frowned. Melina hadn't spoken.
"What's wrong? Problem?"