"No! My Lionheart Knights!"
"Damn that Kingdom of Cinders!"
Grand Duke Leo glared into the distant sea of fire, his expression twisted with rage, having completely lost his usual composure.
The Lionheart Knights were House Bosque's generational legacy, the mightiest legion in the Northlands, and the cornerstone upon which the Principality of Bosque waged war and asserted dominance over the northern realms.
With this legion's destruction, even if they emerged victorious in this war, the Principality of Bosque's standing would never be as secure as before.
He had originally deployed the Lionheart Knights merely to anchor the defensive line and stall the enemy's advance, never imagining that the Kingdom of Cinders' forces would prove so overwhelming. Even the Lionheart Knights—renowned for being impenetrable and invincible in defensive warfare—could not withstand the measured, flame-wreathed advance of the dragon-blessed paladins.
"Th-they're coming!"
"We can't fight enemies like this!"
"Quick, run!"
"What do we do? There's fire everywhere!"
Watching the coalition forces breaking into a rout, the steadily advancing Cinder army, and the cratered, devastated ground;
Listening to the roar of gunfire and artillery, the ferocious battle cries, and the chaotic wails of agony;
Grand Duke Leo looked up at the dense white clouds blanketing the sky and murmured under his breath:
"Lord Oszedro..."
He knew that with the silver dragon's enigmatic might, Oszedro would hear his call no matter how faint.
Sure enough, a deep voice resonated—it was Oszedro Melvold.
"This is a war among mortals. I will not intervene lightly; throughout my long life, I have learned that lesson countless times."
"The red dragon who broke the order between dragonkind and humanity... has yet to appear."
Leo Bosque's body trembled slightly. He slowly sank to one knee, his bearded lips parting as he pleaded:
"I beg of you... intervene, in the name of the Northlands' supreme ruler."
"Our nation has reached a critical juncture of life and death! The evil dragon has bestowed boundless, wicked power upon his vassals; we mortals cannot withstand it."
His posture was humble almost to the point of groveling in the dirt.
For the first time, the aging duke felt utterly powerless.
Before beings of such formidable might, the armies and nation he relied upon were mere ants, and even nature itself could be altered at their whim.
Yet as long as he could preserve his status and extend House Bosque's thousand-year rule, any price was worth paying.
"Mortal, I have witnessed the rise and fall of countless dynasties. In my eyes, nothing you do can be hidden. Were it not for the sake of preserving order and balance, I would not deign to exchange a single word with someone like you."
"Do you truly not see it yourselves?"
"I have done all that benevolence requires. Yet the gulf between you and your enemy lies far beyond the power bestowed by that red dragon..."
Feeling the rout escalating around him, Grand Duke Leo abandoned every shred of noble pride. He dropped onto both knees, pressing his forehead against the frozen ground until the heat of his skin melted a shallow depression in the snow.
"Lord Oszedro... I, too, do this for the order of the Northlands! I beg of you! Be it power or wealth, whatever you desire, we can—"
"Enough."
"Tsk, I suppose I still can't cure myself of meddling."
A long sigh drifted down from the sky.
Grand Duke Leo looked up, a wave of relief washing over him, his face filled with sudden delight.
A resonant chant of Draconic echoed from within the clouds, reverberating endlessly across the scarred tundra.
The earth trembled violently and uncontrollably, and freezing winds began howling all around, sending shivers through every soldier on the battlefield.
*Boom!*
Accompanied by a deafening crash and a violent surge within the Weave, an ice wall stretching for miles and reaching high into the clouds erupted from the frozen earth, shielding nearly all the coalition soldiers behind it.
The ice wall was not thick—less than an inch—yet it was unfathomably hard, radiating bone-chilling cold. Even the ogres' heavy artillery could not shatter it, and the slightest touch inflicted severe frostbite.
[Greater Frost Barrier]
In an instant, the entire army of the Kingdom of Cinders was brought to a halt by this single spell. No matter what methods they brought to bear, they could not breach the barrier.
"Damn it, what is this thing?"
"We were about to wipe out their main force! Where did this cursed thing come from?"
"Where's the ogre artillery legion? What good are they?"
"Halt the advance! Don't let the frostbite get you!"
Behind the ranks of the Kingdom of Cinders, atop the high ridge on the north bank of the two great rivers:
The ogre archmage Trump gazed at the pristine, flawless barrier of ice in the distance. He involuntarily tightened his grip on the toothpick-like staff in his hand, a look of profound gravity settling over his hideous face.
"A spell of this magnitude..."
"It has to be a legendary archmage—that silver dragon has made his move! Or perhaps they're concealing other spellcasters. There is no way a native caster from Anzeta could cast something like this!"
Trump leveled his staff, pointing it toward the opposite bank.
As he incanted, an astonishingly blazing fireball shrieked through the air, hurtling directly toward the ice barrier—a [Greater Fireball] that Trump had modified multiple times.
*Boom!*
With a massive explosion, the fireball left behind only a scorch mark; the barrier remained completely unmoved.
Such was the power of a high-tier spell cast by a legendary mage. Formidable as the Cinder army was, they had no simple answer for it, and even Trump found himself helpless.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
Massive metal cannonballs slammed into the frost barrier one after another, erupting into aerial explosions. The incessant concussions shook the earth itself, yet the deceptively thin, fragile barrier continued to gleam faintly in the sunlight.
Watching the terrifying explosions, Viscount Luton—standing among the gathered northern nobles—felt a lingering dread. He patted his chest, trying to catch his ragged breath.
"Whew... thank goodness..."
"Thank goodness we have Lord Oszedro."
"The army of the Kingdom of Cinders... is simply horrifying. They're practically an army of the Scourge."
Viscount Luton was still shaken by the Kingdom of Cinders' ferocious assault.
He had witnessed celestials capable of performing miracles falling from the skies one after another, and he had watched the Lionheart Knights—once invincible in his eyes—reduced to heaps of ash.
It seemed as though anything standing before the Cinder army would be utterly destroyed, without exception.
"Thank goodness..."
"We have Lord Oszedro."
He repeated himself once more.
Suddenly, a piercing screech tore through the air, followed by a succession of explosive roars that sent the tundra trembling anew.
"Wait, what is that?"
Viscount Luton's expression changed abruptly. He instinctively looked up, a horrific suspicion rising in his mind—one he had anticipated all along, yet desperately wished not to believe.
A blinding point of light appeared on the far horizon, piercing the azure sky.
Then, a figure so fast it blurred tore across the heavens trailing brilliant flares of light, carving a narrow, dazzling scarlet scar that seemed to split the firmament in two.
He plummeted like a meteor!
The sky was violently ripped apart!
As the clamor grew deafening, the northern nobles and the soldiers of the coalition army looked up. In their terrified eyes, the descending figure loomed larger and larger.
"No—"
"It's him! He's here!"
Viscount Luton could not help crying out in terror. The nightmare that had haunted him for years resurfaced in his mind once again.
"The Infernal Scourge!"
He screamed the name at the top of his lungs, his trembling legs suddenly soaked, and several pale yellow hollows appeared in the snow beneath his feet.
Chapter 323