Yet Wilhelm hovered high in the sky, the six wings on his back slowly fluttering. He raised the Spear of Final Judgment, his expression chillingly indifferent.
"They were once traitors to the Kingdom of Thrace! To become members of the Holy Guards and offer their souls to the kingdom is the greatest honor of their lives!
"All you need to know is that they will serve as the kingdom's sharpest blade. As for where this power came from? It does not matter! So long as we accomplish the grand task of reviving Holy Fadlan, offering everything is worth it!"
Instantly, an uproar erupted across Auguste, the people bursting into frantic speculation and fierce arguments.
"How could this happen?!"
"That is the power of Hell!"
"Your Majesty! We are subjects of the Sun God—how could we ever collude with Hell?!" A general who had garrisoned the south for years stepped forward, dropping to one knee toward the king.
"Indeed! This is the City of Sunrise, a land bathed in radiant glory! How could such foul abominations be allowed to appear here?!"
Meanwhile, Tirena flapped her wings in midair, her head lowered in silence.
As the duke of godblood anointed by Wilhelm himself and his well-known confidante, Tirena had long known of the king's pact with Zariel. But she had no choice left.
The general named Clarence rose to his feet, gripping his sword, his voice resounding firmly. "Your Majesty, I urge you to turn back before it is too late, return to the Sun God's embrace, and walk the righteous path—"
Just then, he looked up and caught Wilhelm's gaze head-on.
Clarence was shocked to find that Wilhelm's eyes were completely frigid, carrying a piercing chill that made him feel as though he had plunged into an icy abyss.
What kind of gaze was that?!
They were clearly holy golden irises, yet they resembled a man-eating vortex, threatening to swallow his very soul!
It seemed that only at this moment did Clarence truly recognize this "King of Angels."
"Within the territory of Holy Fadlan, my word is the supreme decree. Do you intend to rebel? Or perhaps... make an enemy of me?"
"No, Your Majesty, that is not what I meant..."
Clarence turned pale, collapsing to the ground as uncontrollable tremors ran through his body.
Wilhelm looked down upon him coldly, his voice biting as a winter gale. "With a great enemy at the gates, we must pacify internal threats before repelling the invaders. Holy Guards, purge these traitors!"
"Yes, Your Majesty! Purge the rebels!"
The infernal puppets known as the "Holy Guards" beat their black wings and dove downward, their red-hot chains coiling tightly around Clarence.
Clarence struggled frantically, the searing chains burning vivid scars into his flesh as he shrieked in agony, "Your Majesty, do not kill me! I have campaigned across the realm and risked life and limb for the kingdom for over twenty years!"
Yet the emotionless Holy Guards did not care in the slightest. Swinging their flaming broadswords, they severed Clarence's neck with swift brutality.
*Slash—*
The severed head rolled several times across the ground, the face frozen in disbelief even in death.
Never in his wildest dreams had Clarence imagined that as a decorated general who had guarded the south for years, he would be executed so casually.
A dead silence fell over Auguste; not a whisper could be heard.
Wilhelm's callous voice echoed across the city skies. "Do you see now? This is the fate of rebels!"
Under the gaze of every Thracian, Wilhelm stood clad in golden armor, grasping his spiraled spear. The six wings on his back spread wide, and the halo behind his head cast ten thousand beams of radiant light.
This "King of Angels" still appeared holy and majestic, like an incarnate scion of the Sun God, bestowing boundless light and warmth upon the world.
Yet surrounding Wilhelm were those infernal puppets with hollow eyes and crack-covered bodies, beating their black wings. The intertwining of light and darkness, holiness and wickedness, cast an unsettling aura over the scene.
Right then, a resonant roar sounded from the distance. Smaug threw back his head and bellowed as the Imperial dragon flock made its return. Wyverns of every kind beat their wings, surging toward the ramparts like a rising tide.
Wilhelm leveled his spiraled spear and roared, "Holy Guards, destroy these blasphemers!"
Before his voice had even faded, the swarm of infernal puppets dove in formation with terrifying speed, forming a mottled torrent across the sky that collided violently with the Empire's dragons.
In an instant, the power of Avernus erupted. Roaring hellfire surged skyward, blotting out the heavens. Countless wyverns were engulfed in flames, wailing as they plummeted toward the earth.
"Quench the flame of the enemy's hope, rule with an iron fist, the Dragon Lord above all!" Anthony raised his spear, leaped into the air, and thrust straight through an infernal puppet's heart.
The dragon-blessed paladins clashed their longswords against heavy shields with deafening clamor. Their resolute conviction and willpower coalesced once more into a massive phantom of a red dragon, lunging at the Holy Guards.
*Roar—*
The red dragon phantom unleashed a torrential dragon breath, instantly incinerating several infernal puppets to ash.
Yet the creatures knew no fear. Swarming the red dragon phantom, they struck with infernal energy, carving dense wounds into the illusion.
"For Thrace! For Holy Fadlan!" Tirena raised her sword of judgment, unleashing a pillar of light that soared into the sky. She led the angelic godblood into the fray, joining the Holy Guards in besieging the red dragon phantom.
The former chosen of the Sun God and righteous vanguards against evil were now fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with infernal puppets—a truly bitter irony.
The battle descended into ever-greater chaos, and even the players joined the melee. Floating with the Fly spell or leaping skyward with their formidable strength, they hunted down the airborne Holy Guards.
"Impudent demon, I saw through your disguise at a single glance—you're no human!"
Dawei Tianlong roared, kicking off the ramparts to launch himself over a hundred meters into the air.
Midair, the six-armed monk unleashed a flurry of fists that blurred into afterimages. His ferocious ki struck an infernal puppet with such force that it exploded in midair, black feathers scattering in every direction.
Gangtie Kuangchao grabbed hold of a large wyvern, riding its claws through the sky. Firing his bolter one-handed, he targeted a distant infernal puppet and shredded it in a storm of metal shrapnel.
Immediately after, he slung the bolter across his back, swung back and forth from the wyvern's talons, and used that monstrous explosive momentum to propel himself dozens of meters away. With his revving chainsword, he sliced another infernal puppet clean in two from the crown of its head.
*Boom!*
Gripping half of the destroyed puppet's corpse, the Dragonscale Marine landed on the ground in a stylish superhero pose.
"All forces, advance!"
"Fire!"
At the same time, the Imperial armored corps outside the city mounted a renewed assault. Colossal mechs strode forward, and hundreds of tanks thundered across the wasteland.
The distant mortar batteries opened fire in unison, raining devastating shells upon the ramparts of Auguste like a raging storm. The resulting explosions engulfed the walls in fire and thick smoke.
The ramparts shuddered violently, shedding showers of fractured masonry.
At this critical juncture, General Carlyle, commander of the Third Defense Sector, abruptly raised his sword and yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Everyone! We are the proud children of the Sun God, the remnants of Holy Fadlan!
"We will never stand with Hell, nor will we ever tolerate a king deceived by devils turning our kin, our friends—our fellow countrymen—into filthy, wretched puppets, selling away their souls!"
"Carlyle! You seek death!"
Wilhelm's face darkened, twisting into an expression of raw savagery. A crushing pressure descended from the sky, sweeping across the ramparts.
Even beneath that oppressive might, Carlyle gritted his teeth and endured, refusing to bend his knees.
His voice was hoarse, yet it rang out with unyielding power: "This is no extraordinary virtue—it is simply the bottom line that any true son of Fadlan must uphold! To protect it, I will gladly lay down my life!"
General Carlyle pointed his sword at Wilhelm in the sky. Though his eyes were weary, they burned with unmatched resolve.
"In the name of Lord Amaunator, I pronounce judgment! That creature blinded by power, led into darkness by devils, who sacrificed his own subjects for his selfish desires, is no longer worthy to be our monarch!"
Like a martyr, he shouted, "For Amaunator, for Holy Fadlan, and for true light and justice! Attack!"
Instantly, the gates of the Third Defense Sector groaned open. General Carlyle's thousand-strong personal guard raised their weapons and charged the Holy Guards behind them.
Yet before the sky-blotting Holy Guards and the mighty, radiant King of Angels, they were like moths plunging into a flame.
Before long, however, the Imperial army poured through the gates of the Third Defense Sector into Auguste, joining forces with the mutinous Thracian soldiers and marching en masse toward Wilhelm.
"General Carlyle..."
"Did... did he rebel?"
Many more Thracians stood frozen in place, bewildered, torn between loyalty to their crowned sovereign and allegiance to the general fighting for justice and truth.
Even Tirena was stunned, softly sighing for her former brother-in-arms.
Watching the soldiers turn on him on the battlefield, Wilhelm's flawless countenance warped, his solar irises blazing with suppressed fury and boundless hatred.
"Carlyle, I held you in such high regard, yet you have betrayed my trust."
At last, the king intervened personally. Wilhelm beat his six wings and slowly raised the Spear of Final Judgment. Its sharp tip gleamed with golden brilliance, aiming directly at Carlyle in the distance.
"I will use your corpse to make everyone in Auguste understand—I am the kingdom! I am Thrace! I am Fadlan! Death is the only end for any who defy me!"
Before his voice had even died away, golden light coalesced in the sky into a colossal spear over twenty meters long, resembling a divine instrument meant to pass judgment on mortal souls.
Facing the overwhelming aura bearing down on him, Carlyle panted heavily, his legs trembling as he forced himself to stand straight.
He raised his head, his eyes reflecting the brilliant radiance, without a trace of fear. "False king... your reign... will ultimately be overthrown by the true sun!"
Hearing this, Wilhelm's eyes widened, a furious fire erupting from his gaze. "I am the true heir of Fadlan!"
*Boom—*
A thunderous rumble shook the heavens as Wilhelm thrust his spiraled spear forward, its sharp tip piercing the fabric of space.
The colossal spear formed of golden light descended like a rainbow piercing the sky. Holy though it was, it carried terrifying momentum meant to slaughter all in its path.
Just a hundred meters above the ground, it split into over a thousand spears of light, densely blanketing the sky as they rained down upon Carlyle and his loyal soldiers.
"I will never bow to a false king!"
Carlyle roared, swinging his sword with the last ounce of his strength.
*Squelch—*
The sound of tearing flesh rang out.
Carlyle stiffened. A thick spear of light pierced his chest, leaving a massive hole where his heart had been, incinerating it to ash.
Coughing up mouthfuls of blood, he rasped out his final words: "Wilhelm, the true sun... will stop you..."
With that, Carlyle collapsed to the ground, still gazing toward the north in death, as though trying to see past the thick smoke to the obscured sun.
Around him, all one thousand of his loyal soldiers lay dead, their chests impaled, their blood pooling into crimson rivulets.
Slaying thousands in a single strike—such was the might of the "King of Angels." Witnessing this horrific sight, the wavering Thracian soldiers trembled, suppressing their rebellious thoughts.
"Insolent mortals..."
Wilhelm looked coldly upon the dead Carlyle, raised the Spear of Final Judgment, and growled with suppressed fury, "This is the fate of defying me!
"People of Thrace, submit to me and pledge your loyalty to the true sun, and I shall lead you to the revival of Holy Fadlan!"
Seeing her opportunity, Tirena raised her sword and shouted, "Long live His Majesty Wilhelm! Revive Holy Fadlan!"
"Long live Thrace!"
"For Holy Fadlan!"
Under the sheer terror of death, the Thracian soldiers took up the cheer, rushing toward the Third Defense Sector to stem the Imperial assault.
Right then, a voice rang out from the horizon.
"The true sun?
"Heh, there is no sun in the Nine Hells of Baator—only an eternal sky of blood. And you, Wilhelm, are nothing more than a pathetic wretch dancing on Zariel's strings."
"Who? Who dares insult me so!" Wilhelm's expression warped with fury once more.
He turned wrathfully to the north, but his face suddenly shifted to shock and dread, as if he had caught sight of something that had no right to exist in this world.
"No, this is impossible... this cannot be!" Wilhelm shook his head, muttering under his breath.
"What is that?"
"Look!"
"Is that... the sun? But it's night right now—how could there be a sun? Has Lord Amaunator descended?!"
The Thracian soldiers broke into clamorous chatter, gazing northward in astonishment.
The distant sky suddenly ignited with radiance, the heavens looking like a sheet of grimy parchment set ablaze. Myriad beams of brilliant light washed over the earth, dispelling the gunsmoke and dense fog that choked the sky.
The intense sunlight fell upon the people, filling their bodies with a long-forgotten warmth, as though returning to the grand festivals of the Sun God. Even the damp soil dried out, sending up wisps of white steam from the ground.
The Thracians were struck with awe; it had been years since they had felt such sunlight.
Had the Sun God truly manifested? Or had a divine miracle descended?
Looking up in unison, they saw a scorching, blinding sun hanging high in the northern sky.
And before that sun, a colossal red dragon the size of a mountain hovered in the high heavens, slowly beating its wings as if bearing the sun upon its back, lifting it high into the sky.
The red dragon was bathed in a holy, shimmering gold, radiating an immensely suffocating dragon fear that filled every soul with an irresistible urge to bow down and submit.
"What in the world is..."
"Amaunator above..."
Gazing at the dragon and the sun in the sky, the Thracians were struck dumb, their hearts churned by towering waves of disbelief.
Chapter 707