Dawn brought daybreak, and daybreak symbolized justice triumphing over evil, bathing the world in light.
Arthur Ryan put little force into the blow, yet it sliced effortlessly through the celestial warrior's body.
A celestial warrior composed purely of Holy Light energy should have brushed off such an injury. For reasons unknown, however, Arthur's seemingly unremarkable strike inflicted a wound that refused to heal.
Longbadun Butuo's severed body plunged into the sea. Though he remained floating on the water's surface, the wound would not knit together no matter what.
Yet Longbadun Butuo did not struggle. Instead, he looked up at the opponent who had taken to the air once more and murmured in a feeble voice, "So it's you."
Arthur Ryan did not verbally acknowledge his identity, merely establishing a soul link with his former comrade-in-arms. Both were heroic spirits, capable of communicating through soul links just like the undead.
"Longbadun, it's been a long time."
Tiny motes of golden light spilled from Longbadun Butuo's eyes like tears.
"Big Brother Arthur, I've waited seventeen hundred years for you in the divine realm. I knew you wouldn't just vanish like that."
"I'm sorry, Longbadun. Back then, I failed to protect you all."
Arthur Ryan's body trembled. Longbadun Butuo had been only sixteen when he fell in battle, having always revered Arthur Ryan like his own brother. There had been a dozen or so youths like him, every one entrusting their lives to Arthur Ryan, but in the end, only two survived.
And not every fallen youth had worshipped the Lord of the Dawn, nor had each made it into a deity's divine realm. Many among them had seen even their souls obliterated, leaving not the slightest trace of their existence.
Yet such was the cruelty of war: it destroyed the finest things in the mortal realm right before your eyes, leaving you entirely powerless.
"It doesn't matter. None of us ever regretted setting foot on the battlefield, nor did we ever regret following you to overthrow that tyranny. We... Never mind, my time is running short. Big Brother Arthur, we'll be waiting for you in the divine realm. This time, you can't break your promise!"
Longbadun Butuo did not ask why Arthur Ryan was working for a lich. He trusted Arthur Ryan unconditionally, just as he had seventeen hundred years ago. Whatever upheaval unfolded in this mortal world, so long as Arthur Ryan was here, the dawn of hope would never fade.
Longbadun Butuo's form shattered completely, dissolving into tens of thousands of golden beams that soared into the sky. In the end, the celestial warrior returned to the Lord of the Dawn's divine realm.
It was not just the people of Ryan who were stunned—everyone witnessing this scene was struck dumb.
In many people's eyes, strength was judged by crude visual comparison. Much like pricking an elephant's hide with a needle: if the elephant could trample a warrior to death, then surely you holding that needle ought to be able to beat a warrior.
In short, people held a simplistic sense of hierarchy: if you could defeat someone, then none of that person's vanquished foes should be a match for you. Otherwise, either you had grown careless, or the match had been staged.
Without knowing Arthur Ryan's identity, watching a seemingly effortless sword slash sever the celestial warrior's body filled the Ryan soldiers with an unreal, baffling sense of bewilderment.
A single question echoed in their minds: *How? On what grounds?*
How could a paladin who didn't even dare give his name do this? A celestial warrior summoned through the combined power of an entire legion and seven legendary figures had been felled in a single stroke!
Yet in Anbaixiu's centuries of experience, even a simple Grease spell could make a legendary warrior slip and break his neck if timed and arranged properly... There was no rule that a veteran of a hundred battles was guaranteed to beat a novice, nor that defeating a hundred masters meant you couldn't capsize in an ordinary ditch.
Anbaixiu didn't understand the mechanics either. He had never had any affinity for the Holy Light, but he could tell that the power Arthur Ryan exerted in that strike was minuscule, several hundred times weaker than the celestial warrior's.
Still, it didn't matter that he didn't understand; beside him stood the ultimate authority when it came to combat—Gareth the Headless Horseman.
Gareth had also been watching the battle intently. When Anbaixiu asked, Gareth explained, "A remarkably ingenious sword technique, and sublime control over the Holy Light. He didn't just cut through the celestial warrior's body—he merged his own Holy Light into it, disrupting the circulation of the Holy Light within the warrior."
Anbaixiu was struck with sudden comprehension. It was like jamming an ill-fitting gear into a machine, causing it to malfunction and blow itself apart from within. Or like Anbaixiu's own forceful modification method: cramming a mess of extra parts into the Hourglass of Eternity, which hadn't strengthened the artifact at all, but rather impaired its power.
Though the principle sounded simple, using one's own Holy Light to disrupt the flow of someone else's was practically fantasy.
Take mages, for example: even with the aid of the Golden Throne, Anbaixiu could only unleash powerful spells; he could never send his own mana into another mage's body to disrupt their mana circulation.
It was impossible—hundreds of times harder than simply killing a mage.
"Arthur Ryan's control over the Holy Light could be called peerless among mortals. Isn't he practically waving a sign that he's the Lord of the Dawn's chosen?" Gareth mused with admiration. "I really want to fight him!"
Anbaixiu gave Gareth a look that said *don't even think about it*. He would never allow Gareth to fight Arthur Ryan, not even in a friendly spar.
Arthur Ryan was in a heroic spirit state; every battle consumed vast amounts of soul power, which relied entirely on Anbaixiu to replenish. Each bout cost Anbaixiu cold, hard cash to recharge him. A clash with someone like Gareth would be equivalent to fighting a war that could ruin a nation, and Anbaixiu would lose his shirt.
If Gareth's hands were itching for a fight, he could go beat up dragons for fun and leave Arthur Ryan alone.
Out on the sea, the Ryan forces lacked an expert like Gareth to explain what had happened; every one of them was steeped in the shock of defeat, unable to process it for several seconds.
Meanwhile, Arthur Ryan had risen from the sea once more, hovering in midair.
"I will say it once more: leave now, and no one will be harmed. But if you persist, I can make no guarantees."
Arthur Ryan's words made Cyril Roland flush with deep shame. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined they would lose so disastrously. The combined might of every soldier and legend present could not match a single casual strike from this man. Could he truly be even stronger than the Silvermoon Knight?
Was he really supposed to admit defeat?
Cyril Roland tightened his grip on the divine sword. Hovering above the sea, he drifted over to face Arthur Ryan.
"Who on earth are you? That such a powerful paladin exists in this world and I knew nothing of it... Are you a man of Ryan or not? Even if it costs me my life, I must have the answer."
Cyril Roland felt no fear. From the day he became a paladin, he had prepared himself for sacrifice.
No matter how strong the man before him was, he would not cower; he simply desperately wanted to know the truth.
Before that celestial warrior dissipated, he had said: "So it's you."
The celestial warrior had recognized this paladin. That meant he was most likely not an imposter; he was a genuine follower of the Lord of the Dawn. But why? Why would he serve as an enforcer for a lich? No matter how he looked at it, Cyril Roland could not believe the Holy Light would favor a paladin working for an undead lich.
This struck at the very core of his faith. He could not die in ignorance like this.
Arthur Ryan was taken aback, at a loss for words.
Seventeen hundred years ago, he had never been an eloquent speaker. Over all these long years, he had stayed cooped up inside the barrier without speaking to a soul, leaving him utterly unable to concoct a convincing excuse on the spot.
The more he said, the more likely he was to expose his identity. And once his identity was revealed, Ryan would fracture completely within days, after which neighboring nations would counterattack without hesitation. Ryan would inevitably be engulfed in war, and tens of thousands would perish because of him.
Arthur Ryan could not help looking up toward the sky veiled in darkness. *If it were that lich, he'd surely have an answer, wouldn't he?*
And Anbaixiu did not disappoint Arthur Ryan. From high in the sky came the lich's gloating laughter.
"O foolish paladins! Do you truly believe you lost so miserably because my subordinate is stronger? Is there any paladin in this world mightier than your Silvermoon Knight?"
Cyril Roland furrowed his brows in deep thought. They had already been routed so thoroughly, and now the lich was saying the opponent wasn't actually that strong? The lich was deliberately humiliating him!
True to form, Anbaixiu gave him no time to think, pressing on: "I told you before the battle began: let us see whether your Holy Light represents justice, or whether my subordinate stands on the side of righteousness. Now it is plainly obvious: the reason you lost is that justice is on my side!
"Formidable as my subordinate is, he is hardly powerful enough to single-handedly crush Ryan's seven legends. Do you still not understand? It is the Lord of the Dawn telling you that justice is on our side! That is why, drawing from the very same Holy Light, my subordinate needed only a single sword strike to resolve the matter, while the power you strained your lives to muster proved utterly fragile!
"Do you still not see? The Lord of the Dawn stands with me! It is He who tipped the scales of this battle! At this very moment, I, this lich, am the chosen of the Holy Light!"
At Anbaixiu's closing words, every Ryan soldier stared wide-eyed in disbelief. Even Cyril Roland nearly lost his grip on the Blood of Lathander. The Radiant General clutched his chest as an overwhelming wave of suffocation washed over him, turning his vision dark.
This lich claimed to be the chosen of the Lord of the Dawn?
Had any other lich spoken such words, Cyril Roland would have sneered and cut him down. But now, Cyril could not find a single argument to refute it.
Cyril Roland felt the worldview he had built over more than fifty years crumbling away.
If a lich truly represented justice, then what was he?
Just as his body swayed on the verge of collapsing, a firm hand caught his arm.
"Snap out of it, Cyril! Those are that lich's lies!" The voice of his closest friend, Lucas, boomed in his ear, finally restoring a shred of sanity to Cyril Roland.
Summoning the last dregs of his strength, Cyril Roland forced out a single order between his teeth: "All forces... retreat!"
It was not that he lacked the courage to draw his blade against his foe; rather, he simply had no idea whom he should be swinging his sword at anymore. Retreat first—at least to let himself calm down and think this through.
Chapter 405