Lucian rode upon Torrent, galloping across the vast expanse of the Wailing Dunes.
Under the crimson sky of Caelid, the endless desert stretched outward all the more magnificently.
No matter which direction one turned their gaze, all that could be seen were boundless dunes, rolling and heaving without end, as if the sea itself had risen in waves of sand.
And scattered across those dunes were broken weapons and shattered armor, remnants of soldiers who had once fought here, still echoing with the battle cries and unyielding will of long ago—as though the desert itself had chosen to preserve those memories of war.
At the very heart of this sea of sand stood the overwhelming figure of General Radahn.
Whether it was his colossal body, or the display of archery he had shown just moments before, both were enough to chill the hearts of all who witnessed him.
His muscles bulged with terrifying power, his face was twisted and ferocious. Even as the scarlet rot gnawed into his flesh, it could not suppress the indomitable aura that radiated from him.
He had no need of war songs to bolster him—the roars of the warriors themselves were already the most fitting testimony to this battle.
Upon this land of rippling sand, this battle was destined to become a legend that could never be erased.
Lucian could not restrain the excitement boiling within him, every drop of blood in his body surging and burning.
In the Lands Between, the difference between tiers of strength was beyond imagination.
Only by reaching the level of demigods such as Morgott or Radahn could one truly claim to possess power that influenced the very world itself.
And compared to such true demigod power—just how strong was he now?
Lucian's heart pounded violently with exhilaration, his eyes reddened as blood rushed through them.
This battlefield—this was exactly the kind of battlefield he longed for.
Torrent's speed was swift, and thus Radahn's first wave of arrows had not fallen upon Lucian, who rode far in the lead, but instead rained down upon the warriors behind him.
Through that, Lucian came to witness for himself the terrifying might of those gravity-infused arrows—attacks that to ordinary warriors were weapons of massacre.
But rather than feel fear, this only made Lucian's excitement burn brighter.
Yes, this was how it should be. This was the skill that General Radahn ought to wield.
As the strongest sorcerer of gravity in the Lands Between, such techniques were rightfully his.
After that first strike, Radahn too had taken note of the lone rider who had charged ahead—Lucian.
He had already realized that this one must be dealt with first.
Even in his madness, even with his mind clouded and fraying, his mastery of battle and martial instinct were so deeply carved into his body that they had become instinct itself.
Thus Radahn, with a beast's intuition, immediately made the most precise of decisions.
Once more he tore free from his body a blood-stained Cleanrot Knight's Spear and set it upon his great bow.
But this time, Radahn did not shoot toward the heavens. Instead, he leveled the spearhead straight at Lucian, locking his sights upon him alone.
The colossal bow bent to its utmost, the curve of the wood like a full moon.
From deep beneath the ground, countless fragments of stone rose into the air, gathering and fusing themselves upon the Cleanrot Knight's Spear.
The shards gave the weapon an unimaginable weight, and with that weight came unparalleled destructive power under the monstrous strength of Radahn's arms.
With a thunderous sound splitting the air, the spear hurtled across the desert, whistling death straight toward Lucian.
The stone-wrapped spear churned the sand beneath it into a storm, the shockwave gouging a trench across the ground. If struck, the victim would be smashed into a thousand broken pieces.
Lucian swung forth the Dragon Slayer Swordspear, reforged and strengthened to +18 by Master Iji himself.
The reinforced Swordspear met the heavy projectiles in precise collision, deflecting it upward with great force.
Lucian was marveling at Radahn's sheer strength, but in that instant, the stones wrapped around the shaft suddenly burst apart, scattering in a deadly storm.
Catching him unprepared, shards struck Lucian across face and body, leaving bloody cuts.
He reached up, plucked a fragment embedded between the seams of his armor, and wiped the blood that streaked across his cheek.
With his tremendous vitality, the wounds began to knit themselves slowly closed.
Because Lucian had knocked the spear upward, Torrent had escaped with only a few minor grazes.
But the riders behind him had not been so fortunate.
Several were badly injured by the storm of shrapnel. One particularly unlucky warrior had his horse struck in the leg, sending both man and steed tumbling across the dunes in a series of brutal rolls.
Torrent, however, pushed harder, undeterred by his small wounds, surging forward without pause.
Even so, upon this vast desert, the distance to Radahn still remained daunting.
Yet riding Torrent, Lucian was both the strongest and the swiftest among them.
He believed it necessary to reach Radahn's side immediately, to prevent him from loosing further arrows.
The warriors may have resolved themselves to die, but that did not mean Lucian would watch idly as they threw away their lives in vain.
At this moment Radahn had already pulled free another spear, setting it upon his bowstring.
Lucian had no means of striking at such a distance—his sorceries could not reach nearly so far as Radahn's bow.
But there was one method left to him.
He judged the distance carefully. Yes, it seemed just barely enough.
His right hand reversed its grip on the Dragon Slayer Swordspear, his body twisting as he extended his arm far back.
Storm gathered, lightning crackling upon the spear. Then, upon its surface, black and white flame flickered to life.
When the power reached its limit, Lucian seized upon the instant Radahn drew his bow, and hurled the spear with all his might.
The sheer force of it jolted Torrent mid-stride, staggering his pace for half a beat.
The spear tore through the air like a meteor, wind shrieking around it as it streaked across the Wailing Dunes in a black-and-white blaze, leaving behind a trail of orange lightning.
Radahn reacted at once, but the act of drawing the bow could not so easily be abandoned.
He was forced to loose prematurely, the arrow flying before the string had reached its full draw.
Even so, his skill was such that the Cleanrot Knight's Spear he fired still met Lucian's weapon in mid-air.
But how could a half-drawn arrow hope to contend with Lucian's Swordspear, carrying threefold power within it?
The instant they collided, the ancient Cleanrot Knight's Spear shattered to pieces.
Yet Radahn's shot was not in vain—the trajectory of the Dragon Slayer Swordspear was deflected.
What should have pierced his chest instead ripped through his right shoulder, carving a gaping wound before burying itself deep in the dunes beyond, only the shaft protruding.
Blood did not gush from the hole, for black flame still clung to the charred flesh, burning relentlessly.
Radahn threw back his head and roared.
Before Lucian's eyes, the torn flesh writhed and regrew, muscles knitting back together with unnatural speed. In mere seconds, his body had recovered enough to move freely once more.
Lucian frowned.
The regenerative power granted by Radahn's Great Rune was truly monstrous.
Compared to the Infinite Health of the Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, it was inferior, yet still terrifying in its own right.
No wonder Radahn, stricken by the most virulent scarlet rot, had endured so long, his body remaining so formidable even now.
Were it not for the rot's erosion of his mind and will, its physical damage alone would have been negligible.
But no matter. Lucian had never expected to slay General Radahn so easily.
Though the strike had missed his vitals, the wound at his shoulder and neck had torn the trapezius muscle, leaving him unable to draw the great bow again immediately.
Those brief dozens of seconds would be more than enough for Lucian to close the distance.
At this range, Radahn would scarcely have time for one final arrow.
Yet rather than fire, Radahn seemed to crave close combat.
From afar he stowed away his bow.
His hands spread wide, violet gravity shimmering around them.
Two colossal greatswords answered his call, tearing free from their burial beneath the dunes and flying into his grasp.
And beneath him—Leonard, his emaciated horse, companion through countless battles.
Scarlet rot tormented the beast just as it did its master, and yet it never abandoned him, just as Radahn never abandoned it.
Feeling its rider's will upon its back, Leonard charged forward, carrying him toward Lucian.
With gravity ever lifting the weight from its limbs, Leonard bore no burden, able to run beside Radahn through battle after battle.
As they thundered forth, Radahn summoned from the earth countless massive boulders, levitating them, then hurling them madly toward Lucian.
Lucian drew the Sword of Night and Flame, pouring power into it.
Its glintstone shone bright, releasing a ring of blades that met the stones in the air, shattering several.
Torrent weaved left and right, agilely avoiding the rest.
Boulders crashed into the dunes, gouging deep craters.
Lucian raised the Dragon Communion Seal, summoning a massive dragon's head before him.
Flames roared forth, scorching the sands into glittering shards of glass.
But Radahn simply lifted Leonard into the air with gravity, flying upward to evade.
Spinning like a whirlwind, he became a living drill, descending upon Lucian.
Torrent surged forward, dashing just out of reach, the gravity spin tearing into empty sand.
Lucian wheeled about, casting flame from the Sword of Night and Flame in counterattack.
Radahn slammed into the ground, wreathed in fire and storm, yet shrugged it off as if nothing.
In that moment of close contact, Lucian at last felt the immensity of Radahn's frame.
Even with his own form enlarged by a Great Rune, he stood a third shorter.
Leonard looked pitifully small beneath Radahn, though in truth the horse's bones were larger even than those of Tree Sentinels' and Night's Cavalry's steeds.
It was only the beast's terrible emaciation that gave such an illusion of smallness.
Lucian pulled Torrent back a little further.
He poured tremendous magic into the Sword of Night and Flame. Power surged, bursting forth as a torrent of comet-light.
Radahn's size made it impossible to evade. The beam speared through his side.
Meanwhile, the knights had reached him as well, striking with their weapons in turn.
Mindless, Radahn turned at once upon them, lashing out.
Seeing his strike land, Lucian did not press on recklessly, but turned aside, widening the distance again.
He drank deep from a flask of Cerulean Tears to replenish his FP—when suddenly the ground shook violently beneath him, as though an earthquake were about to erupt.
Torrent sensed it too, immediately breaking into a desperate run, leaping twice in hopes of escaping the area.
But the range was too vast—even Torrent's speed could not carry them clear.
From below erupted countless stone blades, stabbing upward to cover a hundred-meter span around Radahn.
Their edges gleamed sharp enough to pierce through flesh with ease.
Caught in the air, Torrent could not evade, and so dissolved into spirit-form, narrowly avoiding death.
Lucian, however, seized hold of one stone blade with his hand.
His dragonhide glove was sliced apart at once, blood gushing from his palm.
Clinging to that precarious foothold, he looked around.
The warriors and horses who had been near Radahn were all run through, their bodies impaled upon the stone pillars, blood cascading down in streams.
The infantry, slower to arrive, had escaped by sheer fortune.
But the cavalry was all but annihilated. Only a handful had managed to grasp onto stones and save themselves.
Yet as they struggled to descend, horror struck them—
The blades had not stopped growing.
The stone continued to extend upward, tracking each man's position, spearing one after another.
The survivors screamed, but soon enough, all were pierced, joining the slaughter.
Lucian could do nothing for them. Here, too, he himself was in dire straits.
He leapt from blade to blade, scrambling to escape.
Several times the spikes grazed him, cutting deep wounds.
But none had yet pinned him.
At last, upon the highest edge of the field, he saw an opening.
Wind gathered around him. He leapt with all his might, bursting free from the forest of stone.
Even as he escaped, one final massive spike surged upward, aiming straight for him.
He slashed the Sword of Night and Flame along its length, deflecting himself aside, sparks flying until he tumbled back to the ground.
With Lucian's escape, Radahn let the formation collapse, no longer expending power to maintain it.
The pillars crumbled, returning to rubble.
He could have summoned them again—but chose not to.
For now Radahn himself had closed the distance.
Blood still poured from the comet-wound through his side. Such a gash could not heal in moments.
But it did not slow his attack.
The twin Starscourge Greatswords swept out, gravity waves crawling across the earth, upheaving stone.
Behind him, spheres of violet gravity floated into being.
It was Radahn's most feared technique—Starcaller Cry.
Lucian leapt high, summoning dragon's claws to hold himself aloft, raking through the orbs and scattering them.
But though the spheres dispersed, their gravity clung, pulling him down mid-air.
Radahn's great blades came sweeping in.
Lucian frowned, his face grim.