The altar rune quaked violently, its blue light flashing against the stone
walls until the chamber was blinding. The air grew heavy, suffused with the
pressure of a thousand screaming souls without voice. From the seams of
darkness, shadows seeped down like dripping black blood, thickening into
armored figures. Shadow Sentinels—Malphas's soldiers of the void. Their crimson
eyes glowed, black blades drawn, their footsteps soundless though they struck
the stone floor.
At the altar's heart, a tall figure stood cloaked, a skull mask hiding his
face, a black staff etched with bleeding runes gripped in his hand. His voice
rasped, echoing through the cavern as though it rose from the earth itself.
"I am the Keeper of the Altar. These souls belong to King Malphas. You are
nothing but a foolish guest who will be buried here tonight."
Arthur drew the Valorian Sword. The black-silver katana shimmered faintly as
qi coated its blade.
"These souls belong to no one. They will be free."
The warlock slammed his staff into the floor. Shadows sharpened into spears,
lancing forward from every direction. Arthur leapt ahead, his katana flashing,
steel ringing against the thrum of darkness. Two Sentinels struck together,
their black swords glinting cold. Arthur spun, his blade cutting once—one body
burst into smoke.
But more kept coming. Three emerged from behind, two leapt from the flanks.
Arthur drew a deep breath, hand reaching for the second hilt across his back. A
pale brown katana unsheathed—Fang of the Earth, forged from the bone of an
ancient bear, its edge glimmering in the altar's firelight.
Two blades gleamed as one. Arthur's body loosened, his movements flowing
with unseen rhythm.
From behind, Alaric whispered in awe. "That's… the Dual Blade Dance."
Arthur moved like a dancer. He bent low, one blade slashing forward, Fang
sweeping back without even a glance. Two enemies fell at once. He leapt,
twisting midair, blades crossing in a deadly arc—three Sentinels split apart
before their feet touched the ground. He landed on one knee, body spinning low,
blades sweeping in a circle, severing the legs of those who closed in.
Every motion was a strike. Every breath, a death. The Dual Blade Dance
turned the narrow altar chamber into a stage of slaughter.
The warlock roared, shadows from his staff coalescing into a dragon of
smoke. Its maw gaped wide, howling.
Arthur did not falter. He spun, twin blades crossing, cleaving straight
through the dragon's head. An explosion of black mist rocked the cavern.
The last Sentinel dropped from above. Arthur fell backward, Fang driving up,
the Valorian Sword sweeping sideways. The shadow split in midair, vanishing
before it struck ground.
Seliora clasped her mouth, eyes wide. "He… he's truly dancing."
Arthur rose, both katanas in hand, breath ragged but gaze cold. I am not
only a king. I am the sword of my people.
The warlock shrieked, pouring the altar's energy in a final gambit to
explode the chamber. Arthur charged, his body a whirlwind—both blades pierced
through at once. The skull mask cracked, the body torn apart, devoured by the
runes themselves.
The altar shuddered violently. Arthur drove both swords into the stone, the
Heavenly Valoria Technique channeling through his body. The Oculus projected
the rune's pattern in the air, guiding him to separate the flow of souls from
the flow of the barrier.
Just a little more… hold on…
The blue light fractured. Outside, the barrier of Dravenloch cracked, then
collapsed like glass under a hammer. The chorus of trapped souls ended,
replaced by a sigh of relief. The bound citizens of Ethereal fell limp to the
ground, alive though weak.
Arthur knelt, blood spilling from his lips, his katanas still buried in the
floor.
"Dravenloch… is free."
Outside the city, the night air trembled with the roar of thousands. With
the barrier broken, Dravenloch lay open—and Valoria surged in.
But the Ethereal did not surrender. From homes, alleys, and towers, their
soldiers fought savagely. Arrows rained from rooftops, spears lunged from
overturned carts. Firebombs fell from windows, igniting Valoria's front lines.
Caught in the chaos, civilians panicked, clutching children and scant
belongings, rushing for escape. The flood of bodies slammed into Ethereal's own
troops, shattering formations. Some soldiers abandoned their posts to protect
family; others froze at the sight of their homes in flames.
Lionel Stormward seized the chance. He raised his greatsword and bellowed,
"Roderic! Use the gap! Push the left wing!"
Captain Roderic roared back, blade cleaving wide. "Forward!"
Valoria's core forces drove ahead. The panic of civilians tore holes in
Ethereal's defense. Families collided with soldiers, fire spread, order
dissolved.
Lionel crashed through the line, bronze shield smashing faces aside, his
sword carving arcs of blood. Flames consumed rooftops, smoke smothered the
moon, the stench of ash and iron filling every breath.
The battle raged for nearly an hour. Streets became rivers of fire and
blood. Ethereal's resolve cracked—some surrendered, others fled.
A roar of triumph rose from Valoria, echoing across the city.
Lionel halted in the plaza, panting, blood dripping from his blade.
"Dravenloch… is ours."
The king had been right. Even before the first sword swung, Arthur had
broken the enemy from within.
Within the altar, the echoes of battle reached faintly. Arthur still knelt,
channeling qi to stabilize the runes. Souls once bound now lay unconscious but
breathing.
At his side, Marcel fretted. "Your Majesty… you must rest."
Arthur shook his head weakly, lips curving in a thin smile. There is no
time for that.
Heavy steps approached. Lionel entered, helm dusted, sword still wet. He
dropped to one knee.
"Your Majesty, the city is ours. The remaining Ethereal soldiers have
surrendered or fled."
Arthur's eyes lingered on the fractured altar. "This barrier gave us the
answer. We cannot keep throwing lives away by infiltrating. From now on, we
bring barriers down from outside—through resonance."
Lionel bowed. "Your command?"
Arthur rose slowly, gripping both blades. "We march to the next city.
Nightveil will fall—not by the blood of its people, but because we have found a
better way."
Outside, the roar of Valoria's soldiers thundered into the altar. Arthur
turned his gaze north, his eyes hard with resolve.
Dravenloch had fallen. Tomorrow, Nightveil would follow.
Far west, the sky burned. Watchtowers on Sunstones' border crumbled, flames
devouring timber. Solaris siege engines thundered, hurling stones that smashed
walls to rubble.
King Barthol Van Stones stood upon the ruins, blood streaking his brow.
"Hold! Do not let them through!"
But the walls were gone. Solaris troops surged like a black flood, armor
glinting under firelight.
A commander stumbled forward, face caked in dust.
"Your Majesty, we cannot hold! They've breached the lines!"
Barthol gritted his teeth. The walls had fallen. The battle was lost. But
Sunstones must not be consumed whole.
"Retreat! All forces fall back to Ironvale! Do not let Solaris devour us
here—we make our stand at the fortress!"
Horns blared the signal. Sunstones withdrew in order, Riverbend covering
with volleys of arrows, Veritas knights forming white shields against Solaris
shafts.
Ironvale loomed ahead, its black walls unbroken. Barthol stared grimly. We
lost today. But Ironvale will be the first true wall.
On the hills above, Kael Solaris stood atop a siege tower, eyes gleaming at
the retreat. A thin smile curved his lips.
"Look at them run. Ironvale will only be a larger tomb."
He raised his obsidian spear, firelight gleaming off the blade.
"Forward! Tonight we carve history. Ironvale will fall, and the western Etheria
will belong to Solaris!"
The roar of thousands surged behind him, a storm of steel and shadow ready
to consume the world.