The humans actually seized this moment to strike first. Visarius had not entirely ruled out the possibility, but when the city gates truly opened, his crimson pupils still contracted slightly.
This made no sense.
Alama’s relief force had been intercepted far beyond visual range. Threehill City’s magical communications had been completely jammed since the early days of the siege.
Logically, the defenders inside should have had no way of knowing reinforcements were coming.
Moreover, with himself personally overseeing the battle, even if today’s assault was lighter than usual, they should never dare a desperate counterattack.
What Visarius did not know was that all of this had been tipped off by Number Nine, who was currently begging Fifteen to bring it along.
Even so, faced with this sudden turn of events, the Blood Prince remained seated calmly atop his throne.
The army under his command still vastly outpowered Threehill City’s defenders. And besides…
“Watch out!”
In Fifteen’s horrified gaze, Duke Brennus suddenly stepped forward and slashed at Archbishop Ditas beside him.
Yet the Archbishop—who had long been silently gathering magic—was a fraction faster!
Light Prison!
Countless greatswords of holy light rained from the sky, trapping Brennus where he stood.
The Archbishop turned slowly, his robes snapping in the wind, eyes filled with sorrow. “Brennus… How I wished I would never have to use this spell on you.”
Brennus frantically tried to cleave the prison apart, only for the holy light to scorch his palms. “You… already knew?”
“You were never careful enough. The number of spies caught around your residence was several times higher than anywhere else,” Ditas said wearily. “We kept hoping you would come to your senses. But it seems… you have chosen to betray humanity after all.”
“Betray humanity? No! I only betrayed the kingdom!” Brennus roared. “Our resistance is meaningless! The dwarves and elves abandoned the alliance—they abandoned us! Why should humans face the demons alone? The harder we fight, the more die!”
His voice dropped. “Prince Visarius promised to preserve my title and lands. My people will be sheltered. That is the rational choice!”
He turned to the Sword Saint. “Airaven! Wake up! With your strength, if you submit to the Empire, your treatment will be far better than mine. That way you could save far more lives!”
He didn’t even bother trying to sway the Archbishop—the Empire would never spare the Church.
From the sky, Visarius extended an olive branch of his own. “He’s right, Airaven! Join the Empire. Not only could you protect humanity—with your talent, His Majesty would personally Embrace you! As a blood clan, your potential would be limitless. Your future status in the Empire might even surpass mine!”
Airaven rested one hand on his sword hilt, the other scratching the stubble on his chin, looking thoughtful. “Hmm… sounds pretty tempting?”
Fifteen stared in shock. “Master?!”
“But,” the Sword Saint suddenly grinned, eyes flashing with razor-sharp light, “right now I’d much rather chop off your heads!”
Fifteen saw only a blur. A sword beam that tore the earth itself shot past his sleeve, straight toward Brennus inside the light prison.
Where it passed, the ground was carved into a deep furrow.
Several blood serpents dove from mid-air, coiling around the deadly sword light.
The shockwave from the clash instantly shattered the light prison. Brennus was hurled several meters, coughing up blood.
Visarius descended slowly amid the wreckage, his blood-colored cape billowing without wind. “It seems clearing the blood poison has given you misplaced confidence, Airaven.”
The Sword Saint spun his blade in a flourish. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, you flying rat who only knows how to hide inside monsters and use poison!”
Airaven charged first, his figure becoming the sword itself, leaving a trail of afterimages.
Before the edge arrived, sword pressure had already plowed deep scars into the ground.
Visarius spread his wings furiously. Blood from the entire battlefield rose into the air, forming a sky of crimson mist that condensed into countless razor-sharp blood crystals. With a flick of his finger, the crystals rained down like a storm, clashing with the sword light in a chain of deafening explosions.
Every collision made onlookers’ eardrums ache. The shockwaves flung nearby soldiers—friend and foe alike—into the air.
“The Sword Saint’s strength… is only this much.”
The Prince sneered. The swirling blood vortex in his palm suddenly expanded, swallowing all light within a hundred paces.
Within the domain of darkness, Airaven closed his eyes and focused.
The moon-patterns on the Hazy Moon gradually lit up. Pure moonlight tore through the darkness.
No fancy techniques—just simple sword strokes like rising crescent moons. Wherever they passed, blood mist evaporated.
The two went from trading blows at range to clashing blade-to-claw. The ground collapsed beneath their feet. The Sword Saint’s robes were shredded by blood rain; the Prince’s cape gained several sword cuts.
When the Hazy Moon severed half of Visarius’s bat wing, the Prince’s claws left three bloody gashes across Airaven’s face.
Visarius’s chest heaved slightly. Despite his disdainful words, he had long since gone on full alert.
After one fierce exchange, he was inwardly shocked by the Sword Saint’s true strength.
If he didn’t go all out, he might actually fall here today.
And when Airaven drew the second sword at his waist, the Prince’s expression grew even darker.
Still, he held a significant advantage. This was war—not decided by a duel between commanders.
As long as Brennus could pin down the Archbishop, once the demon army annihilated the remaining human soldiers, they could surround and kill the Sword Saint with overwhelming numbers.
But then—thick fur suddenly burst from the gaps in the Church knights’ armor. From beneath their helmets came inhuman beastly roars.
The Blood Prince could no longer keep his composure.
“Werewolves?! You obtained that manuscript?!” He stared in shock at the grieving Archbishop, then threw his head back and laughed. “Good, good, good! I never imagined the Church of Light served the God of Light in this way!”
The lycanthropized holy knights stunned not only the demons but the human soldiers as well.
Those who days ago had grumbled about the Church warriors refusing to fight now stared speechless at the furry beast claws and crimson eyes before them.
Aside from Airaven and the Archbishop, only the Church warriors themselves knew the full plan.
Lycanthropy granted them berserk power, while the remnants of holy energy barely preserved their sanity—turning them into controllable war machines.
But the balance was fragile as spider silk. The beast nature would eventually devour reason. Thus, the black-mist potion contained not only the lycanthropy agent but also a lethal dose of potential-explosive drug.
It would let these Church warriors burn every ounce of life before death.
From the moment they drank it, they were already on the express road to the grave.
Yet the power they gained was terrifying.
Despite being vastly outnumbered, under the wolf-knights’ unstoppable charge the demon lines were actually torn open—and even began to retreat.
Sharp beast claws easily ripped through blood-clan armor. Wherever the wolf howls reached, demon soldiers quailed in fear.
Werewolves—the blood clan’s nearly forgotten ancient enemy—had returned before them in this bizarre fashion.
Lin Jun figured he might be eating well tonight. Either the Sword Saint or the Blood Prince—one of them was probably on the menu. The Prince had higher odds.
…
While Threehill City fought bathed in blood, subtle changes that would affect the war were quietly occurring across the continent.
After bitter fighting, the dwarven legions finally reclaimed the devastated Goldflame City from the rampaging elemental spirits.
When the last flame-wreathed elemental was driven back into the depths of the dungeon, they did not pursue. Instead, under the personal command of the Dwarf King, they sealed the dungeon entrance with molten mountain-copper.
Then the army—morale sky-high—suddenly turned west. An iron tide marched toward the demon border.
This long-overdue relief force had finally set out to aid humanity.
The blood-colored canopy that had departed Duskfall Fortress was moving south, crossing High Fort and heading straight for Threehill City.
On the half-fallen western coast of the kingdom, gray-white mist had begun creeping inland…
(End of Chapter)
