Bliss Fortress, once the steel bastion guarding the border, was now nothing but a burning ruin.
The stench of gunpowder mixed with blood was enough to make one nauseous; the city walls had collapsed in many places, and the soldiers of the garrison leaned against the broken gaps, their eyes empty, faces smeared with blood, all that remained was numb despair.
Scorched marks left by magical explosions could be seen everywhere. The archers’ quivers had long been emptied—they could only draw their nicked swords, putting up a futile resistance.
The commander of the fortress, General Barton, stood atop the main gate tower, propped up by a broken longsword.
His breastplate was dented, his left arm wrapped in a crudely bandaged cloth, and the oozing blood had stained it a deep red.
He gazed out at the surging tide of the Novich Army, a trace of bitterness curling at the corner of his mouth.
He truly couldn’t understand—when the seal on the Abyss was about to break, why would any empire, for the sake of a few worthless gains, attack another?
The world was sinking into chaos; what good could it possibly do for that Emperor?
The only possibility he could think of was that the Emperor had already been controlled by a Demon.
But even that thought was so terrifying that he only dared think it, not say it aloud.
“General! The east wall… has fallen!”
A deputy, face covered in blood, stumbled over, his voice urgent.
Barton did not turn around; he only gripped the broken sword more tightly.
He had long since sent the final plea for help to the Empire. According to the reply, the legendary Rose Knights should already have reached Bliss Fortress.
But as of now, they had not arrived.
Could it be that something had happened?
Barton’s heart gradually sank. He, too, was a commander from the Imperial Capital, and he had naturally heard of the infamous reputation of Saintess Isavel.
So his first thought was that the Saintess had gone back on her word and hadn’t sent the Rose Knights.
If that was the case, Bliss Fortress was doomed.
Just then, within the Novich formation, a general clad in ornate armor strode forth, using magic to broadcast his arrogant voice across the battlefield:
“Barton! And all you idiots still hiding in the fortress! Stop counting on your Order of Knights!
“Latest news—the Rose Knights under the Saintess’s command are currently enjoying the scenery in Snow City, a thousand miles away! You lot have been tossed aside like garbage by Isavel and the entire Aos Empire!”
These words were the final straw that broke the camel’s back, snuffing out the last light in the defenders’ eyes.
Many dropped their weapons, slumping to the ground, their faith crumbling.
The deputy’s hand tightened slightly around his sword hilt.
He looked at Barton, pleading, “General! What should we do?!”
After a moment’s thought, Barton also used magic to let his voice carry over the battlefield: “Hold the fortress! This is nothing but a trick by the enemy to break our spirit!”
As he spoke, he raised his broken sword high. Sunlight struck the jagged edge, flashing a dazzling light.
But soon, another Messenger, wiping the blood from his face, rushed to Barton’s side, anxiously saying, “But, but General, we’ve also received word—”
“Shut up!”
Barton cut him off immediately, gazing at the onrushing Novich Army. He took a deep breath and said,
“I don’t believe the Empire would abandon us! And I especially don’t believe Her Majesty the Queen would forsake the people behind us!”
He closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, he prepared to give the order for a final charge.
Meanwhile, at the rear of the Novich Army, a general named Gustav gazed greedily at the ruined fortress ahead, calculating his plans for after the conquest, as if the fortress was already his.
Of course, the main objective of this assault was not simply to capture the fortress.
Thinking of this, Gustav lifted his head to glance at the empty sky, his smile growing ever more maniacal.
The signal horn for Novich’s all-out assault sounded beneath his deranged grin.
Yet, just as the charging Novich soldiers were about to crash through the battered gates, and Barton was leading his men to lay down their lives in defense—
A wild gale swept across the battlefield, and the sky inexplicably darkened.
It wasn’t that clouds had blocked out the sun—this was a purer darkness, devouring the sunlight above the fortress at a speed barely visible to the naked eye, as if someone had torn down the curtain of night and forced it over the battlefield.
In that instant, everyone on the field, whether from the Novich Army or the Aos Empire, looked up to the sky without realizing it.
Then, they saw a silhouette in black in the sky above.
A magnificent black dress fluttered in the wind, like an evil blossom blooming in the night.
The woman’s face was expressionless, her deep eyes gazing coldly down at the battlefield, exuding a transcendent, indifferent aura that was beyond mortal comprehension.
“That’s… that’s the Saintess! Lady Isavel!”
An Aos Empire soldier muttered, disbelief thick in his voice.
Barton said nothing, but his hand clenched the sword hilt so tightly it shook, betraying his excitement within.
He knew it. The Queen of the Aos Empire, the Saintess of the Oracle Hall, would never abandon them!
“Why is she here? Where are the Rose Knights?”
Novich’s general Gustav was shocked at first, but when he sensed she was alone, the sneer at his lips only deepened.
“Isavel! You came here alone? Are you here to be buried with this ruined fortress?!”
Isavel ignored him. She swept her gaze across the Novich soldiers, her cool, clear voice echoing across the field.
“Looks like I’ve come at just the right time. Norwich Empire, you finally couldn’t hold back, could you?”
Gustav was enraged at her disregard. He raised his sword and bellowed for an assault.
After a few seconds’ hesitation, the soldiers around him unleashed a barrage of arrows and magic at Bliss Fortress.
But in the next instant, all the arrows and spells slammed into an invisible wall and vanished without a ripple, leaving both sides’ soldiers dumbstruck.
The Saintess had made her move?
“Isavel! T-this isn’t proper! The Oracle Hall shouldn’t interfere in mortal wars!” Gustav roared, veins bulging on his forehead with anger.
Isavel’s reply remained calm.
“This is not a mortal war.”
As she spoke, she spread her arms. A divine presence swept the battlefield with the raging wind.
In the eyes of ordinary people, it was as if a goddess had descended.
“Norwich Empire has colluded with Demons, attempting to swallow up other empires and rule humanity. If you still consider yourselves human, do not continue to aid the wicked.”
The battlefield was plunged into an enigmatic silence, then erupted into a clamor.
The soldiers of the Aos Empire finally understood why the Norwich Empire had attacked now; Barton’s face darkened with anger, wishing he could chop off the Emperor of Norwich Empire’s head with his own hands.
In people’s hearts, the Oracle Hall had always represented the goddess; the Saintess was her messenger on earth. So when she spoke, people instinctively believed her.
Thus, even the Novich soldiers began to hesitate.
After all, if their own empire truly had been taken over by Demons, wouldn’t their current actions make them accomplices to evil?
They didn’t believe that helping Demons rule humanity would bring them any reward.
Under the Saintess’s cold gaze, Gustav’s lips twitched, and guilt flashed across his face, but he quickly gathered himself and shouted,
“Don’t be fooled! The Norwich Empire would never collude with Demons! The Oracle Hall slanders us! They’re only interfering because the Queen of the Aos Empire ordered it!”
“They are no longer above mortal affairs! Today, what we must do is remind the Oracle Hall of its true place!”
Yet his words did nothing to rekindle the shattered morale of the Novich soldiers.
On the contrary, it only further convinced them that the Norwich Empire had truly fallen into demonic hands.
After all, if it were a lie, how could General Gustav dare speak to the Oracle Maiden like that?
On any other day, such insolence would cost him his rank.
Seeing his men still wavering, their fighting spirit gone, Gustav narrowed his eyes and dropped the pretense.
“Hmph! Anyone who dares retreat now, think of your families! Believe me, His Majesty the Emperor does not want to see so many deserters.”
A threat!
A naked threat!
Many Novich soldiers gritted their teeth and raised their swords again.
Isavel considered raising her delicate hand to kill Gustav, but was stopped by the sudden appearance of three people.
Or rather, it wasn’t entirely sudden—Isavel had sensed their presence from the start.
She sized them up, then unexpectedly revealed a sweet smile.
“So, you were ready for this.”
For these three to dare stand in her way, they were clearly all Demigods with magic levels above 90.
It was all a scheme by the Norwich Empire.
The assault on Bliss and Snow City Fortresses, the advance into the Aos Empire— these were merely bait to lure the Saintess of the Oracle Hall into a trap set to kill her.
The leader of the three, a man with a single horn on his forehead, didn’t look quite human. He bowed to Isavel, a gentle smile at his lips.
“It’s our honor to face the Saintess in battle.”
The other two Demigods—one, a woman in a long gown who wielded ice, the other, a burly man with a massive frame—stood there radiating such overwhelming magical pressure that it was hard for any soldier below to breathe.
“Three Demigods—Norwich Empire, you truly overestimate me. But… do you realize that by doing this, you are betraying humanity?”
“Betraying humanity? That’s not for you to decide. We’ve just made a deal with the Demons. Once you’re dead and the Oracle Hall is destroyed, we’ll wipe out the Demons ourselves.”
The horned man shook his head, that smile never fading, as if nothing could ever surprise him.
“How old are you all now, and still so naïve?”
With a wave of her delicate hand, the black hem of Isavel’s dress danced as a pitch-black longsword appeared in her grasp.
Feeling the chill of the sword hilt, a trace of nostalgia flashed through her eyes.
Since becoming a Demigod and the Saintess of the Oracle Hall, she had not wielded this blade for a long, long time; even if she did, it was only its shadow.
Now, finally, they could fight side by side again.
Her eyes shone with a bewitching light, her smile grew sweeter—and more dangerous.
“Come, show me just how strong the pillars of the Norwich Empire really are!”
“Hah! You talk big. We weren’t afraid of you before, much less now that you’re wounded!”
The burly man roared, and the ground trembled. Dirt clung to his body, shaping him into the form of a legendary Evil Dragon.
At this, Isavel let out a cold snort.
She hadn’t particularly tried to hide her injury, but she hadn’t expected word of it to spread so quickly—even to the Emperor of Norwich Empire.
It seemed the Demons truly were putting in effort to eliminate her.
The ice woman lifted her slender hand, and in an instant, the entire battlefield was swallowed by the Ice Domain. Air froze; even the flow of magic became sluggish.
“Saintess, your soul will be entombed in ice here!”
The horned man did not simply watch, either. With a sweep of his sleeve, countless bolts of lightning formed spears, piercing the darkness that Isavel had brought and locking onto that solitary black figure in the sky.
Facing this world-ending assault, General Barton’s face turned ashen.
“Bastards! Traitors to humanity!”
Three Demigods attacking together—in his eyes, the outcome was already decided.
He had thought the appearance of the Oracle Maiden would bring hope, but now, everything was back to the same despair as before…
Yet, at the center of the storm, Isavel merely brushed aside the hem of her black dress, swaying in the breeze.
She didn’t even bother to look up at the three Demigods, as if they were just noisy supporting actors on a stage.
“Are you done with your lines?” Her red lips parted, voice quiet but somehow overwhelming thunder and tempest. “If you’re done, it’s time to depart.”
She raised her pitch-black sword and, with a gentle motion, brought it down toward the ice woman.
No magic. No explosion. No sound. The Ice Domain conjured by the woman was simply negated, as if by a higher law, and together with its caster, she was sliced in two.
“No… Impossible…”
For the first time, terror twisted the ice woman’s beautiful face. She tried to summon her magic to resist, but no matter how hard she tried, her power refused to obey.
Because at the instant she was divided, she was already dead.
What lingered now was merely an echo of consciousness not yet scattered.
Soon, her words stopped abruptly. Her flesh and blood dissolved into a rain of crimson, spattering the soldiers of the Norwich Empire and General Gustav, plunging them into a long silence.
A Demigod—just like that… died?
They looked at each other, perhaps too stunned for any other feeling but resignation.
Perhaps, this was all just a dream.
None of it was real.
Only Isavel, high in the air, wore a smile more radiant than a rose.
She knew very well—if they wanted to kill her today, they were destined to fail.
The Demons truly were too impatient.
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