Arterion stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the duel involving Julien for a prolonged duration.
Throughout the course of the Great War, he had frequently been stunned by Julien's progression. It was a marvel to witness how the man's capability accelerated beyond any normal measure.
If anyone truly embodied the concept of a "favorite of the heavens," it was undoubtedly Julien.
The dragons had completely discarded their natural arrogance, launching themselves at him with a desperate, animalistic intensity.
Yet, even with two of these primeval terrors exerting their maximum effort, they were unable to crush him. Initially, they had calculated that a pair of their kind would be more than sufficient.
'Is he drawing this strength from his devotion to the Saintess?'
The Hero had funneled his entire soul into his bond with her. That sheer willpower was currently overriding the inherent dominance of the dragon race.
Two were inadequate. To truly break Julien, a more staggering force was required.
Arterion turned a frigid, piercing stare toward Iralniel, Grondal, and Borisco.
"How much longer do you intend to remain idle spectators? Do you truly expect us to handle all the unpleasantries on our own?"
Iralniel met his gaze, her features shadowed by a somber weight.
"Why was the full truth withheld from us?"
"To what are you referring?"
"The understanding was that only the Saintess's life was required. You omitted the fact that she would be consigned to an eternal imprisonment."
"And if I had? Would your choices have differed?"
"..."
"You made the firm resolution to trade the Saintess for the survival of your kin, did you not? Are you only now finding the stomach for such cruelty after the fact?"
"..."
"This is the cost of preserving the world. Ultimately, the Saintess's sacrifice is an unavoidable necessity. For the sake of all existence, harden your resolve."
Iralniel's eyes were filled with a profound grief as she looked at Arterion.
It was undeniably true that the choice was made to save the world. As agonizing as it felt, she had believed it a mercy compared to the total annihilation promised by a never-ending conflict.
If the loss of a single Saintess meant the happiness of millions, it was a bargain she felt she couldn't ignore.
However, a literal eternity of isolation—
Even under the banner of the greater good, it felt monstrous. She found the idea of inflicting such a fate on the Saintess, who had bled for them all, utterly revolting.
Iralniel shook her head slowly. "I… I cannot support this path. We must seek a different solution."
With a sudden flicker of defiance, she moved back toward the altar. Her goal was to reclaim the Sacred Stone and halt the ritual before it was too late.
Arterion, however, was not about to permit such interference.
Snap!
In a heartbeat, a lance of radiance erupted from his palm, tearing through Iralniel's midsection.
"Kh…!"
She stumbled, clutching the fresh wound in her abdomen as blood began to soak through her attire.
"High Chief!"
The elven patriarchs rushed to her side, desperately channeling the vitality of the forest into her failing body.
Arterion observed her suffering with a detached, clinical air.
"I understand your sentiment, which is why I have spared your life. But understand this: there is no path back from where we stand. If you persist in this obstruction, I will purge half of your people from the face of this earth."
"..."
Ashhen-faced and trembling, Iralniel could only lower her head in silence.
Long ago, during her clash with Rahamod, the core of her vitality had been compromised. This injury had capped her potential, preventing her from ascending to the heights of power others reached during the war.
While she remained a formidable force compared to most mortals, she was no match for a dragon.
Closing her eyes, she let the tears fall.
'I have invited a curse upon my soul. The debt for this sin will surely be paid by my people.'
Remorse was a useless companion now. She had already signed the warrant for the Saintess's demise and turned her back on the companions she had bled beside for years.
'Ereneth… I have failed you most of all.'
She vividly remembered the radiant smile on Ereneth's face before she set off to hunt the Apostle.
— "High Chief! Peace is finally within our grasp! I'll mop up the remaining stragglers and return home!"
— "Very well, but stay vigilant. Do not let your eagerness to capture the Apostle lead you into a trap."
She had orchestrated that mission specifically to remove Ereneth from the equation. The girl had been blissfully unaware, beaming with hope.
— "Don't worry. I'll return safely. There is a certain friend I am looking forward to seeing."
Iralniel hadn't known the identity of this friend, but the sheer joy on Ereneth's face was unmistakable.
If she ever discovered what had happened here, her heart would be shattered. She might even grow to loathe her own leader.
To Ereneth, the bonds within the Julien Mercenary Corps were more sacred than those of blood or ancestry.
As Iralniel sank into her despair, Grondal looked toward Arterion. "Are the dragons not sufficient? I fail to see why our intervention is necessary."
"I am asking you to see your commitment through to the end. Do not try to find a conscience at this late hour. No amount of guilt will cleanse your hands of this betrayal."
"..."
"Furthermore, observe. They are shifting their position. It appears they had a contingency plan in motion from the beginning."
Lionel and the rest of the Julien Mercenary Corps were indeed shifting their ground, even while under heavy fire.
To an untrained eye, it looked as though they were simply being overwhelmed by the dragons, but their movement was too calculated for a simple retreat.
Boom! Boom! Booooom!
Distant echoes of thunder and fire vibrated through the air. They had moved so far that they were nearly ghosts on the horizon to those at the center.
Astion had crafted an exit strategy in the event that the sealing process turned lethal or the dragons turned on them.
His plan was to grab Deneb and vanish, while the rest of the unit held the line.
Of course, that entire strategy was predicated on the assumption that Iralniel and Grondal would act as their allies or at least mediators.
The total betrayal of their comrades and the sudden erection of a city-wide barrier was something they hadn't foreseen. They had been caught entirely off-balance.
Nevertheless, the Julien Mercenary Corps refused to break. Their stubborn defiance was beginning to grate on Arterion's nerves.
Borisco adjusted his stance, a hint of anxiety in his posture.
"Is our presence truly required? They are putting up a fight, but the ancient ones will eventually grind them down."
Arterion scanned the battlefield once more. "The Hero possesses more vitality than I anticipated. We will likely need the other dragons to converge to end this quickly."
"..."
"The others are attempting to slip away, are they not? Even with the ward active, if even one person escapes, we face a catastrophe."
"..."
"As I instructed, engage them with intent and finish what you started."
Arterion gave a chilling, mocking smirk to Grondal and Borisco before signaling the other dragons forward.
Lionel and his warriors finally found a momentary reprieve to catch their breath.
Their primary objective was the safety of Deneb—and once enough time had been bought, a clean extraction.
But flight was no longer an option. Grondal and his dwarven contingent were barring Lionel's path, while the forces of the Empire began to encircle the mercenaries.
Thud!
Grondal slammed the base of his halberd into the earth, his expression clouded with gloom.
"Lionel, first servant of the Saintess and the shield that never breaks. You are a paragon of chivalry and the wall that stood against the Abyss."
"Why the sudden praise, old friend?"
"Lay down your arms. I have no desire to spill the blood of a brother-in-arms. You can see the conclusion is already written."
"Would you offer those same terms if the survival of the dwarves was the price?"
"..."
"To me, the Saintess represents everything. No, she is more than just her title…"
Lionel squared his shoulders, his voice steady. "I cannot stand by while a soul so pure and kind is condemned to a lifetime of suffering."
"..."
"I won't debate the morality of our positions. You have your own version of justice."
"..."
"And now, I will fight to protect mine."
Thud!
Lionel raised his steel and shield, advancing with purpose.
He was already drained from his skirmishes with the dragons, whereas Grondal was at full strength.
The original goal had been escape. But Lionel had reached a point where he would go no further.
"I had hoped you would choose to stay out of this…"
If Grondal was engaging, it meant the entire coalition had turned. Their true target was Deneb.
He was uncertain of Astion's status, but if he attempted to run now, they would simply hunt Astion down.
It was better to pin at least one of their leaders here.
Grondal hoisted his heavy halberd. "You are at your limit. I have no wish to kill you."
"Then you had better bring everything you have. I am not the amateur you knew a decade ago."
"I am well aware. The rapid ascension of the Hero and his inner circle is the stuff of legends."
In the original timeline, the Hero's party had only approached the level of an Apostle after years of grueling combat and narrow escapes.
However, Ghislain had internalized their future techniques through his visions and taught them ahead of time.
This was the catalyst for their unnatural growth—the secret behind the Hero's party's overwhelming power.
Rumble…
As Grondal gathered his strength, the very foundation of the city began to vibrate.
Even a decade prior, his power had been near that of an Apostle. He had only refined that lethality during the war.
Grondal's weapon cut through the air, descending toward Lionel like a falling mountain.
Kwoooom!
Lionel caught the impact on his shield, his entire frame shuddering under the force.
Yet, he managed a thin smile. "Is that truly the best the king of the dwarves can offer?"
"Think on this: you made this choice to preserve your people, but you will never truly save them."
"What are you implying?"
"Do you think Astion will simply forget this? He will hunt you for eternity. And…"
Lionel's eyes sparked with a dangerous light as his blade hissed toward Grondal.
Kwoooom!
Grondal parried the strike and retreated a step, but Lionel was already back behind his shield.
"When the rest of the world learns of your treachery, they won't show the dwarves any mercy. And frankly, neither will I."
"…I suppose you're right. There is no path back now."
Grondal nodded slowly, his face hardening into a mask of resolve.
He felt the weight of his guilt, but he had chosen his race over his friends.
That meant the Julien Mercenary Corps was now a liability that had to be eliminated.
He had to ensure this day's events remained a secret. If there was even a whisper of a chance that word would get out, he would personally execute every witness.
Steeling himself, Grondal raised his halberd once more.
"My old brother, it was a privilege to fight by your side."
"I felt the same."
Their final words hung in the air before they collided with everything they had left.
Kwoooooom!
The lethal dance between Lionel and Grondal began in earnest. Simultaneously, the Imperial knights surged toward the remaining mercenaries.
Less than half of the company was still standing, and every one of them was bleeding from multiple wounds.
Only their incredible veteran instincts had kept them alive this long against the dragons.
But now they faced the Empire's elite, including four superhumans and a host of high-ranking knights.
Borisco spoke with a heavy heart.
"Throw down your swords. You are mercenaries. I give you my word as a noble of the Empire—you will be well cared for. You will be celebrated as heroes and live out your days in comfort."
Osvald spat a glob of blood onto the ground and snarled.
"Stick your promises up your ass! I'd rather start a coup and take it all myself! You think Osvald is some dog you can buy, you backstabbing snake?!"
Tyron let out a ragged laugh, blood staining his teeth.
"Trusting you lot again is a mistake we won't make… who knows when the next knife is coming…"
This was a secret that could never see the light of day. If the truth were revealed, it would be the spark that ignited a revolution against the Empire.
Furthermore, the Julien Mercenary Corps would never forgive this betrayal.
The idea of letting them live in peace was a fantasy. The Empire had to cauterize this wound.
The mercenaries' eyes were filled with the grim light of men who knew they were going to die and intended to take as many enemies with them as possible.
Seeing their unshakable resolve, Borisco sighed and lowered his hand.
"…End them."
Crash!
The Imperial elites and their knights fell upon the mercenaries.
Even the attackers lacked enthusiasm. Many had considered the Julien Mercenary Corps brothers through the long years of war.
But they believed the Saintess's sacrifice was the only road to peace. If these men survived, another conflict was inevitable.
For the sake of a quiet world, they suppressed their guilt and prepared to murder their friends.
Kwoooom!
The two sides smashed together in a chaotic frenzy.
The battered Osvald and Tyron reclaimed their positions at the front of the formation.
Tyron roared as he deflected a superhuman's blow.
"We've held them long enough! If anyone sees a gap, run! Get the truth out!"
They needed to hold the line just long enough for someone—anyone—to break the perimeter. But the task was nearly impossible.
The Imperial knights had formed a tight net, ensuring no one could slip away.
Driven into a corner, the mercenaries fought with a suicidal ferocity, trying to punch a hole through the line.
Boom! Boom! Booooom!
The Julien Mercenary Corps fought in the shadow of total despair. Trapped within the dragons' cage, their end was a mathematical certainty.
With every life extinguished, the darkness clinging to the city seemed to pulse with a sick sort of joy.
And on the far side of the district, Astion, who had failed to secure Deneb despite his best efforts—
Kwoooom!
"Kh—!"
—lay broken and bleeding, his life flickering under the assault of a dragon.
As Astion slumped to his knees, coughing up crimson, the blue dragon Darbaska looked down with a cruel grin.
"Have you finally surrendered? For a man of your reputation, this is a pathetic way to go. I expected at least a modest challenge."
Astion stared up at Darbaska, his eyes hollowed out by exhaustion and grief.
He truly had nothing left to give.
The people he trusted had turned into vipers. The city was a prison. Even Deneb was gone.
His mana was fractured, and his focus was gone. What hope was there?
Even if he burned his very soul, he might only delay the dragon for a few seconds.
'What would be the point?'
The moment that nihilism took root, his remaining will evaporated.
Even if a miracle occurred and he slew this beast, there were many more waiting.
With the traitors added to the mix, there was no surviving this night.
Since his escape had failed, the story was over.
"Ugh…"
Astion bowed his head in a paroxysm of mental and physical pain.
There were no more moves to make.
Drip… drip…
Blood splashed against the cobblestones. His overwhelming despair mingled with his tears and soaked into the earth.
In a state of semi-consciousness brought on by blood loss, Astion whispered, "Ghislain… what am I supposed to do?"
The person who always had the solution was gone.
Yet, Astion continued to plead with the empty air. He had no one else to ask.
"Ghislain… please… I'm lost…"
There was no response.
Only the sound of the wind whistling through the ruins of the city.
Darbaska raised a clawed hand.
"You will be remembered as a martyr who died to secure the seal. Find solace in that lie."
Flash!
A colossal sphere of white-hot intensity manifested before him.
Magic of the 9th Circle—Hellfire.
That primordial flame would erase someone in Astion's broken state in a heartbeat.
Even as the heat began to sear his skin, Astion only whispered one final, desperate plea. "Ghislain… save Deneb…"
"Ghislain… help us… please…"
"Ghislain… save us…"
"…Ghislain."
His voice was barely a breath. It was the sound of a man drowning in the dark.
Darbaska laughed at the sight of such weakness.
"What are you whimpering about? There is no savior coming for you. Now, vanish. I will savor the memory of your pathetic end."
Whoosh!
With a thunderous crack of displaced air, the Hellfire was launched.
At that precise second—
Astion's head snapped upward.
And within his pupils—
Flaaash!
—a violent, predatory crimson light exploded outward, shattering the darkness.