Subtitle: The Duel of Legends: When Titans Collide
At Robert's command, they struck. Explosive talismans blossomed in synchronized fury, ripping through the enemy's protective formation and sending plumes of smoke and sparks clawing into the night sky. The darkness lit up with brief, violent blooms of light. This initial barrage was not a mere spectacle—it was precision, discipline, and the quiet malice of a long-brewing plan finally unleashed.
Below, the kingdom flared and collapsed into chaos. The air trembled with successive detonations, each one peeling away layers of defense with surgical cruelty. Talismans detonated in a ruthless rhythm, dismantling ward after ward, tearing apart the protective formation that had once guarded the royal city.
The formation fell apart faster than anyone could have anticipated. Guards shouted in alarm, their cries echoing into the night—"Enemy attack!" Sleep-shackled civilians bolted awake, startled by the barrage of explosive thunder rolling across the city. Panic rippled through the streets. Confusion, fear, and desperation painted their faces. They had no idea what to do.
But Robert had anticipated this. His plan was meticulous, and unlike many warlords, he had drawn a line—no civilian blood was to be shed. His wrath was reserved for the noble houses and the royal palace. Those who wielded power. Those who had wronged Richard's kingdom.
The soldiers of Ashbourn scrambled to respond, donning armor with shaking hands, grabbing weapons as orders were barked from every direction. But for many—from the Qi stage to Bronze—there was no time. They were cut down in their barracks, struck before they even reached the battlefield. Explosive talismans carved through them like wildfire through dry grass. Bodies fell where they stood, many without even understanding what had happened.
At the heart of the carnage, Daniel and the nobles standing behind him—Robert and Ray's prime targets—found themselves bombarded by a relentless hail of explosive bombs. Within moments, noble family lines were shattered, reduced to blood and ash.
Ray, watching from above, was paralyzed by the horror. It was the first time he'd seen this many people die so fast, so violently. The stench of burning talismans and blood hung in the air even from this height. His hands trembled. He didn't vomit, like others might have—but tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't know their names, but those people had families, lives… loved ones. Each death carved a wound in his heart.
From behind, Diana wrapped her arms around him, shielding him with her warmth. She whispered nothing—words were useless in this moment—and though her instinct was to pull Ray away, she remembered Robert's instructions.
Ray had to watch.
This was his training—brutal, merciless, but necessary. The world they lived in offered no mercy for the unprepared. Robert had been clear: "Let him watch. He needs to see what real war looks like. One day, he may have to lead one."
Ray stared down again, his knuckles white. This was no longer a game. It wasn't a story. His strategy, his idea, had led to this—to fire and ash and bodies. He hated it. But deep down, he understood: if he hadn't killed them, they would've killed him. He had nearly died at the hands of Princess Alice's assassin. That memory returned now, sharp and cold.
Below, the enemy didn't surrender. Not yet.
Golden-stage cultivators and silver-stage elites surged into action, their energy lighting the battlefield like bolts of magic across a stormy sky. Spells and long-range attacks screamed toward the balloons above, but most never reached their targets—shattered mid-air by Robert's mages or scattered by layered aerial formations.
Beast tamers rallied next, summoning powerful mounts to ride into the sky, their war cries merging with the roars of summoned creatures. Swordmasters and weapon-wielders surged alongside them, blades flashing with martial aura.
But Robert's forces held strong. The sky was theirs.
Archers unleashed volleys fused with talismans, each arrow exploding on contact. The mages under Robert's command coordinated in tight formations, decimating wave after wave. His orders were clear—target the beasts and their tamers. And it worked. Ashbourn's retaliation crumbled. The loss of beast tamers broke their frontline mobility and morale.
Desperate, Ashbourn's formation masters scrambled to throw up protective wards and defensive grids. Mages worked in tandem, weaving barrier after barrier, trying to shield the noble houses and palace.
But Robert's side was relentless.
Talisman-fused arrows detonated with surgical precision, shredding the barriers faster than they could be formed. When Ashbourn retaliated with their own talismans, Diana's preparation paid off. She had crafted golden-stage formation disks for days in secret. They glowed now with runes of resistance, countering the enemy's magic and neutralizing their attacks.
From above, the tide was clear—Robert's side was winning.
Formation masters on the ground scrambled. Sparks flew, and mana burned as they tried to fix or recreate new wards. Amid them, Daniel, with only one arm, worked desperately. Sweat poured from his face. His left hand—never dominant—struggled to keep up.
In the past, he could cast dual formations effortlessly, his two hands moving in perfect, mirrored synchronicity. Now, forced to rely on only one hand, his movements were slower and shakier. Though his face was pale, his eyes burned fiercely with defiance.
From above, Ray spotted him. His eyes widened.
"Father," he said, voice tight, pointing down. "It's Daniel."
Robert turned, eyes narrowing. He moved, ready to descend and strike—but a hand grabbed his arm.
Diana.
Her gaze was firm, yet calm. "He's mine."
Robert hesitated. "Diana—he's weakened. I can finish him now—"
She shook her head. "Last time, you stepped in. I was robbed of the fight. He's my rival—always has been. This time, I've come prepared. Let me prove it… to him. And to myself."
Her words burned with quiet fire. Robert saw it—the determination. The spark of pride.
After a breath, he nodded. "Don't die."
She smiled faintly. "I won't."
Diana activated her floating formation and descended gracefully, her presence cutting through the smoke like a blade of calm. She landed before Daniel with a poise that made the ground itself seem to still.
She stepped forward. "I lost to you last time," she said, voice steady. "It's a shame my husband took your arm. I would've enjoyed fighting you at full strength. But… I've learned something since then. And I'm here to end this."
Daniel chuckled, lips cracked but still defiant. "Little rascal. You've never beaten me. Even with one arm, I can still crush you. Come then. I accept your challenge."
As the two prepared to clash, another figure emerged.
From the ruins of a shattered tower, a warrior clad in obsidian-gold armor stepped forward. His presence was like thunder before the storm.
The strongest Duke of Ashbourn had entered the fray.
He raised his sword, its edge catching the moonlight, and bellowed across the battlefield, his voice rippling with battle aura:
"I am Duke Roderic Varnholt of Ashbourn! Robert Walker, I know your name. You claim to be the strongest. Come down and face me!"
Robert turned, his pulse quickening. He had lost interest in Daniel—but this? This was different.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. He stepped forward to the edge of the floating platform, meeting Roderic's eyes.
"I've heard of you as well, Duke Roderic," he called back. "And I accept your challenge. Let's see who truly deserves the title of strongest."