But in that critical moment, Sindaiseth's figure twisted, turning into an afterimage, and once again disappeared into the shadows!
The next second, he appeared behind the mage's side!
His speed far exceeded Chris's reaction limit.
The short blade silently unsheathed, with no fancy moves, just two extremely fast, crisscrossing slashes—straight for the throat!
Pfft!
The sound of a blade cutting through flesh and bone was brief and sharp.
Chris's eyes widened, filled with unwillingness and terror.
But he could only watch as the world began to spin, and his consciousness rapidly dissipated…
The flames he had condensed lost control, erupting from the top of his staff, and, along with his flying head, exploded on the platform with a roar!
Bang!
With a loud bang, flesh and charred flame fragments flew, shattering the floating chair he had been sitting on!
Having struck successfully, Sindaiseth did not linger. He spun and rapidly retreated, cleverly avoiding the barrage of spells that followed.
"Chris!" A council member roared furiously, immediately throwing an Ice Orb, intending to trap them there.
Another slender council member raised his staff, summoning arcane orbs that streaked towards the two like meteors.
But Asulate had already charged into the enemy formation, rampaging through it, giving the council members no space or time to cast spells.
He fought alongside Sindaiseth, engaging in a fierce clash with the remaining council members on the narrow high platform, temporarily holding them back.
But the battlefield below descended into an even more brutal stalemate.
Ice walls blocked paths, firestorms devoured lives, and homing missiles hunted down elites.
The noble army's reinforcements also gradually arrived on the battlefield, beginning to organize an effective counterattack.
Every step forward the rebel army took came at the cost of heavy casualties.
Bodies piled up on both sides, and blood soaked the flagstones.
Before the various colors of spells flying everywhere, the light of divine grace also seemed a little dim.
The fervent shouts of the rebel army were replaced by pained screams and the death symphony of clashing weapons.
Rielian was grazed on the shoulder by an ice shard, leaving a deep, bone-visible wound.
He leaned against a collapsed wall, breathing heavily.
More and more comrades fell around him.
He looked at the towering ice wall, at the noble army gradually regaining its rhythm, at the battlefield like a meat grinder—a deep sense of powerlessness once again gripped him.
Individual bravery, even with divine grace, seemed so insignificant in the face of absolute power and the brutal machinery of war.
Fatigue, pain, and despair surged like a tide.
He tightened his grip on the machete, already full of nicks, its blade stained with blood.
Although it wasn't his first time killing, it was the first time he had personally killed so many people in such a short time.
He looked up at the sky, obscured by spell light and smoke. The Pale Tower still stood cold and imposing.
Liriel, is this the outcome you saw? Can we truly break these chains?
He thought again of the Saintess who kept him awake at night.
And thinking of the Saintess, a thought quietly rose in his heart, gradually burning into a blazing inferno.
He no longer looked at the enemy, no longer paid attention to casualties and chaos.
He slowly closed his eyes, letting the roar of the battlefield thunder in his ears, letting blood and fire spread all around him.
He knelt on one knee, no longer praying for strength, no longer questioning the gods.
He condensed all his will, all his belief, all his anger and sorrow into one purest, most direct call, following the invisible threads of faith, piercing towards that existence that overlooked all beings—
My Lord! Emberglow Dragon!
Your faithful servant, I pray here!
Please guide our way! Burn away all injustice and chains in this world!
This call was silent, yet it exhausted all of Rielian's spirit and emotion.
After a few moments of silent waiting, he suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the eastern sky!
Just at this moment—
On the horizon, the clouds shrouded in spell light and smoke were torn apart without warning by a vast and majestic power!
A dragon's might, like a divine punishment, descended with a roar, sweeping across the entire battlefield!
It was a fear that originated from the depths of life—everyone, whether soldiers fighting or council members chanting spells,
All froze instantly, their movements stiff!
They looked up, their pupils constricted, their expressions shaken, involuntarily looking towards the torn gap in the clouds—only to see a colossal black shadow, large enough to blot out the sky, slowly emerge from the rift in the clouds!
It was him.
It was the Emberglow Dragon!
Thick black scales shimmered in the light, his majestic dragon head held high, and two enormous vertical pupils, burning with molten gold fire, slowly opened.
Like two blazing suns, looking down upon the mortal world!
His wings spread, eclipsing the sunlight, as if night had instantly fallen!
And beneath his boundless divine body, two tiny blue flying figures, like toys, accompanied him—they were two Blue Dragons, but next to him, they were as small as specks of dust.
The God, the Emberglow Dragon, had finally descended!
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