Chapter 170: Divine Soldiers Descending from the Heavens

After killing the enemy commander, Ailindel’s expression beneath her visor did not change in the slightest. Compared to the opponents she had once faced, this man had hardly been worth mentioning. Though her strength had declined somewhat over the endless years spent standing watch, her judgment had never dulled.

But she was no longer the “Heavenly Judgment Knight,” nor the commander of the Fourth Legion. Now, she was simply Nolan’s companion, and she no longer cared about those former titles.

As a reserved moon elf, her emotions rarely showed much fluctuation. Only when she looked at Nolan did faint ripples of warmth and curiosity appear in her heart. All she wanted was to remain by his side and watch this new world unfold, and anyone who stood in his way was her enemy.

In her current spirit form, she could probably maintain medium-intensity combat for about half an hour, so this battle would have to end quickly.

Lowering her lance, Ailindel urged her warhorse forward with a clear neigh and charged straight into the panicked archer formation.

Behind her, the Black Armored Legion landed one after another. Their impacts were heavy enough to shake the ground, yet every soldier landed with remarkable ease. When activated together, Hurricane Enchantment and Levitation Rune produced far greater effects than usual, drastically reducing weight while generating tremendous propulsion. For warriors whose average strength had already reached Silver rank, the force was entirely manageable.

Some of the unlucky soldiers struck directly by the descending warriors did not even have time to scream before the tremendous momentum smashed them apart into bursts of blood and flesh.

“Spread out! Quickly, spread out!”

Without leadership, the longbowmen descended into complete chaos. The lower-ranking officers could barely look after themselves, and the archer formation completely lost its cohesion. Throwing aside their bows, they drew the short swords at their waists and attempted one final resistance.

Under normal circumstances, longbowmen were not especially vulnerable once enemies closed the distance. They were elite soldiers to begin with, possessing exceptional strength and physiques, otherwise they would never have been capable of repeatedly drawing powerful war bows. A well-trained archer corps could still fight competently in close combat. Aside from their weaker defenses due to the lack of heavy armor, they were far from helpless once engaged in melee.

But that depended entirely on who their enemies were.

One was a heroic spirit from ten thousand years ago who had survived the War of Heaven itself.

The others were Black Armored Legion soldiers whose morale and battle intent had reached their peak after surviving brutal close combat.

Just as Nolan had done earlier when he shattered the enemy formation, Ailindel pierced directly into the densest part of the archers’ ranks with a perfect breakthrough strike.

The tip of her lance pierced through the chest of a lower-ranking officer who rushed toward her, yet not a single drop of blood stained the pristine white weapon. Every sweep of her lance unleashed a storm of blood and slaughter, and not a single opponent could survive even one exchange against her.

The archers’ finely crafted steel shortswords were utterly insignificant before Breeze.

The champion of the “Wind King Vanguard” possessed a sharpness no one could withstand.

The Black Armored Legion followed close behind her, forming five-man assault wedges that harvested the collapsing enemy ranks with brutal efficiency. Their sturdy heavy armor rendered scattered counterattacks meaningless, and every swing of their longswords mercilessly claimed the lives of the elite archers before them.

In only a few short minutes, the longbow formation that Knight Claw had treasured so dearly was completely destroyed.

The surviving archers cried out in terror, abandoning weapons and armor as they scattered in every direction. Their rout even triggered another wave of panic among the nearby allied troops.

After breaking through the longbow formation, Ailindel did not pause for even a moment. Turning her horse around, she led the black steel torrent toward the remaining allied formations in the distance, those units that had only barely stabilized themselves under the furious shouting of their officers.

Though they numbered only four hundred, in the eyes of the allied soldiers they already looked no different from death itself.

Not a single soldier dared stand in the path of their charge.

With the final straw added, the battle on the north bank was all but decided.

***

At the same time, on the southern riverbank, Nolan leapt down from his horse. He had started as a warrior rather than a true knight, and when facing a genuine expert, standing firmly on solid ground made him feel more at ease and allowed him to fully unleash his strength.

The area around him had already become a vacuum zone. The routed allied soldiers did not dare approach this terrifying figure. Merely standing there in that uniquely oppressive and aggressively designed suit of black heavy armor was enough to explain everything.

This was someone dangerous.

In the Somme River, a lone figure waded step by step through the muddy water until he reached the southern bank.

“Frost Wolf” Fenrir.

He was drenched from head to toe, his face dark and twisted with frustration. The technique he had unleashed earlier, “Iceblade Guillotine,” was one of his proudest killing moves, a strike that had never once failed to claim its target.

The failure of that supposedly unavoidable attack only worsened his already foul mood.

Very quickly, he noticed the solitary black figure standing on the shore.

That armor was completely different from the black armor worn by the soldiers who had crossed the river earlier, and even different from the armor worn by the battlefield “commander.” It looked more refined, heavier, and far more aggressive in design, with shoulder plates and a helmet unlike anything favored by modern human aesthetics.

This was the true commander of the army.

The two men stopped roughly a dozen meters apart, one standing on the shore and the other in the shallows, silently sizing each other up.

Beneath Fenrir’s fury lurked the calm focus of a hunter. Narrowing his eyes, he slowly examined Nolan from top to bottom while murderous intent radiated from him without restraint. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re Nolan, the man publicly leading these rebels.”

Nolan lowered the sword in his hand toward the ground and casually rolled his shoulder. “Thank goodness.” There was an oddly relieved tone in his voice. “Finally, someone who doesn’t start with ‘Who the hell are you?’ Saves me a lot of pointless trouble. Thanks, Fenrir.”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed further.

Within Demont Province, there were only a handful of Gold-rank experts, and everyone who met him usually treated him with awe and deference.

Nobody had ever spoken to him this casually.

The aura coming from this man clearly remained within the Silver-rank range, at most Silver peak. Yet judging from his words, he obviously knew who Fenrir was. Facing a genuine mid-Gold expert, he showed not the slightest fear and even mocked him?

If this man was not a complete fool or an arrogant madman, then he must possess confidence strong enough to back such behavior. Considering that this same person had orchestrated such an astonishing battle plan and neutralized his killing strike, Fenrir was certain he could not possibly be stupid. Which left only one explanation for Nolan’s calm confidence: he possessed a trump card capable of matching him, perhaps even defeating him.

Fenrir swept his gaze over Nolan once more. The man simply stood there without any sign of impatience. His aura was steady, but undeniably still Silver rank. It was not disguised.

Fenrir genuinely could not understand how a mere Silver-rank fighter, even one at Silver peak, could possibly possess anything capable of overturning the gap between himself and a true mid-Gold expert.

Though hot-tempered and prideful, Fenrir was far from brainless. As he himself had once said, even against an ordinary enemy he would still fight with full strength. That habit had been forged through countless battles between life and death.

Underestimating an opponent was the stupidest possible way to die on a battlefield.

He still could not figure Nolan out, but that did not stop him from elevating Nolan’s danger level to the highest possible category.

“It seems you know me as well.”

Slowly, he raised the beautiful ice-blue longsword in his hand. The cold radiating from the blade caused fine fragments of ice to form across the nearby river water.

“But none of that matters.”

Pointing the sword directly at Nolan, he spoke coldly.

“If you’re hoping I’ll underestimate you, give up now. No matter who you are or what kind of trump card you possess, I’ll fight with everything I have. Don’t blame me. The archduke wants you dead.”