Some moments before the Dragon's Breath swept Milis.
Rygar was facing Galgard and his knights.
The Iron Legion was still fighting Milis's main armies; they had also destroyed the reflections of the White Knight.
Ghislaine, Verdia, and Gretta, in turn, fought the Magic King and his guardians.
Meanwhile, far from the battle, in the center of the White Palace, protected by several high-level Barriers, Cardinal Leblanc, the White Knight himself, and twelve more priests had gathered.
Those present in that sacred hall had an important task: to ensure the death of the Beast God should the main plan fail.
The White Knight, after mirroring his reflections and sending them to fight on the battlefronts, had returned alone to the Palace.
Many presumed he would face Rygar directly, but he simply fell back.
One of the priests, kneeling and pale, with completely white hair, was breathing with difficulty, sweating profusely.
With a weak voice, he addressed Cardinal Leblanc:
"We will not be able to summon the Sacred Sword, Your Holiness... Only its reduced version, the Sanctified Sword..."
Leblanc's brow furrowed with disgust.
Four priests had already died from mana exhaustion while trying to charge the magic, but he did not show a hint of remorse.
His mind was fixed on a single outcome: Rygar's death.
When this God-level magic was used in ancient times, the amount of mana was not a problem.
Saint Milis, the legendary hero, had conjured the Sacred Sword alone.
His mana was so vast that his allies were there with the sole purpose of buying him time and holding back enemy troops.
But in current times, in Milis, there was no one with enough mana for that. Therefore, they used the method of pooling several sources of mana to achieve a higher power.
Even so, despite this effort, they could not reach God-level of the Sacred Sword.
It is written in ancient records that even among other God-level magics, this one was especially lethal but also especially costly in terms of mana.
The Sanctified Sword, on the other hand, which was the Emperor-level version of the original magic, was possible.
Still extremely costly in terms of mana, but lethal and viable with the remaining reserves.
The Cardinal turned his severe gaze to the kneeling priest:
"Then use the Sanctified Sword... Sacrifice everyone in this hall, if necessary."
With these cold words, he spun on his heel and began to leave the Barrier.
The mages, seized by renewed hope, even aware of the cost, resumed strengthening the magic circle.
They knew some would fall. But they also knew that now there was a real chance.
At the center of the summoning was the White Knight. He held his sword firmly.
The blade began to glow with a pure, intense golden light. It was as if the power of the heavens was being channeled into that weapon.
Meanwhile, outside the Barrier, Cardinal Leblanc walked calmly through the luxurious corridors of the White Palace.
Around him, the echoes of battle shook the walls, but he seemed oblivious to the chaos.
Upon seeing a fully armored soldier, he stopped him:
"Hey you! Where is the Pope? And the King?"
The knight gave a quick bow and replied:
"The Pope said he needed to join the battle and left. The King went to the gardens."
The Cardinal chuckled softly, a malicious smile forming on his face.
Pope Lucios, whom he had originally supported unconditionally, had been gaining too much power lately; the ideal scenario would be for him to die in this war.
And the King could also disappear silently. With the Beast God dead by the Sanctified Sword, he would assume the papacy.
And place the heads of Rygar's followers on stakes around all of Milishion.
He stared at the knight with contempt:
"What are you still doing here? Go fight!"
The knight clenched his fists. His face was tense, his jaw clenched, as if restraining himself from cutting off his superior's head right then and there.
But he answered with control:
"Sir, I received direct orders from the Pope to escort him out of the Palace. He said it is dangerous to remain here."
The Cardinal laughed loudly:
"Hahahahaha! I will never leave this Palace, you fool! It is indestru—"
His sentence was interrupted by a colossal crash. The ground trembled beneath his feet, walls vibrated, and the ceiling groaned.
"What was that?!" he shouted, looking around.
In the next instant, a wall of fire burst through the corridors.
The White Palace was engulfed by the fiery explosion.
Cardinal Leblanc had only one second to look, stunned, at the approaching incandescent wave. And then he was consumed by the flames.
Reduced to ashes, along with his ambitions and plans.
---
The only part that remained standing of the once-imposing White Palace was the section protected by overlapping layers of Magical Barriers.
However, even these colossal defenses were finally consumed by the power of the fiery explosion unleashed by Rygar.
Still, their main function had already been fulfilled: to conceal and protect those inside.
And that time was all the priests needed to prepare the Sanctified Sword.
Rygar, hovering above the ruined city, felt a chill run down his spine. His Sixth Sense screamed in alert. He knew an extremely powerful magic was coming.
Without hesitation, he began to focus his mana on Tsukikage. The blade responded immediately, flaming in an infernal instant.
The heat it exuded was brutal, enough to distort the air around it. He ignored his still-open wounds. There was no time for healing.
Without losing a second, Rygar launched himself toward the White Palace, an orange and incandescent silhouette cutting across the skies of Milishion.
Waiting for that magic to fall would be a problem.
And then it appeared.
The Sanctified Sword. A torrent of golden-white light ripped through the skies like a divine lightning bolt.
Its intensity rivaled that of sunlight itself.
It was a column of celestial energy that illuminated the entire capital like a second sun.
At the epicenter of the spell lay eight dead priests, their bodies exhausted from complete mana drainage.
The remainder were sprawled, almost unconscious, yet smiling in satisfaction. They had succeeded.
Rygar activated his Demon Eyes to the maximum, and time slowed around him. Each heartbeat became a slow snap.
Observing the magic, he quickly understood what it was. In the end, Eris had been right. Milis was attempting to recreate the miracle of Saint Milis's Sacred Sword.
He also perceived another thing. The White Knight, whom he believed he was fighting the Legion, had returned to the Palace.
He was Milis's last card. The last pillar of hope for a collapsing kingdom.
His eyes analyzed the mana in the spell. It was the absolute upper limit of Emperor-level. He could handle that.
He would not carve the continent as legend told of the Sacred Sword, but he could easily obliterate the entire Legion if left unchecked.
That was why Rygar was running. He needed to ensure the target was him and him alone.
Tsukikage burned with ethereal blue flames; Rygar chose fire to combat the magic. It was his sharpest element, his specialty.
And the sword amplified its efficiency with that element by nine times.
Lightning would be faster, but it would not gather enough mana in time.
Calculating the timing mentally, Rygar gathered everything. All his mana, all his fury, all his desire. The pressure was so immense that even the air began to catch fire.
Outside, what was seen was a purple-red flaming comet crossing Milis toward the pillar of light.
It was as if a fragment of the sun had been fired at the earth. Tsukikage vibrated with power, wrapped in incandescent purple fire. Everything around it went up in flames.
From the top of the light tower, the White Knight raised his divine sword to the skies. His helmet was thrown aside by the pressure of the celestial energy, revealing his face.
He was old. Truly old. His wrinkled face told stories of over one hundred years lived.
His eyes were half-closed, his thin white hair seemed about to disintegrate. And yet, he stood there. Standing.
He watched the comet coming his way.
And then, slowly, he lowered the sword.
The two forces collided.
A deafening light exploded at the center of Milishion, like a supernova. The shockwave obliterated everything around.
The remains of the palace, squares, towers, and houses crumbled to dust. The impact was such that even the skies seemed ripped apart. Clouds were torn from the firmament. The air trembled. The ground cracked.
The Iron Legion and Milis's soldiers retreated upon seeing the imminent collision, under the urgent orders of their commanders. And it was a wise choice.
The ensuing explosion consumed the entire central region of Milishion, erasing it from the map with divine, fiery fury.
At the epicenter, fire and light devoured each other. It was as if two gods at war disputed reality.
If not for the fact that the two energies annihilated each other so violently, the destruction would have been even greater.
Yet even so, the scar left on Milis was irreparable.
---
Nothing remained in the heart of the capital. Only ashes and incandescent lava and a crater where the pride of an entire kingdom once resided.
None of the battles taking place in Milishion were actually near the White Palace, and therefore the real casualties due to the explosion's aftermath were very few.
Only the shockwave struck them violently. Needless to say, there were no casualties on the Legion's side.
They were all elites, hardened by dozens of battles, and now all were gathering amidst the scene of absolute destruction.
Milis was no longer resisting. All its efforts had been crushed by the Legion with pure brute force. Nothing remained.
If they still harbored any hope, it was that the Beast God, at least, had been killed.
At this point, even his death would not lift them from ruin, but it would at least give them some consolation: having killed their enemy's leader.
Ornthorn was gathering with the other Legion members, all treading on smoldering rubble. Taes had just finished a count.
The North Emperor whistled, observing the high flames still burning where the explosion had occurred.
"Man, he really didn't hold back... And who would have thought? The Red Lioness was right!"
Taes nodded in a grave tone:
"Yes... They really replicated the magic of Milis's legends. It's impressive."
Eris huffed, crossing her arms:
"Hmph! Of course they did. But Rygar is even more incredible!"
Ornthorn laughed and looked at Taes, now a bit more serious:
"What were the casualties?"
Taes made a grimace and replied:
"Seven of us died..."
A wry smile appeared on the North Emperor's face, and he said:
"That's very few, actually. Considering those troublesome reflections! So why the sour face, then?"
Eris answered softly:
"Because one of the seven was Lerov."
The North Emperor's smile froze. Silence settled heavily.
Taes sighed deeply before continuing:
"He held back most of the elites when we were dealing with the Water Emperor's reflections. A Milis mage managed to hit him with King-level magic..."
No one said anything more. Lerov had been a key warrior for the Legion in recent years.
His son was the current leader of the Jinkan Tribe, as he had already retired.
Even so, he never ceased to be at the vanguard of the Legion. His loss was a hard blow.
While they lamented, Gretta and Ghislaine appeared hurriedly. Upon seeing the group, Ghislaine sprinted to them in an instant. She didn't wait for any greeting.
"Where is Verdia?"
Taes frowned:
"Wasn't she with you?"
Ghislaine's face hardened. She immediately heightened her senses with urgency. Gretta, still approaching, replied:
"Verdia said she would help Ghislaine in a fight and disappeared. We don't know where she is. She erased her tracks so Ghislaine couldn't find her."
Everyone was immediately concerned.
Before Taes could give orders to the Legion divisions to start searching for Verdia, something happened.
The fire where Rygar had collided with the White Knight billowed violently, as if a colossal wind had blown from the center.
And then, from it, Rygar's figure emerged, floating in the air.
He was calm. Victorious.
His body bore several wounds, the most notable being a terrible diagonal cut on his shoulder, which almost split him in half, but was already beginning to regenerate visibly.
At a great distance, his golden eyes scanned the horizon.
When he spotted his allies, his firm expression softened for a moment. But his eyes still carried an overwhelming pressure.
Ornthorn smiled bitterly and commented in a low voice:
"Best timing possible..."
And then, he turned to the others and completed:
"So... who's going to tell him we lost his master?"
-----
Hello! If you want to support my writing, check out my subscription P@treon
By subscribing, you will get access to up to 20 advanced chapters of the Webnovel and polls to decide various things about the story.
Your support will encourage me to continue writing more chapters! Check it out here: pa treon.com/DaoistJunkYard
---
Special Thanks
Thank you to Daniel Thomsen for becoming member on P@treon!