The storm of fire raged through the narrow pass, scouring everything in its path. Barricades, Chevaux de Frise, flamethrowers, soldiers—none could withstand its fury.
But the road stretched on far too long. Even after the first defenses were reduced to ashes, countless more waited ahead. Yet so what?
Today, Lucian would carve a road of blood.
The uproar of his advance roused the entire checkpoint. Soldiers blew their horns, warning their comrades in the rear that the enemy had come.
Torrent leapt gracefully over the spiked barricades. Mid-air, Lucian swung his sword and severed a soldier's head in one clean stroke.
Then, from the cliffside, came a heavy, pounding rhythm—footsteps that shook the stone.
A vast shadow fell across the path. With a deafening crash, a hulking figure landed in front of Lucian, the cobbled road shattering beneath its weight.
A Troll.
Unlike its kin that dragged carts outside, this one bore a thick leather harness across its back, a massive greatsword strapped tightly to it. With a roar, the Troll tore the blade free and leaned forward, bellowing down at Lucian.
The ground-shaking roar echoed within the confined gorge. But it was not mere echo, other Trolls were answering. Their cries rose, one after another, louder and closer.
One by one, Trolls hurled themselves down from the cliffs, blocking Lucian's path.
But Lucian had no intention of stopping.
Torrent darted toward the first Troll. The monster's greatsword swung down, but Torrent's double jump carried him clear. At the height of the leap, Lucian launched himself from the steed's back.
The storm bore him aloft, carrying him easily over the Troll's head. His sword angled downward, Lucian fell like a meteor.
The impact drove the Troll face-first into the ground, its skull pierced through. The storm churned its brains to pulp.
Lucian wrenched his blade free, flicking gore from the steel.
Another Troll's greatsword descended toward him, but he neither dodged nor flinched. The blade came so near he could feel the gale forced through his helm's seams.
Then, at the last instant, he moved.
With a sharp sweep of his gauntleted hand, he struck the weapon's flat. The touch was almost nothing—yet the massive blade veered aside, cleaving instead the head of the Troll Lucian had just slain.
The beast that struck gave a howl of grief, but its cry turned swiftly into its own death scream.
Lucian unleashed Storm Blades, two spiraling gusts of razor wind that tore into its face. Eyes and nose vanished in a spray of blood, a gaping cavity left where features once were.
The final strike blew the top of its skull clean away.
Lucian turned to see Elyssa. She danced upon the Trolls' heads, her Curved Sword flashing. A single strike to the skull was all it took—within seconds, frost spread, froze, and shattered their heads to fragments.
The Trolls swung their swords wildly, yet in their cramped formation only succeeded in hacking their brethren apart. Realizing the futility, they abandoned their blades and reached out to seize Elyssa with their bare hands.
But she was far too swift, twisting in mid-air beyond their grasp. Their desperation availed nothing.
Lucian's Storm Blades lashed out again and again, striking at old wounds upon the Trolls' skulls, drawing howls of agony. In those fleeting moments of distraction, Elyssa's frost sank deep into the cracks.
Together, they culled the giants one by one.
Soon the formation broke. The Trolls that remained clutched their heads in terror and fled. Only two or three lingered, futilely resisting until they too were cut down.
When the last fell, the pass was choked with their corpses. Blood mingled with shards of ice, staining the slope a dreadful crimson.
Lucian mounted Torrent once more. In their panic, the fleeing Trolls had smashed through much of the barricades, ballistae, and static flamethrowers that remained. The way forward now lay almost open.
But as he and Elyssa burst through the gorge's final rise, they were met with a new host: an army commanded by five of Godrick's Knights.
Two to three hundred soldiers stood in rank, with over eighty clad in full armor—the elite of Godrick's forces.
And at the rear, lumbering forward step by step, was a Golem.
Two mounted knights spurred their steeds ahead, raising lances high. Golden sigils of the Erdtree blazed into being—Blessing of the Erdtree—and showers of golden motes cascaded over the host.
"For Lord Godrick!"
Soldiers loosed volleys of bolts and hurled firepots. The knights lowered lances and charged.
Lucian's storm swept aside every projectiles.
The two lancers thundered in from either flank, their weapons aimed for his chest and gut. Against the reach of their long lances, his greatsword was at a disadvantage.
But who said range was measured only in steel?
Lucian released Torrent's reins, drawing a second greatsword into his left hand. He dipped low, both blades leveled toward the charging knights.
When he thrust forward, twin torrents of compressed storm blasted from the steel, shearing through the knights from several meters away. Their torsos vanished in a mist of blood, the remains slumping lifelessly in their saddles.
This was a battle art of Lucian's own devising, inspired by the Serpent-Hunter great spear. Unlike the thrown Storm Blades, this was a continuous surge of high-speed wind, cutting through flesh like the edge of a saw.
Behind the knights, one soldier froze, terror gripping him. His instinct was to turn and flee. But as he spun, he crashed into the chest of a Godrick Knight.
"You would desert? You dare shame Lord Godrick?"
"No, I—I only—"
Excuses were meaningless. The knight's sword rose and fell, cleaving the man in two.
"Retreat, and you die!"
He held aloft the deserter's severed head, his command thunderous and absolute.
And so the soldiers surged forward in a tide.
Lucian, however, spared no effort on the small fry. His gaze was fixed on the giant looming behind them—the Golem.