Snow fell like ash over the northern plains. The wind was heavy with the scent of iron and frost. From the high walls of Wintercrest Fortress, Arden watched as the horizon darkened — a vast sea of torches flickering like stars in the distance.
The Empire's Holy Army had come.
An ocean of soldiers marched under banners of gold and crimson. War priests chanted hymns that shook the air, and armored paladins rode radiant steeds that burned with divine light. At their head rode a single man — Prince Alaric Valerius, the Emperor's eldest son and High Commander of the Crusade.
Alaric's armor gleamed like molten sunfire. The wind carried his voice as he raised his sword toward the northern fortress.
"By decree of His Majesty, and by the will of the God of Light — the Northern Duke shall kneel! The Saint shall be returned to her rightful place, and the heretics purged in holy flame!"
His words echoed across the frozen land.
Arden stood unmoving atop the wall, cloak rippling in the wind. "The Empire truly sent their golden boy," he muttered. "How generous of them."
Mira smirked beside him. "That's a lot of soldiers to send just to die in the snow."
Elyndra's sharp eyes surveyed the enemy lines. "Three legions. Nearly thirty thousand men. But their formation's rigid — they're not used to mountain terrain."
Aranelle's voice was calm but cold. "The arrogance of the south will be their undoing."
Selene stepped forward with a grin. "Shall we greet them properly, my Duke?"
Arden's eyes glowed faintly gold. "No need for greetings. Just let them remember why the North stands untamed."
He raised his hand.
"Signal the Direwolf Riders."
Moments later, the sound of horns split the air. From the snow-draped forest surrounding Frostvale, a thousand Direwolves emerged — each one massive, their fur glistening like ice, their riders armored in black steel etched with runes.
The ground trembled beneath their charge.
"FOR THE NORTH!" their captain roared.
The Empire's front line faltered as the wolves descended upon them like a storm of fangs and steel. Spears shattered, shields crumbled — and the snow turned red.
Elyndra loosed arrow after arrow, each shot piercing through armor like silk. Mira darted between the chaos, twin daggers slicing through knights faster than the eye could follow.
From the walls, mages unleashed torrents of frostfire, freezing enemy siege towers before they could reach the gates.
It was war — brutal, chaotic, and beautiful.
And at the center of it all stood Arden Vale, the Heavenly Martial Duke, unmoving as his soldiers fought. His Qi pulsed like a heartbeat through the battlefield, strengthening his men, steadying their courage.
Then, from the enemy's heart, a golden radiance flared.
Prince Alaric raised his sword — the Divine Relic, Solbrand. A beam of pure sunlight erupted from its edge, cutting through the snow and annihilating everything in its path.
Dozens of Direwolf Riders vanished in a flash of light.
The Prince's voice rang out: "Witness the power of divine justice!"
Arden's gaze hardened. "Justice?" He stepped off the wall. "No… this is arrogance."
He landed amidst the battlefield, the snow cracking beneath his feet.Golden Qi erupted from his body, spreading in waves that rippled through the ground like a living storm.
Every soldier, friend and foe alike, turned to him in awe and fear.
Alaric pointed his blazing sword toward him. "Arden Vale! Traitor of the Empire! Kneel before divine light!"
Arden walked forward slowly. "Light? You speak of light while your men slaughter innocents in its name. You're not the light — you're the flame that devours."
"Then face divine judgment!"
Alaric's sword slashed downward, sending a colossal arc of golden fire toward Arden. The blast split the earth — but Arden's palm rose calmly.
BOOM!
The energy shattered against his Qi barrier like a wave breaking on a mountain.
Arden's voice thundered through the battlefield.
"Heavenly Tyrant Art — Third Form: Heaven's Tyrant Manifestation!"
Golden light erupted from his body, forming a colossal phantom behind him — a towering martial god of pure Qi. The apparition raised its fist and struck the ground.
CRACK!
The shockwave blasted outward for miles. Soldiers were thrown through the air, siege engines shattered, and the very clouds split apart.
Alaric barely managed to block the blow, his divine aura flaring desperately.
Impossible — he thought, blood dripping from his mouth. No mortal should wield such power!
Arden's voice was calm, but his words carried like thunder. "You wield the power of a god. I am the power that defies gods."
He vanished — and reappeared before Alaric in a blink.
BAM!
A single strike to the chest sent the prince flying from his mount, crashing into the snow hundreds of meters away.
Arden approached slowly, his steps echoing in the silence that followed.
The soldiers stopped fighting. The blizzard paused.
Arden's golden eyes glowed fiercely as he looked down at the broken prince.
"Go back to your Emperor," he said coldly. "Tell him this land no longer bows to his false light. Tell him the North will rise — not under gods or kings, but under strength and freedom."
Alaric coughed blood, his divine aura flickering weakly. "You… you'll regret defying the heavens…"
Arden turned away. "I've already crushed them once."
When the battle ended, the Empire's army retreated — their banners in flames, their soldiers fleeing into the snow.
Cheers erupted across Wintercrest Fortress. The Direwolf Riders howled their victory to the frozen sky.
But Arden stood silently on the wall, watching the distant smoke rise from the battlefield.
Lyra approached him quietly. "We've won… for now."
He nodded. "Yes. But this victory will not go unanswered. The Empire won't stop — and the gods watching from above will soon act themselves."
Seraphina appeared beside Lyra, her golden eyes glowing faintly. "Then we'll face them together."
Arden glanced at her — the divine fire in her eyes, the determination in her voice — and smiled faintly.
"Yes," he said. "Together, we'll defy both empire and heaven."
The snow began to fall again, covering the blood and fire below.
The North had endured its first crusade — and its legend had only begun.