The killing intent crashed down like a tidal wave. One-on-one was already a nightmare; facing two was pure suicide. Throne didn't hesitate. He vaulted onto Torrent's back, spurring the Spirit Steed into a full gallop. His eyes flicked back to Mohg, who stood frozen in disbelief.
"I'm not an idiot!"
If Throne were just some bloodthirsty executioner, he'd have already charged in to die a fool's death. But his mind was sharp, his instincts razor-edged. Mohg's blood clone mirrored Ranni's power—sixty percent of her strength, at least. Mohg himself ranked high among the demigods. Few heroes could withstand that kind of force.
And then there was the Mushroom Man. Its attacks were swift, its reach vast, and it didn't care who got caught in the crossfire. Throne wasn't immune to Scarlet Rot, either. Combat wasn't about throwing your life away. Those who relied on brute courage alone were already dead.
"The battlefield's split into three zones. The longer this drags on, the better for me."
Throne's mind raced, dissecting the situation. A fragile balance had formed.
"The Wise" Edred and a group of defenders were locked in urban warfare. With Melina and Bernahl holding the line, the mid-tier fighters of the tripartite alliance wouldn't break through easily.
To the north, Greyoll clashed with Lansseax and Blaidd in a brutal, bloody struggle. Their combined efforts and agility kept the fight even. The real wildcards were Mohg's clone and Red Wave. Whichever battlefield they joined could tip the scales like an avalanche.
Throne pulled Torrent to a halt a hundred meters out, glancing back. His jaw tightened. Damn it. They were smart. Mohg and Red Wave hadn't chased him. Instead, they'd turned without hesitation, carving a path toward Sellia. They knew the situation. Chasing Throne was a waste of time. Once Radahn arrived, they'd lose everything. Better to cut their losses. Capturing Sellia or finding Millicent—either way, they'd salvage something.
"Whoa—" Throne yanked the reins, turning Torrent around. His expression darkened. He was smart, but the enemy wasn't stupid. They weren't going to follow his script.
"Attacking where I have to defend? Fine. Let's make this direct."
Throne had a backup plan. If everyone's intelligence was equal, then it came down to who could fight better. Clip-clop, clip-clop…
The hoofbeats quickened. Throne, who'd been fleeing moments ago, charged back in, clinging to the enemy like a shadow. He wanted a complete victory. Half-measures weren't an option.
"Isn't that a bit greedy?"
Mohg heard the hoofbeats and didn't need to think to know what Throne was planning.
"Who do you think we are? Puppets for you to manipulate?"
His body exploded into a cloud of blood. Torrent swept past, Throne's blade slicing through the crimson mist.
"An ambush?"
Throne frowned, but he didn't have time to dwell on Mohg. He squeezed Torrent's sides.
"Up!"
The Spirit Steed leaped into the air just as crimson blades tore through the ground below.
Red Wave had adapted too, burying itself into the earth like roots, refusing to be a stationary target for Throne's charge. Crash, crash—The ground fractured, more and more crimson blades surging up within a hundred-meter radius. Torrent didn't dodge. Instead, horse and rider dissolved into particles and vanished.
With a deafening boom, thousands of red blades converged. Pursuit battles were nothing like frontal charges. Throne knew it—intelligence cut both ways. His tactics, once observed, became their own trap. Starlight Leap carried him a hundred meters in a flash. He twisted mid-air, slashing backward with both blades. Clang!
The trident's thrust met steel. Mohg smiled, dissolving into blood before vanishing.
"This clone's worse than the real thing."
Throne didn't chase, didn't turn. He raised his blades overhead. Whoosh—
Rain parted as something massive cleaved through. A crimson sword, colossal, slammed onto his crossed blades. Clang!! The force shuddered through his wrists, down his legs, crushing him into the ground. Blood surged in his throat—no time to spit it out. The sword wasn't solid. It shattered instantly, cascading like a waterfall.
Each droplet was a needle, thin and sharp, sparking against his armor. Piercing flesh, they'd flood the body with Scarlet Rot. Throne jerked his right foot free of the mud and stomped hard.
"Scram!"
The storm scattered the thorns skyward. He rolled clear, head spinning. Blood seeped from the gap between his helmet and shoulder plate.
"Infected through armor? Scarlet Rot doesn't play."
The Lands Between's most vicious toxin didn't just ravage the body—it drove the mind to madness. Throne stomped again, leaping another dozen meters. His reflexes slowed. Bad sign. Worse than bad. Now he understood why Mohg relied on these insects.
If Radahn showed up and unleashed his full power, would Throne collapse on the spot?
"Great. Taking hits for you again."
He took a second leap, clearing another stretch of ground. No third jump. Mohg waited there, his clone flickering like a shadow. The Lord of Blood raised a hand. Ripples formed overhead, reaching into some unseen entity.
"Bloodboon!"
A flood of crimson surged forward. No swordplay could block liquid. Throne's armor seared. Exposed joints burned as if knives sliced into his flesh.
"Scarlet Rot and bleed? You're too kind."
He dove aside. The trident smashed into bare earth.
Mohg wasn't just a trickster—he was a melee juggernaut. Caught between attacks, riddled with debuffs. Keep this up, and I'm finished. The more desperate the fight, the calmer Throne's mind became. No hesitation. He activated Starlight, vanishing to a hundred meters above ground. Below, the two demigods glared up.
"Foolish," Mohg sneered.
Unless Throne could fly, gravity would drag him down—a living target. Even if he could fly, it wouldn't matter. Red Wave's patience had run thin. Too much time wasted. Too much energy drained. If Radahn arrived, the battle would turn uglier, bloodier.
And its ally? Unreliable. The Lord of Blood had only sent a clone. Greyoll had abandoned the plan entirely, chasing an Ancient Dragon instead.
"One strike. That's all I need."
Red Wave expanded, a towering wall of crimson. No escape. No cover.
Throne inhaled sharply, staring down at the wave swallowing the battlefield. Once it engulfed him, would he even have skin left?
"But this is exactly what I've been waiting for."
On the surface, Throne fought alone against two. In truth—
"A clone? You think I don't have one?"
Throne gripped the petite Ranni.
This was nothing like the one from ten years ago. Back then, it had been a fragment of the Lunar Princess's power—something you could throw like a grenade. This? These were Ranni's clones, less flexible than Mohg's but far deadlier. Ice mist coiled upward as the witch in the wide-brimmed hat materialized before Throne. She moved like a specter, weightless, and the air itself seemed to reject gravity—he felt his boots leave the ground.
"You never run out of surprises."
Ranni rolled her eyes at him, but there was no time for scolding. She gripped her hat brim with one hand.
"The Lord of Blood, Mohg. The King of Rot, Red Wave?"
Her voice stayed frosty, regal, but when her gaze flicked to Throne's disheveled state, the killing intent around her sharpened to subzero.
"I'll slaughter you both."
"Freeze. Wither. Vanish to ash."
"Lunar Princess Ranni? And the Flowing Swordsman?" Mohg's head snapped up, his mind screaming warnings. Since when had Caria gotten involved? He'd never imagined his opponent had another card to play—not now, of all moments. Red Wave had already committed, its massive form surging forward with no retreat.
The tidal wave of rot crashed down, aiming to crush them from every angle.
"Her power alone won't kill it."
"Throne. Take my hand."
Ranni didn't glance at him, just seized his wrist. Their eyes locked as they spun weightless in the air. Around them, the autumn rain darkened—and the Dark Moon rose.
Cold. Silent. A full moon hanging in the void. Then—
Impact.
The crimson wave swallowed it whole.
"Did it work?"
Mohg dared to hope—for half a second. Then moonlight pulsed within the rot, veins of silver spreading like cracks in glass. The entire wave froze mid-collapse, top to bottom, a grotesque sculpture of ice and decay. Even the rain solidified into needle-sharp shards.
Normally, Red Wave could've severed its own tail to survive. Not this time. The Dark Moon's power conducted through every filament, every spore, freezing thoughts along with flesh.
The moon wouldn't kill it.
The sword would.
Crack—
The Dark Moon shattered. The ice wall splintered with it, fractures racing outward as a figure vaulted through, boots landing atop the frozen cascade. Throne stared down at the Wall of Sighs.
"Magnificent. But it'll look better in pieces."
First trump card revealed: Ranni.
Now, the second—
Crack.
Throne crushed the Bedchamber's Blessing between his fingers. The deathly "blessing" flooded his veins, burning away every debility, every shackle. Poise reforged him. Clarity sharpened him.
Third—
"Magic threshold—release!"
His body screamed. The second overload in minutes, and the first hadn't even finished healing. Agony lit up every nerve, but he gritted his teeth and dragged the Dark Moon Greatsword free. Magic poured into the blade like a storm given form.
"Who needs Radahn? I'm the trump card."
The sword answered. Moonlight and tempest fused into a single strike, a blade so vast it split the clouds. Overloaded. Overcharged. A divine artifact pushed past its limits.
"Moonlight Storm Slash!"
He swung.
The sound wasn't a single crack but a chorus—ice, steel, and thunder fused into one deafening note.
The moonlight pierced the frozen wave. The storm reduced it to glittering dust. The slash carved from heaven to earth, filling Mohg's vision with silver and fury.
"Shit—"
He tried to dissolve into blood, to flee—but his legs wouldn't obey. Glancing down, he saw the truth: ice creeping up his calves, locking him in place.
The moonlight pierced through the ice wall, and the storm turned it into the tiniest ice shards. This sword strike, from top to bottom, from heaven to earth, occupied every inch of Mohg's vision.
"You hit my knight and think you can just walk away?"
Ranni loomed behind him, her presence eclipsing his in both majesty and grace. Mohg barely had time to turn before daylight erupted in his vision. He looked up—the blade had already punched through the ice wall, its tip hovering a hair's breadth above his skull.
Moonlight, cold enough to sear bone. Ice shards spiraled through the storm like shattered glass. The man gripping the sword ignored the spectacle, his focus locked on the blood clone and the ruined flower bed beneath it.
"Slash."
Frost crawled across the earth. The wind screamed. Moonlight thickened into a blade, and rot dissolved midair.
Throne channeled magic through the Dark Moon Greatsword—a force rivaling the Stars of Ruin. The weapon became a conduit for the sky itself. Half the storm-lit night turned white. No hiding that kind of power, not that Throne cared to try.
The mountain range was lost, and the remaining defenders had fallen back to Sellia, fighting room by room. The glare blinded them, but that radiance—vast, merciless—wasn't the work of any known foe. Edred wrenched his head up, his robes hanging in tatters.
"Who the hell is this?"
Not the general. Not anything he recognized.