"First the Flowing Swordsman, now this moonlight bloom—you could've warned me experts were coming!"
Millicent's voice cracked with frustration.
"Your teacher's struck again."
Melina's tone was calm, her back pressed against Millicent's. Hundreds of meters away, the battlefield sprawled in chaos. Corpses littered the ground—Bloody Fingers, Kindred of Rot, even two dragons bleeding out.
Millicent's eyes narrowed. You didn't even look, yet you know that? She glanced toward the figures fighting in the distance. Throne, like some prophet, had pointed them toward Bernahl, a Tarnished wielding a greatsword. He was locked in a brutal clash with a towering figure—part Troll, part Magma Wyrm. The man had scattered an entire Redmane century when he first appeared, his blade like an iron pillar. Sellia's uneven terrain was alive with battles.
The flames from burning houses flickered in the rain, casting shadows on the figures darting through the chaos.
"Millicent, hold on a little longer. He'll be back soon!" Melina growled, spotting a Kindred of Rot emerging from the alley.
"Mm."
Millicent's voice was steady. Her katana, battered from a night of relentless fighting, met the charge. She'd lost count of how many insects she'd slain. But Melina's confidence was misplaced—Throne wasn't coming back.
Throne knelt on the frozen ground, his greatsword plunged into the earth to keep himself upright. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"I told you not to push yourself. Mother's theory is just that—a theory. It's never been tested, let alone used twice in such a short time. Do you not care for your life?"
Ranni knelt beside him, her voice laced more with concern than anger.
Throne forced a smile.
"I had to use it."
"Nonsense. You shouldn't have fought in the first place!"
Ranni's eyes widened, her tone sharp. Ice shards floated around them like a thick fog. The distant forest lay in ruins; the Lord of Blood, the Red Wave—all gone without a trace. But none of it mattered to her. Throne was reckless, always dancing on the edge.
"This is the last time, I promise."
Throne's voice softened, pleading.
Ranni sighed, letting it go for now. "By the way, that was a combination technique, right?"
Without her Dark Moon, his strikes would've been futile. Inside it, he'd seen clearly—it was a defensive barrier, designed to counterattack.
"Mm, we were in sync."
Ranni nodded, then caught herself.
"Who's combining with you!"
Throne chuckled. It was clearly romantic when she'd held his hands, spinning in the air. He was about to tease her, hoping to soften her tsundere nature, when her voice turned cold.
"I'm asking you—what was that thing you crushed just now?"
Throne stiffened. He couldn't tell her it was called "Bedchamber's Blessing."
"That? The blessing of death. Like reincarnation—it wipes away buffs and burdens."
"Given by that Deathbed Companion?"
"Mm."
Ranni's eyes narrowed. She wasn't as easily fooled as Melina.
Just as she was about to ask why it was given and how, she saw Throne push himself up, leaning heavily on his sword.
"Hey, don't tell me you're still going to fight like this!"
"What's this minor injury? As long as I'm breathing..."
Throne's weary words cut off mid-sentence. Ranni's murderous gaze pinned him in place, sharp enough to knock him unconscious and drag him back to Sellia on the spot.
"Cough, cough," he stammered, trying to salvage the moment.
"Rest assured, I've already made arrangements. I just wanted to change locations. Looking this pathetic doesn't suit me."
Ranni's sharp mind pieced it together instantly.
"Radahn's coming?"
"Mm. If he doesn't show up soon, I'm prepared to greet every woman in his family."
The comment landed awkwardly. Ranni opened her mouth to retort, but her head snapped toward the sky. A purple meteor streaked across the firmament, plummeting toward Sellia.
"He's still the same," Throne muttered, watching the spectacle. "Always making such a high-profile entrance."
"This is called being forthright," Throne corrected, perched on a shattered giant weapon, his rear exposed to the cold night air. He propped his head with his hand, his tone casual.
"As expected, his wounds haven't healed yet. Ten years ago, he'd have arrived long before now."
General Radahn's arrival was undeniable. The banner of Caelid tore through the night sky and crashed into the heart of Sellia, carving a crater more than ten meters wide. The shockwave flung friend and foe alike into the air. Dust swirled as a massive foot emerged from the cloud. Radahn, magnificent and unyielding, drew his twin Starscourge greatswords. His gaze swept the battlefield, sharp and assessing.
"How come it's just a bunch of small fries?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. This battle didn't align with his plans. He'd anticipated dragons or other forces causing trouble, but not here, not in Sellia. Redmane Castle was practically deserted for the festival. If they wanted war, why not come for him directly?
No matter. They'd come, and he'd deal with them. He'd blow the bridge and trap them if necessary. But the report had reached him only at noon, forcing him to rush here.
"Damn it," he growled under his breath. "You really caught me off guard. Are you so sure I'd come to the rescue?"
Radahn's eyes locked onto the enemies rising around him. He raised his dual swords slowly, deliberately. Purple electric arcs crackled across the ground, gathering energy. Stones and broken blades lifted into the air, swirling into a vortex above his head. With a single motion, he unleashed it all.
Swish, swish, swish, swish—
The air screamed as countless projectiles tore through it. Melina had just climbed to her feet when a barrage of sharp blades whizzed past her ears. The Kindred of Rot, scrambling up behind her, were shredded into pulp.
"Is this the strength of General Radahn?" Melina whispered to herself, stunned. His strike was both dense and precise, a terrifying display of raw power. Unlike Throne, Radahn disdained subtlety. He announced his return with spectacle, refusing to hide. He wasn't an executioner; he was a battle banner.
"The General's back!" voices roared across Sellia.
"Brothers, keep pushing!"
The news spread like wildfire. Radahn's unique skill couldn't be mistaken. Dual-wielding his greatswords, he plowed through the streets like a tank, unstoppable. The crowd behind him swelled, but Radahn felt no joy. Instead, confusion gnawed at him.
"Too weak," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "With these small fries, you dare to cause trouble in front of me?"
His greatsword cleaved a dragon in two. Gravity pulled a fleeing Bloody Finger into his grasp, and he crushed it beneath his boot, silencing its screams with brutal efficiency. He spotted a Troll-like figure fleeing. Without hesitation, he slung his greatbow from his back. Three heavy, spear-like arrows blasted the creature into a nearby house.
Just as he was preparing to raise his blade to finish the opponent, he finally caught sight of Edred's figure.
"What exactly is going on? Where are their experts!?"
The Great Sage hesitated, tempted to point out that the Troll Radahn had just obliterated was no weakling. Instead, he spoke quickly.
"The dragon Greyoll is in the north, and a powerful Kindred of Rot is in the west, but a Flowing Swordsman has blocked it."
Radahn frowned.
"What Flowing Swordsman?"
Radahn burst onto the scene, the chaos around him still unclear. His mind snapped to the ice fog he'd glimpsed upon arrival.
"Take the remaining warriors and drive the enemies out," he barked. "Ogha arrives by dawn."
He crouched, explosively launched himself skyward, leaving the Great Sage reaching after him with futile frustration.
The Sage had hoped the General would rest. Galloping hundreds of miles for over ten hours would drain anyone's stamina. Staying to command would've sufficed. Radahn didn't spare him a thought. He soared, scanning the area with sharp eyes. The northern forest was a chaotic wreck, and a massive figure soared through the air. Greyoll was fleeing? Making such a spectacle, and running without so much as a greeting?
He frowned, puzzled. Dragons scattered in every direction, like water boiling over. What were they up to? A lure, perhaps. Radahn wasn't one to chase blindly. No signs of battle with Greyoll—no clash, no struggle—just chaos. His gaze shifted westward.
Ice-fog shrouded the landscape, thick and cutting. The ground mirrored the chaos above, scarred as if by a brutal fight.
"This way first," he muttered. "If things go wrong, I can retreat to Sellia."
Meticulous as ever, Radahn adjusted his course and descended toward the west.
The impact shook the ground as he landed, the fog parting around him. His killing intent flared, then froze. No enemies. Not even corpses. Only a massive sword mark gouged into the earth, leading to a block of ice. A knight sat atop it, leaning on a katana, as though he'd been waiting for ages.
The face was unfamiliar, but the aura sparked recognition. Before he could dwell on it, trees trembled nearby. A colossal Warrior Jar burst from the forest, its presence charged with fighting spirit. Their gazes met—confusion flickered between them. Then, as one, they turned to the knight in the middle.
"Wrong choice," Throne sighed.
The police of kindness, always arriving late, guns blazing. This time, it was Alexander emerging from the forest. Mud caked his surface, evidence of his struggle with the crater. Radahn stood slightly winded, exhaustion etching itself onto his features.
The swordsman remained icy, indifferent to their shock. His gaze swept between them.
"You're late, Warrior Jar," Throne said, tone flat. He turned to Radahn.
"General, you're the same. No need to look."
Slowly, he rose, leaning on his blade.
"I've already killed all the enemies for you."
His indifference was piercing. A sharp glare stopped Alexander mid-step, halting the Living Jar's advance. Radahn's thick brows furrowed as he studied the swordsman. Something disguised his appearance, and the ice fog's aura felt familiar. Why would a Flowing Swordsman guard the town's outskirts?
Victory hadn't come easily. Radahn didn't deny that some lived for mission and justice, but there was always a reason.
"Who were the enemies?" he asked. "The Lord of Blood and the Red Wave," Throne replied.
"Though the Lord was just a clone."
Radahn's expression stiffened.
He didn't fear a clone, but that Red Wave was very, very troublesome—not just because of its strength, but because of that characteristic.
"And you slew them?"
"Yes," Throne answered, his voice steady. "It took some effort." Emotionless, he admitted the cost. This battle revealed too much, and left a survivor behind.
But Mohg immediately sealed the entrance and exit, even selling out his own men, and Throne had no energy to deal with him now. He was a poisonous snake, seemingly elegant, but actually very cautious and ruthless. I'm afraid few of the Bloody Fingers who attacked Sellia would be able to escape back.
"There's no need to worry about the Red Wave now that it's dead, but you must be careful about the Lord of Blood being alive. He is under Caelid and is the mastermind behind everything."
No one would have paid attention to this intelligence if it had been spoken ten years ago, but now that it was spoken, Radahn immediately became much more serious.
"For example?"
"For example, the Battle of Aeonia."
"Good, I finally know who is causing trouble."
In an instant, tyrannical killing intent surged from General Radahn, his fist smashing into his palm: "Tell me the location, I'll go over and beat the shit out of him."
Seeing the furious Radahn, Throne held back his laughter, maintaining a water-like indifference: "We can't go now. He is very cautious, fearing pursuit, but when the time comes, I will notify you. It just so happens that I also have some accounts to settle with him."
"Good, remember to tell me."
The General was a bit regretful, and the killing intent vanished instantly. The two looked at each other again. Throne seemed like a cold person and didn't say much.
But Radahn grinned and laughed heroically: "You know, you are really like an old friend of mine. Equally not considering gains and losses, equally strong-minded, and equally good at pretending. You started this battle, right?"
"That's right."
There was no doubt about this. Without his interference, it should have been a scenario like dragons ambushing Redmane Castle.
"Starting from interest, seemingly cold and ruthless, but actually unable to let it go, solving the trouble for me."
Radahn was not stupid, of course, he knew what the result would be if the other party just walked away. He rushed over and then fell into the encirclement of three powerful experts.
Even if he could escape, the rot disease would break out, and the best result would be dying on the spot.
"So I said you are very like that old friend of mine, a mix of reason and sensibility, a very contradictory person." Throne smiled. He hadn't intended to hide it from the other party, but he didn't take off his mask either.
Some things are enough to be guessed; taking off this mask would make it impossible to turn back. From the beginning, he didn't intend to sell a huge favor to Radahn to win him over or persuade him. That was impossible, and it was not his style.
"I did it because I wanted to, seeking only peace of mind."
Radahn's pupils constricted slightly. He had already confirmed who this person was.
Although he really wanted to ask how he came back from the dead, he didn't want to break this tacit understanding. This line was too long—Caria, Death Eater, and even involving the Greater Will. As a friend, perhaps silence was the best way.
"As expected, you still have no intention of persuading me."
"General, would you really be persuaded? Then I can give it a try."
"Hahaha, that's not easy. You have your path, I have my way. Some things are above friendship."
Radahn laughed heroically, then turned serious in an instant: "Since you knew it wouldn't work early on, do you really not want to kill me that much?"
"If possible, I don't want to kill a friend. Even if I must, there should be a fair and reasonable place for just the two of us to settle our grievances."