Chapter Three: The Flower of the Other Shore

  The seal of the Elbottan Gate endured for over ten minutes; as the green radiance faded and the once-vibrant, life-filled mists dispersed, the shattered battlefield seemed cleansed. Under the cold light of the moon, the very ground at the heart of the conflict glowed with an eerie red hue, while countless blood-red blossoms defiantly erupted upon the sullied, chaotic wasteland.

  The immense Netherlord had vanished, leaving behind nothing but the bleached bones of several knights and a solitary, naked white-haired man crouched silently amidst that spectral floral sea. Suddenly, the white-haired figure stirred; with great effort he rose. His emaciated frame, little more than sinew and bone wrapped in pallid skin, bowed as if weighed down by the ravages of time. Slowly, he shuffled toward the charred remnants of Sir Orant’s armor and, with painful labor, donned its lower piece.

  When he turned his head, even more unsettling than the cold, green light that shimmered in his eyes was the enormous totem on his forehead—a vast, eye-shaped emblem, aglow with a forbidding light and encircled by mysterious runes, its brilliance as translucent and piercing as a gemstone.

  Breton spat out the sand clogging his mouth as he pounded at the shattered stones overhead, while Arthas strained to pull each child from the collapsed wreckage of the underground fortifications.

  When the smoke finally cleared, the members of the youth brigade beheld that the colossal lighthouse had toppled, as if weathered by time itself. In collective, dumbfounded silence, they stared at the few ghostly red blossoms that had taken root on the charred, blackened soil.

  “What… what is this?” Nasha murmured, brushing dust from her face as she pointed, astonished, at the uncanny red flower. The other youths exchanged hushed whispers. “If I’m not mistaken, this must be… the Red Spider Lily…” Breton’s eyes grew wide as he gazed in disbelief at the exquisite, dewy petals.

  At that moment, dozens of reconnaissance drones swept overhead, soon accompanied by the thunderous roar of engines. A massive transport vessel descended from the sky, its tremendous gusts so fierce that the youths struggled to keep their eyes open, and clusters of those scarlet blossoms were swept away like scattered petals in the wind.

  As the airlock doors swung open, Cheng Wei—deputy commander of the Qiántáng Empire, resplendent in an ornate black robe adorned with dragon motifs—strode briskly out, closely followed by the red-robed supreme commander, Guan Feng.

  Cheng Wei, visibly surprised, remarked, “There are survivors—these little brats. Quickly, board the rear helicopter and evacuate,” issuing orders through his PDA.

  “Hey… we’re not just brats…”

  Arthas tried to protest, spitting out the sand lodged in his throat, but no sound emerged. Instead, he hoisted Breton’s right arm—the one bearing the emblem that once belonged to their captain.

  “You’re the little brats of the Third Squad; that means Ramli is lost,” stated a resolute Holy Knight of the Rhine Duchy, his eyes narrowed in grim certainty.

  “There’s no time to waste. Let’s move—the battle still awaits its conclusion…” Guan Feng declared as he signaled for the group to return to the airship.

  “Wait—take us with you! We are warriors too; we can surely be of use…” Arthas shouted, his voice straining against the howling gale.

  “Children, your time for play is over. What follows will be perilous—let the true knights carry this out,” Cheng Wei replied with an uneasy smile.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “We are on the cusp of true knighthood; trust me—we shall not be a burden,” Breton declared. In that moment, his eyes transformed into brilliant orbs of gold, flecked with red, as raw power surged forth in a tempestuous cascade like a howling hurricane.

  “This… such formidable fusion ability…” murmured one of the youths. Even Cheng Wei was taken aback that this youthful, still-unseasoned lad could harbor such unfathomable might.

  “Bring the two along. The scions of the Rolfi family are never ordinary,” Guan Feng remarked coolly, his gaze fixed meaningfully on the green-glowing crest upon the right arms of the young warriors. Cheng Wei nodded and beckoned them forward.

  “We shall return safely soon; you, retreat to the assembly point—Black will temporarily assume command,” Breton briefed his comrades before he and Arthas hurriedly boarded the airship bound for the front lines. As the vessel descended into the fiery clouds, a gentle breeze, carrying the fragrance of the blooming floral sea, caressed the faces of the remaining youths. Nasha’s eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed into the distance.

  “This is the footage just captured by the drones,” Cheng Wei announced, pointing toward the large screen behind him. The thirty most elite Holy Knights of the allied forces sat in orderly rows along either side of the conference table; the atmosphere was thick with tension, and the gravity of the situation remained unyielding.

  The images revealed that as the first wave’s two airships and several drones neared the core zone, a vague, rugged figure emerged aloft. From the palm of his right hand, two orbs—one black, one white—rose and expanded, coalescing into a swirling, Taiji-like ring of mist; then, two immense black mirrors appeared, accompanied by four white conical shapes, drifting in silent orbit around him.

  At that instant, two transport planes from the high-speed first wave reached the Netherlord’s airspace, poised to launch a surprise assault. Yet one, hurtling at an excessive velocity, collided with a black mirror, becoming ensnared as though in a quagmire, and gradually vanished. A dozen nimble knights managed to extricate themselves in time, only to be besieged by a rapidly approaching, sharply contoured geometric form forged from a white cone—plunging the scene into utter chaos.

  “We have yet to engage the Netherlord in his original form, and our intelligence reveals no link between him and the Shadowlord or the Evernight Lord; his true abilities remain shrouded,” Cheng Wei stated gravely.

  “Perhaps he is not even of the demonic lineage,” Guan Feng remarked nonchalantly, provoking an outcry among the knights at the round table.

  “Boss, whence comes this news?” Cheng Wei inquired in a hushed tone.

  “Let us not speak of that now,” Guan Feng interjected.

  “We are to contend with a fusionist who may possess demonic power—his exact abilities remain unknown, his demonic form sealed, and it appears the nearby airspace is off-limits. Our plan is to descend behind Lion Peak in ten minutes. Benjamin and I will each command fifteen men; Benjamin will take Team B to engage and discern the Netherlord’s true capabilities, while I lead Team A in a potent assault. You are all battle-hardened veterans; further words are needless. May the Lord be with us!” Guan Feng declared calmly, glancing at a fully armed, impassive middle-aged knight by his side.

  “Listen, Arthas—stay on the airship and await my return. On the battlefield, there is no mercy; if I fall, you must support our father well,” Breton instructed as he meticulously inspected his custom Snow Wolf handgun (a MEU fusion ability variant), turning to address Arthas.

  “Brother, you have been wounded enough today. If you are unwilling to stay and watch the tides of battle, how can I ever hope to survive unscathed? I shall stand by you, for the Lord above is with us,” Breton said, his pearl-like silver eyes fixed on Arthas as a smile broke through.

  “Hey, I knew you’d say so. Well, I’ve never been able to sway you anyway—then lend me your strength,” Arthas replied with a wry smile.

  “Captain Ramli’s ‘Grass Python’ fighter remains in the mothership’s hangar; I’ve already engaged its autopilot—it will be with us in fifteen minutes.”

  “Hey, I knew you were full of cunning ideas…”

  “You knew it again…” their banter drifted amid the din.

  The airship, having pierced the cloud cover, slowly descended, drawing ever nearer to Lion Peak. Outside the battle zone, a fleet of support spacecraft and formations of fighter jets rained down cruise missiles and laser fire upon the core region. Yet it was evident that such heavy weaponry—designed for mankind’s internecine strife—was utterly futile before the Netherlord. Two black, mirror-like orbs, as if endowed with consciousness, impeccably deflected all incoming attacks, while even the mightiest tactical arms faltered, their energies mired as though in a quagmire. Overhead, a bare-chested white-haired man floated, arms outstretched; the green, spherical magical stone on his exposed chest pulsed like living veins, drawing power inexorably.

  “Fifteen minutes until our munitions run dry,” Cheng Wei observed, glancing at the data on his smartwatch.

  Atop Lion Peak, knights began disembarking from the aircraft, and support equipment was already arrayed in neat formation.

  “Let us move out, knights! For the sake of tomorrow, we must battle unto death; may the Lord be with us!” Guan Feng cried, hoisting a silver cross high.

  “The Lord shall be with us!” the knights echoed, raising their right hands in homage to their deity, their voices a fervent plea for the Almighty to protect humanity—immortal and never enslaved.