Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything! - Chapter 503: Battle Of Dura [6 Last Part]

Chapter 503: Battle Of Dura [6 Last Part]

Nephis’ bodyguard, a towering man clad in titanium-forged armor, approached Yuna with a heavy, thunderous gait. His mere presence seemed to silence the chaos around him. The steel plates of his armor clinked with every step, his helm shaped like an eagle’s skull giving him the aura of an executioner from the old world.

Yuna, her body still sore from the earlier burst of flame, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she simply chuckled, quiet and breathless, as the hulking man came closer. His gauntleted hand reached down, drawing the longsword from the scabbard at his waist with a cold, whispering hiss.

The blade, broad and silver-edged, gleamed under the grey sky like a crescent of judgment.

With no resistance, Yuna dropped to her knees, lifting her face to the heavens as though searching for something above. The bodyguard towered over her like a judgment given form, sword raised high like the blade of a headsman moments before the fall.

Then the sky split.

A blinding flash of lightning cracked across the heavens, tearing the sky open with a deafening roar. From that sundered sky came rain, not a drizzle, nor a storm, but a downpour so heavy it was as though the world itself was weeping.

But even more disturbing than the rain was what followed. The ground trembled. Subtle at first, just a ripple beneath the knees, but then stronger, angrier, like something was stirring deep beneath the soil. The trembling spread like a heartbeat, faster, closer.

The bodyguard hesitated. Then, slowly, like a ripple of panic, hundreds of soldiers turned.

And they saw it.

Bursting through the storm mist came the Heavy Cavalry, the Bladebreakers. Towering riders clad in layered armor as dark as night, mounted on monstrous white wolves that snarled and snapped with fury in their eyes. The wolves were massive, easily the size of horses, their fur covered with armour, their breath rising like smoke in the chill air.

At their head rode a figure in night-black armor, darker than a starless void. His pauldrons curved like a wolf’s head, and a crimson plume rose from his helm like fire licking the sky. He sat astride the largest wolf of them all, a beast that could have trampled siege towers.

And above them, fluttering viciously against the storm winds, were the black flags of the Bladebreakers, each bearing the white fanged sigil of their order, mounted on spear-sharp poles that swayed like executioner’s axes.

The bodyguard gasped. He knew the flag. He knew the stories of Ashbourne’s Bladebreakers. But now, he saw the truth with his own eyes and it was already too late.

The Bladebreakers crashed into the ranks of the United North Alliance with earth-shattering force. Like a tide of iron and fang, they surged forward, lances lowered, formation tight, eyes merciless.

Resistance was meaningless.

Those who fought died screaming.

Those who fled died begging.

They trampled tents, shattered defenses, tore through war horns before they could be sounded. Men were thrown like dolls, shields splintered like saplings. No line held. None.

Yuna kept her eyes shut as the storm howled louder, the thunder of paws against earth louder than drums of war. She could feel the tremble in her chest, feel the hot wind of wolves as they tore past.

Then… silence.

When she dared open her eyes, they were wide with disbelief. Before her, the Bladebreakers had split like a river parting for a stone. They had ridden past her, deliberately, precisely, as if her presence was poison to touch.

For a long moment, she knelt there in the rain-soaked mud, alone, heart hammering.

But then, paws stopped.

A single Bladebreaker remained. He sat upright upon his monstrous wolf, lance upright like a banner pole. The storm danced across his armor, water streaming down in rivers.

“Lady Yuna Mormont,” his voice rang out, distorted through the helmet but strong and clear. “I bear a message for you.”

He stretched out a sealed letter in his gloved hand. Yuna took it with trembling fingers, and without another word, the rider turned, galloping off into the dark tide of his brothers.

She stared at the letter, its seal pressed with the emblem of a wolf mid howl.

Upon tearing it open, her breath caught.

She recognized the handwriting instantly, curved, elegant, unmistakably personal. A whisper of warmth in a world turned cold.

“Mary…” she breathed, her voice breaking as tears soaked her eyelashes, blurring the words she had waited so long to see.

While Yuna was soaked in her moment, the war raged on, fiercer, bloodier, and more desperate than ever. Where lords had once stood tall, their banners now lay trampled in the mud, and their generals, some grieving, some thirsting for vengeance, took up command with strained resolve.

The Golden Axe Division, once a bulwark of might, now found itself crumbling. Their armour, once dazzling under the sun, was now dulled with blood, ash, and dirt. Formations broke. Roars turned to cries. One by one, their numbers dwindled.

From the skies above, shadows descended.

Wyverns swooped with terrifying screeches, wings outstretched like sails of doom. They rained fire down upon men and beasts alike, reducing Werelions and Minotaurs into screaming wrecks. Swiftwings, swift as thunderbolts, dived and tore through enemy ranks, talons rending flesh and steel.

But the chaos was too great. Five men would swarm a single exhausted beastman, stabbing wildly until he dropped, his roars fading into silence.

The field reeked of blood and burnt flesh. The Golden Axe had slain nearly half of the United North Alliance’s force, but their own strength was fading. Their indomitable momentum now faltered.

Their Generals, each an Awoken One stood strong but even they had wounds and broken armour but thousands lay dead around them.

What once made them fearsome, their heavy, gleaming armour, now turned into a burden. Limbs ached. Breathing grew laboured. Many could no longer raise their weapons.

Bolts zipped through the smoky air, finding their marks, piercing wyvern wings, splitting Swiftwing skulls, but even the ballista operators trembled. Their fingers, swollen and blistered from endless tension, could barely hold the lever. The battlefield teetered on a knife’s edge.

And then, it shifted.

From the rear of the United North Alliance, came a rumble, not of retreat, but of reckoning.

The Bladebreakers, still brimming with fury, strength, and untapped reserves, charged like a tidal wave from the flanks, crashing into the enemy’s rear lines. Their thick black armour gleamed like obsidian in the rain, lances lowered, white wolves snarling as they ploughed through man and horse.

They did not halt. They did not falter. They tore through the ranks of the North Alliance like a cruel punishment.

Men screamed. Commanders vanished in the blink of an eye. Bodies flew. Blood sprayed like fountains. The earth trembled under the paws of the massive wolves, as tents collapsed and command banners were ripped from the ground.

What remained of the once-proud United North Alliance was now chaos and carnage.

The tide had turned and it was merciless.

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