Chapter 708: Appearing

At this very moment, dense dark-element motes gathered and draped themselves around the Empire’s Regent, completely masking her presence. That waterfall of fine, silvery-white hair was now veiled by a thin gauze of night. Paired with her pure-black lace-trimmed sleeves, the luxurious, smooth, night-sky gown, and the sheer black stockings covering her tender legs, the once dazzling Imperial Jewel now looked mysterious, yet elegant.

Astrid was not at the very center of the frontal battlefield. As an imperial power figure and a reserve force, she had completely blended into the darkness, protected at close range by the head maid, while silently watching the shifting tides of battle.

No one could say for certain whether the royal mages now appearing high above were the full extent of the royal house and the Church’s foundation, or only part of it, whether others still lay hidden beneath the curtain of night, observing the battlefield as closely as she was, ready to enter at any time.

And most crucially, would Brennild reveal herself along with the Kingdom’s movements? If she came as well, then Astrid’s positioning would become absolutely vital.

After all, at present she is the only one capable of chanting divine incantations to release origin-source spells. Calling her a weapon designed specifically for Brennild would not be an exaggeration.

Until then, Astrid had to remain a spectator, and wait in peace.

On the other side, facing the combined offensive of several Arcanist mages, the sword-bearing Lyra suspended in midair recited spells at high speed in her mind. Her azure, translucent irises flickered with surging lightning; the light-sword in her hand moved casually, its tip colliding with thunder and flame, brilliant radiation immediately blending together.

The next second, the Sword of Light burst into dazzling splendor. Scalding heat-waves swept forward with crushing force, swallowing the razor wind-blades head-on. The high-speed cyclone was scattered by the elemental torrent and quickly dissolved into the night. The brief vacuum field born from it even made Lyra, despite being the defender, feel a hint of suffocation.

After enduring the strike without flinching, the radiant wings behind Lyra’s ribs fluttered furiously, propelling her beyond the windless zone. Almost immediately, the frigid air returned, while ice-element motes that had gathered unnoticed began creeping over her armor, trying to freeze her joints and movements.

The idea was good. Unfortunately, the caster had clearly underestimated the elemental resistance of Lyra’s Holy Armor of Light. The sacred metal flashed; ice crystals that had just begun to form instantly liquefied into pale mist. Before the ambusher could release the next spell, the spellblade Lyra had already locked onto the target. Her silver-white figure moved like lightning, the light-wings behind her leaving only afterimages, while the semi-transparent longsword, carrying overwhelming might, slashed toward the caster’s fragile neck.

Everything seemed to slow down. The sharp flash at the sword’s end fused with the cold glint in the pink-haired knight’s eyes. The burning blade pierced the outer ice layer used as protection, and in less than half a breath, it shattered the mage’s entire defense.

Whether in speed or in the sharpness of her weapon, Lyra, bolstered by high-intensity mental power and endowed with a powerful physique, was unquestionably a top-tier powerhouse. Any being of the same tier facing her would feel a terrifying pressure like mountains collapsing and seas roaring.

But to kill an Arcanist mage of equal rank in a single exchange, Lyra was still far from capable of that. Any Arcanist mage had unique methods and trump cards; Those standing here were elites among elites, capable of holding a front alone elsewhere. They were not so easy to die.

The sword cuts through. The mage’s delicate neck was torn open, yet the expected gore never appeared. There was no slight resistance of bone being severed, no blood spraying. Instead, the person in front of her dissolved into a fading shadow, the whole existence like multicolored fuel dropped upon a lake, separated by a sudden ripple of water.

A fake, an afterimage molded from arcane factors and light-element motes.

The lingering wind brushed Lyra’s cheek, urging her to press the advantage. Several meters away, the Arcanist mage who had used a high-pressure cluster of wind-element motes to generate reverse thrust and retreat in an instant now had a slightly chaotic aura. The pallid neck long hidden beneath his mage robe bore a thin, vivid-red cut. Blood seeped endlessly, staining his clothing.

Although not struck directly by the Sword of Light, Lyra’s swing had been too fast, so fast that between his reaction and the spell taking effect, less than a few tenths of a second had passed. The sword’s sharp force had already pierced his external protection and cut his skin.

Even one breath slower, it would not have been merely a graze.

Condensed ice crystals temporarily seal the wound, stopping the bleeding. As he caught the light on Lyra’s blade reigniting, those blue eyes locked onto him without the slightest ripple, like she was looking at a cold corpse, cold sweat instantly burst from his back. The shadow of death, a mere few centimeters away moments ago, resurfaced in his mind.

The more desperate the corner, the more one must press the advantage. This battlefield was now life or death, Lyra had no intention of switching targets. The mage who had just attacked she had thrown several spells, was forced back by her holy sword, and his aura was in disarray. This was the perfect time to take his life.

The semi-transparent light-sword lifted slightly. Sacred white radiation blazed violently within the thick darkness, slicing open the deep black curtain in everyone’s eyes. Even the silver knight’s guard flashed with specks of light, stabbing at spectators’ pupils.

On the surface of the frozen tundra, within the dense tide of dark-element motes, Astrid raised her beautiful eyes and folded her arms, watching the pink-haired girl’s every move.

A few meters meant nothing to an early-tier Crusader, one step was enough. Lyra didn’t even need to close in; the sharp mental power projected from her sword alone was enough to annihilate the enemy.

Locking on, igniting holy light, building momentum, raising the knight’s sword to slash, each step has been prolonged, yet in truth barely more than a second passed. Lyra swung. Her azure pupils continuously reflect the radiation; six wings behind her held her steady against recoil.

Faced with this sword, one that seemed to cleave dawn from dusk, to sever the tides, the Arcanist mage’s mind, running at full speed, arrived at a grim reality.

The breadth and might of the strike made escape impossible. If no one interfered, there was only one path left: to endure, head-on, the holy sword of the usurper, Lyra Beckett.

With a mage’s body, to take on the combination of light-element magic and Crusader-grade mental power, and the sword-energy released through a light holy relic-level blade... he would most likely die here.

"Go!"

At that moment, another voice rang out beside him. A Church knight clad in armor of light flashed past. He carries a broad, long two-handed sword; thick mental power clung to blade and armor as he swung upward, intending to catch Lyra’s strike.

That mental power... middle tier Crusader...

Hearing the reinforcements, the attack mage immediately controlled his wind-wings and withdrew violently, yet he still underestimated the power of Lyra’s sword.

The collision of sword-energy and steel even creates an oppressive wind-pressure field. The mage’s wind-wings were compressed, involuntarily drawing his body toward the point where the two swords met, as though he were sliding down a tilted track, about to tumble into a meat grinder.

Meanwhile, facing the two-handed sword bracing against her from below, Lyra also felt her force checked. The opponent’s bodily strength and mental quality were decisively not beneath hers. She pivoted with agility, cutting diagonally and tracing a blossom of sword-flowers in the air. A brilliant lotus of light shattered apart and exploded, its shockwaves slamming into the target she had just been focused on.

Frost armor cracked. The gale barrier that deflected projectiles scattered. Sharp, scorching light carved through the mage’s enigmatic robe, leaving several conspicuous blood marks.

But that was as far as it went.

Watching the robe on the man turn faintly translucent under the intense radiation, as if even his organs and bones were pierced through by holy light, laid bare, Lyra let out a soft breath. Her watery eyes turned to the Light Archbishop blocking her at arm’s reach.

"Hebrew is tyrannical and without restraint, he has long since stolen the Church’s original faith. Are you certain you still wish to serve him, bring ruin upon living beings, and see past glory fade away?"

At Lyra’s words, the Light Archbishop’s gaze paused briefly on the holy sword in her hand. After a moment, he spoke.

"Usurper Lyra Blackley. Your narrative tricks end here."

So there was no room for negotiation. Knowing she would become their primary focus, Lyra signaled with her eyes to the imperial mages beside her. In an instant, several layers of elemental protection settled upon her.

She raised her gaze. The slender knight’s sword shifted into a two-handed grip. The light knight’s armor, suited to the idol image of the Church, burst into dazzling specks and rapidly restructured, covering the pink-haired girl’s entire body.

The gaps in her leg armor, where one could previously glimpse the white-silk snow of her thighs, were sealed with metal fill. Her smooth, slender arms were fully enclosed as well. Her exposed face was fitted with holy iron; Even her cherry-pink long hair was shielded by the neck guard, not a strand left outside.

Sacrificing some joint flexibility in exchange for the highest degree of physical and magical protection, Lyra in this form had no weak points to exploit. Neck, heart, wrists, all hidden beneath the holy armor.

Unless one had extreme single-point burst damage, or purely overwhelming mental strength that could drain her mental power completely and force her to dismiss the holy armor’s defense, Lyra in this state would face no threat at all.

"Since you insist on delusion, then we’ll see the truth on the blade."

The crisp, pleasant female voice filtered through heavy armor, carrying a distinctive, low humming resonance. Lyra looked through the slit at the light knight before her. Her gaze grew ever more resolute; the last trace of hesitation disappeared like smoke.

......................

Outside Hoskar City, a black-haired girl in an archaic robe walked upon the frozen earth. The hand hanging low by her waist moved faintly, as if plucking a melody, yet also as if constructing some special formation.

From the Valeria Empire to the Kingdom of Velys, from Imperial Capital City to the Liya Tower Fortress, then to southern towns and the royal capital of Seville, these past years, Brennild had traversed nearly half of humanity’s imperial lands.

She lifted her head. Looking toward the elemental fluctuations erupting far in the distance, feeling the godhead aura that had once belonged to the divine spreading through space, Brennild curved her lips, her tone tinged with nostalgia, like she was speaking to herself, yet also as if addressing certain unseen beings.

"The power of death bestowed upon me the gift of undying life and endless slumber...

It raised me beyond mortality, yet in time, betrayed me, leaving me as the sole transcendent being of this forsaken world..."

"All of this was meant to be...

Yet if we are to restore the glory of the ancient age,

If the gods are once more to stand above all creation,

Then I alone am not enough..."

"Moserria...

Though our paths have ever stood apart,

Though our wills have never truly aligned...

Now, there remains but one choice.

Awaken...

Awaken, and let the old era rise once more."

Beneath the ink-black veil of night, a hymn resounded in the sacred tongue, at once hushed and thunderous. The scattered remnants of faith slowly converged, gathering and growing until they became the divine sustenance that would awaken a slumbering god.

At the same time, Lyra discovered her light-sword was trembling without cease. The sensation was extremely similar to the resonance she had felt the first time she came face-to-face with a light holy relic.

What... Why now...?

That single flicker of distraction had not even given her time to think further before the Light Archbishop seized the perfect opening. His broad greatsword slammed down onto Lyra’s shoulder guard.

The heavy form of the Holy Armor of Light could reduce physical impact to a degree, but its greatest purpose was to prevent blades from entering the body and tearing flesh. Struck squarely by a blunt weapon wielded by a middle tier Crusader, Lyra immediately felt her organs churn. Her body dropped like a kite with its string cut.

Violent coughing loudly within her helmet. Watching the ground expand rapidly in her vision, Lyra forced herself through the dual blow to mind and body. The six light-wings along her back propped her up, lifting her again before she could crash completely.

Astrid, who had been watching her closely all along, saw it too. Her red pupils narrowed unconsciously, her fingers quietly tightening.

If Elise went... perhaps...

A moment of emotion shook Astrid’s rational judgment, but she was calm by nature, and she knew she absolutely could not act impulsively now.

Compared to the Arcanist mages on the battlefield, whose attention was drawn by the movement of countless elemental motes and who could not perceive changes in the darker corners, Astrid’s senses were far sharper.

Something in the air was different, how arcane factors were arranged, and how various elemental motifs attracted one another.

This high-efficient magical output was unlike ordinary human spellcasting. It was closer to origin magic, something she had often trained and used in the past, yet never displayed before ordinary people.

"Elise, raise concealment to the maximum. Fully cover with mental power. Follow me."

"Yes, Miss."

Casting one distant glance at the fierce battle in the sky, Astrid’s brows knit as she moved in the direction her mental scan indicated.

The worst-case scenario had, as expected, occurred.

Brennild was already in position, and hiding somewhere on the battlefield.