Chapter 709: Can you shut up now?

On the core battlefield, the fight between Anthony and Hebrew had already entered its fiercest phase. Because the latter had been momentarily distracted during the exchange and forcibly interfered with Lyra, Anthony Osterlin, a peak tier Arcanist Mage, seized the gap in his casting.

He piled layer upon layer of intricate arcane spells, successfully suppressing the Pope of Light, and then used the arcane magic [Elemental Sealing] to completely lock down the light-element particles around him, turning them into shard after shard of light-mirror fragments that were difficult to draw upon.

It was already a deep night. Darkness covered the land; only the bright moon remained, far dimmer than the sun. The density of light-element particles was low, their activity poor, they were inconvenient to use to begin with. If Hebrew wanted to cast, he could only seize elemental particles from the void himself, trading far more mental power for casting materials.

Meanwhile, on the outer battlefield formed by several slightly early tier Arcanist Mages, silvery radiance spilled down, illuminating the assembled powerhouses. Chaotic, violent torrents of elements surged high in the sky.

The moment various elemental particles finished being consumed by one spell, before they could even fall into a disordered state, the mental power of other mages would immediately capture and split them apart, rearranging them according to conjured arrays to perform secondary casting.

In magical theory, there was a concept widely known among mages as elemental fatigue: after the same casting materials were reused multiple times, their properties became harder to control.

Where one portion of mental power could originally draw ten portions of elemental particles, when applied to fatigued particles it could only draw three or four, sometimes even fewer. As a result, the mage had to pay a greater mental cost to successfully chant a spell.

In everyday life, elemental fatigue almost never appeared. After all, these elemental particles were nearly always in circulation, and large-scale repeated casting within a narrow area was exceedingly rare.

Only now, above the outskirts of a not-so-wide city, with more than a dozen Arcanist Mages clashing at high intensity, did the elements gradually fatigue, becoming difficult to pull.

On another front, Lyra, who had just been struck hard on her holy armor and sent plummeting, steadied herself again. With magical support from two other imperial mages, she barely managed to catch her breath, her mental power slowly attaching to her left shoulder.

The tremendous momentum of that blow had penetrated through the armor, severely injuring her left shoulder. When her mental power probed it, Lyra could even sense faint cracks along the bone’s surface, and most of her left arm went numb with pins and needles.

If not for the protection of the heavy armor of light, the force of that single cleaving strike would have been enough to shatter her shoulder bone and throw her organs into chaos.

An ordinary person facing such an injury would likely be unable to continue fighting. But Lyra was not only an Arcanist Mage, she was also an early tier Crusader with an exceptionally strong physique.

In the blink of an eye, the surging blood within her returned to normal. Her left hand, encased in a metal gauntlet, flexed slightly. Once she confirmed her nerves weren’t completely deadened, Lyra tightened her grip on the Sword of Light and exhaled softly.

Her left arm felt uncomfortable, clearly an aftereffect of the hit, but thankfully it wasn’t her crucial right hand. She could keep fighting.

"Thank you, Knight Commander Kales."

In a low voice she thanked the former enemy, now protector. Lyra pressed her lips together, her thoughts sinking.

These injuries weren’t the point...

Her fingers clenched the silvery-white hilt tightly. In her palm, the [Sword of Light] was as it always was, like an extension of her body. She could clearly feel the cold wind flowing along the sword’s spine, and also the pale moonlight shining at its tip.

That disturbance just now... what exactly was it...?

It was like some kind of summons, similar to the mutual attraction between holy relics of light, yet not quite the same. That pull had been stronger, more overbearing.

If Lyra hadn’t already formed a deep bond with the Sword of Light, and if she hadn’t passed its trial to earn its acknowledgement, then in that instant, this semi-transparent knight’s sword might have flown from her grasp.

She was given no more time to think. The Light Archbishop swung again. Through the slit of her helm, Lyra caught the motion. Her pink lips, hidden behind metal, bit down hard as she raised her sword to meet his.

A broad, heavy exchange, her wrist throbbed from the shock. But Lyra had never intended to clash head-on with a higher-tier knight whose strength far exceeded hers. The very next second after steel met steel, a searing wave of light burst outward.

With the support of her holy armor, Lyra blocked the strike perfectly. At point-blank range, the Light Archbishop could only let a portion of the mental power along his blade spill outward to form a defensive field against the elemental particles.

A drop in mental power meant less reinforcement to the muscles, and therefore less strength. Sensing that subtle change, Lyra twisted her blade. What had been a deadlock became a sliding lift along the opponent’s swordline, and she chopped toward his wrist.

In a flash, the man forced his greatsword down, trying to compress Lyra’s attack angles. But Lyra’s practical combat experience was greater; the instant she saw his movement, she responded.

The next moment, the Light Archbishop felt sudden heat at his chest. Alarm and survival instinct surged to the peak. His aura exploded outward into a gale-field. At the cost of massive mental expenditure, he forcibly repelled Lyra, opening several body-lengths of safe distance.

Lowering his head, he saw a sharp gash across his holy-white armor. Blood poured out through the seam, accompanied by a faint scorched smell.

When he looked up again, the heavy-looking greatsword of light had somehow become slender, revealing its original semi-transparent form. Lyra had relied on that trait, in the last second, she had switched from a cleave to a heavy thrust, nearly killing him in a single blow.

A holy relic indeed, its might was extraordinary.

Attributing all of that threat to the blade in the girl’s hands, the Light Archbishop furrowed his brow. He used light magic as a base to heal at full speed, his gaze locked tightly on the distant Light Knight.

That signature long pink hair was fully covered by a metal helm. The snow-white delicate face beneath it couldn’t be seen at this angle, but he was certain: Lyra was staring back at him as well.

During the fierce fighting, some water-specialist mages had captured large quantities of water-element particles from the void. As a result, in this cramped area, water-element particles, previously scarce, appeared in abundance. They fused with ice elements to form countless ice crystals and dense clouds. A few snowflakes drifted down onto the sword tip, signaling an oncoming blizzard.

Moonlight on Lyra was gradually swallowed by cloud cover. Only the Sword of Light remained bright. The pink-haired girl silently recited a spell. Six slender light-swords manifested beside her, their tails trailing wave-like flames. The air heated and expanded, distorting the light that passed through, seen from afar, it looked as if space itself were burning.

An early tier Arcanist-tier light-attribute spell: [Searing Wave Piercing Sword].

Locking onto her enemy, Lyra lifted her wrist. Along with [Searing Wave Piercing Sword], she unleashed another horizontal slash brimming with power.

A fierce, solidified sword aura and light magic infused with mental power took position together, something even a middle tier Crusader would have to block with all their strength.

At this moment, if she simply vibrated her light wings and closed in at high speed, she could likely inflict lethal damage, just as she had done in the battle where she captured Grand Duke Grant.

The six light wings on her back beat rapidly, propelling Lyra forward like lightning.

Perhaps from a mistake born of tension, the sword in her hand did not transform into a greatsword, still maintaining its slender knight-sword form.

Though the [Sword of Light] was sharp enough, in such a situation, a broad-swinging greatsword was clearly better suited for offense.

Watching Lyra Beckett focus all her attention on the enemy before her, a royal member who had been hiding in the dark, acting under the king’s secret order to eliminate key figures of the expeditionary army, seized the chance and finally made his move.

Within the layered clouds, a black-haired knight in a black robe, wearing a royal medal, aimed his arrowhead at Lyra. He drew the bowstring to its limit, targeted the inevitable track of that lightning-point charge, and released.

The pitch-black arrow was wreathed in deep, cold dark-element particles, like a venomous snake lunging from shadow. The distance between it and Lyra shrank rapidly. In a blink it crossed nearly a hundred meters, driving straight for the girl’s back.

If that were all, it might not have been enough to pierce the heavy armor. To be safe, the early tier Crusader representing the interests of the Velys royal family also emerged from the shadows, charging toward Lyra at the same speed as the arrow, if not even faster.

A few imperial Arcanist Mages noticed, but the attackers and Lyra were moving too quickly. Even they could not, without pure instinct, make a correct judgment in the instant of discovery, identify a spell’s effect, its range, its target, and successfully chant within less than a second.

No, absolutely not enough time.

Just as the same thought flashed through the minds of those who saw it, their hearts rising to their throats, a thin layer of frost coated a longsword. With a lightning-fast slash came a piercing tearing sound through the air. The blade cut through flesh, splashing a ripple of blood.

The sharp dark-element arrowhead sank into Lyra’s holy armor of light. Because the armor was extremely thick, only the black shaft remained visible, with a small portion of the metal tip still outside.

A great deal of bright red liquid spilled across her silver-white holy helm. Under the dazzling light of the holy sword, silver and red seemed to become the same color.

"Mm... ngh..."

Seeing the arrow buried in Lyra’s chest rather than her back as intended, the attacker’s eyes reddened to the point of tearing. His hand instinctively clutched at a suddenly cold throat.

Blood continued to pour out. Air backflowed into his trachea. Burned into his retinas was that Light Knight, armored like heavy cavalry, her girlish form completely indistinguishable beneath steel.

Lyra held her sword in a reverse grip. A curtain of red blocked her vision. Though she hadn’t managed to behead the ambusher in a single strike, it was close enough, the sharp light aura along the Sword of Light’s surface could effectively block other elemental particles from approaching, and through the inherent exclusivity of light elements, it could hinder natural bodily recovery. The man before her could no longer force healing through any recovery magic.

To be safe, one more strike.

With her left hand, she grabbed the arrow coated in dark-element particles and yanked it out. From the corner of her eye she noticed there was no blood on it. She exhaled in relief, then raised the Sword of Light in her right hand and aimed at the heart, now unprotected as the man clutched his throat, and drove down with brutal force.

One sword thrust straight through his chest. The scorching Sword of Light did not even bring out a trace of blood. The next second, the attacker’s body fell from the sky, his last vitality extinguishing rapidly, like a candle in the wind.

Lyra had killed an early tier Crusader. It was the first time she personally ended such a high-tier knight, and it was also the first kill of the battle, on either side.

Blood filled the air. The scent of death spread. Light flashed over the outer surface of her holy-white armor, and the blood-red film that had obstructed her sight was evaporated by light-element particles.

She lifted her sword and turned her head. The collision of helm and armor rang out with crisp metal chimes.

The battle was not over.

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

Within dense black fog, Brennild felt no grief at the powerful aura of death. Instead, she lifted her snow-white neck high, chanting softly while savoring the sensation of power flooding into her body.

The death of a transcendent being at the level of an Arcanist Mage, its soul could nourish her far beyond tens of thousands of ordinary people or mindless magical beasts.

Good. Let the conflict grow even more violent. No matter who won or lost this war, she would lose nothing.

Of course... The best outcome was still the kingdom’s forces eliminating Lyra, and letting the revived Moserria reclaim this other half of the godhood...

When that happened, with that god of light assisting from the side, Brennild was confident she could go deep into the Rift and retrieve what had once belonged to her.

Low, lilting divine speech echoed across the earth, endlessly praising the gods of the high heavens. Wrapped in an ancient robe, barefoot upon the frost, Brennild was shrouded completely in black mist, as if swallowed by tidal ink.

""Eternal Sun, whose sacred fire burns beyond all ages,

All light shall one day kneel before Your throne..."

"Lighy Sovereign, glorious beyond mortal sight,

You are the Lord’s right hand,

The everlasting Judge,

The eternal ruler of Light and divine judgment..."

"..."

Suddenly, a gigantic ice spike formed before Brennild and shot straight through the girl’s chest, hoisting her up into the air.

"Nice melody. Too bad the chant is ugly."

A clear, cool voice echoed through the space, not the common tongue of modern humans, but the same language Brennild had been using.

A silver-haired beauty in black gauze and slender high heels stepped out of the shadows, pale fingers brushing the deep-blue brooch at her chest.

"Can you shut up now?"