Chapter 192: Capital of the Second Continent, Swords of the Kingdom

Iron-Scale marched through the colossal outer gates of the capital castle alongside his Vanguard lieutenant, a massive, battle-scarred Orc named Gulag. The sheer architectural grandeur of the stronghold rivaled even the City of the Spiral.

Massive pillars of polished white marble reached toward a vaulted ceiling painted with sprawling ancient battle frescoes. Golden braziers lined the central aisle, casting a brilliant light over the vast assembly of local forces.

Apostle Lucian waited for them at the base of a grand staircase. The holy champion wore pristine white and gold armor, standing in stark contrast to the dark, blood-stained star-iron worn by the Vanguard commanders.

The tension from their previous standoff still lingered in the air, but Lucian offered a stiff, formal nod.

“Welcome to the heart of the Second Continent’s resistance,” Lucian said, his voice echoing through the massive hall. He gestured toward the perfectly aligned formations flanking the central carpet. “We have assembled our entire command structure to coordinate the march to the western shipyards.”

Iron-Scale rested a hand on his sword hilt and studied the room. Gulag let out a low grunt, her sharp eyes scanning the varying levels of strength present in the hall.

Lucian began the formal introductions, and pointed toward the closest formations.

“These are the standing soldiers of the allied army,” Lucian explained. “They form the absolute backbone of our defensive lines. The armored warriors standing behind them are the Kingdom Knights. Every single knight in that formation is a veteran who survived the Fourth Continent’s initial territorial purges.”

Gulag cracked her knuckles and offered a toothy grin at the knights. The armored veterans stared back without flinching, their auras dense with refined combat experience.

Lucian shifted his hand higher up the grand staircase. Several dozen figures clad in ornate armor and fine silk robes observed the Vanguard commanders from elevated balconies.

“Above the knights are the Battalion Commanders and the high-ranking ministers,” Lucian continued. “They manage our remaining supply chains and direct the macro-movements of the local armies.”

Iron-Scale followed Lucian’s gaze to the absolute peak of the staircase. A magnificent throne carved from solid platinum and glowing quartz sat at the summit. The seat itself remained entirely empty. Three imposing figures stood directly in front of the throne, radiating a suffocating, hyper-dense aura of magical pressure that completely dwarfed the rest of the room combined.

“Those three are the Swords of the Kingdom,” Lucian stated, a deep sense of reverence entering his tone. “They are the absolute strongest mortals in our realm, unmatched in single combat. They answer solely to the King himself.”

Iron-Scale narrowed his eyes at the three powerhouses. He could feel their raw strength pressing down on the grand hall like a physical weight against his scales.

“The throne is empty,” the Kobold noted aloud.

“His Majesty is currently absent from the capital,” Lucian replied smoothly. “He is personally securing the northern borders against a potential Herald incursion. Until he returns, the Swords and I speak for the kingdom. Now, let us move to the war room. We have a route to the western shipyards to map out before your reinforcements arrive.”

A heavy footstep echoed through the silent hall before they could move toward the war room. The Vanguard commanders stopped and looked back up the grand staircase. One of the three Swords of the Kingdom slowly descended the marble steps.

The warrior wore pristine silver armor that radiated a blinding, hyper-dense aura. He drew a massive greatsword from his back, letting the heavy tip drag against the stone and leave a deep, glowing scar in the steps.

“Words and alliances mean nothing if your vanguard cannot hold the line,” the Sword declared, his voice booming with authority. He pointed his massive blade directly at the Kobold commander. “Show me the true strength of the Seventeenth Continent before we entrust you with our western borders.”

Iron-Scale did not hesitate. He drew his star-iron sword in a flash of dark metal.

The two warriors clashed in the center of the grand hall with the force of a detonating bomb. A massive shockwave rippled outward from the impact, instantly shattering the polished marble floor and forcing the Kingdom Knights to raise their heavy shields just to remain standing.

Iron-Scale moved with terrifying speed. He parried a devastating overhead strike from the giant greatsword and retaliated with a flurry of precise thrusts.

The Sword of the Kingdom met every single attack head-on. He wove his heavy blade with impossible grace, matching the Kobold’s speed with sheer, crushing magical pressure.

Golden sparks showered the vaulted ceiling as star-iron repeatedly ground against enchanted silver. The sheer spectacle of the battle left the entire hall completely breathless. Iron-Scale unleashed his draconic aura, coating his dark scales in a violent, crimson energy to match the Sword’s blinding white light.

They traded blows so fast that they blurred into streaks of black and silver across the ruined throne room, tearing up the ceremonial carpets and cracking the massive pillars.

The legendary duel raged on without a single pause. Time passed, but neither combatant yielded an inch of ground or showed any sign of slowing down. Gulag watched the spectacle with a feral, jagged grin, crossing her massive arms as the castle foundation trembled beneath her boots.

Lucian finally stepped forward as another violent shockwave tore through the room.

“Enough!” the Apostle shouted, his voice laced with absolute authority. “You are destroying the capital, and we are wasting precious time. There is no clear victor here.”

Iron-Scale and the Sword separated simultaneously. They landed on opposite sides of the shattered aisle, both breathing heavily but standing tall. The local warrior lowered his greatsword and offered a deep, incredibly respectful nod to the Kobold.

“Your strength is absolute,” the Sword admitted, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Are you the strongest warrior your Sovereign commands?”

Iron-Scale sheathed his dark blade with a sharp click. He stayed quiet for a long second, his reptilian eyes shifting toward Gulag for a brief moment. He let out a slow, heavy sigh.

He didn’t want to admit it even though deep down he was already aware of it.

“I command the Vanguard,” Iron-Scale answered honestly. “But there is someone far stronger than me back on the Seventeenth Continent. He is a Warlord, and absolutely no mortal in our entire army can match him.”

The Sword’s eyes lit up with sudden, eager anticipation.

“I would love to fight him one day,” the Sword commented, resting his massive blade comfortably on his shoulder. “Now, let us proceed to the war room. We have an invasion route to plan.”

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