Chapter 204: Capital’s Downfall

“Legends! These must be our legends! That black sun must be General Roderick—I’m not sure who the other is, but it must be one of the kingdom’s hidden powerhouses!”

“So this is the might of a legendary warrior… incredible! No one can stand against them. No one can even touch them. We still have a chance to win!”

Just moments ago, the defenders of Selwyn had stood on the brink of despair. The enemy had pressed so close to the capital that it seemed the walls would fall within the hour. But now, hope surged anew in their hearts.

Two forces of overwhelming power had been unleashed on Aleisterre’s army, undeniable proof that Selwyn’s legendary warriors had arrived. These weren’t mere soldiers; they stood at the pinnacle of individual might on the continent.

“Hold the line! They can’t overcome our legendary champions!” the Selwyn soldiers roared, their grips tightening around sword hilts and spear shafts. Fueled by burning hope, they poured every ounce of fury into their counterattack, slashing and thrusting into the invading enemy ranks.

Ballistae thundered. Alchemical constructs whirred and hissed, unleashing explosive charges and energy rays, or simply charging forward and overcoming enemies via sheer brute force. Selwyn’s warriors threw themselves into the fray, unfazed by death, their screams and battle cries ringing out as they tore through the Aleisterre lines.

Where once the defenders had neared total collapse, the scales of battle now seemed to be balanced once more.

Aleisterre’s army, having reached the foot of the capital, continued to press forward with brutal resolve, while Selwyn’s garrison fought with everything they had to prevent the city from falling.

Amid the chaos, deeper within Aleisterre’s formation, the two legendary warriors from Selwyn rampaged unchecked.

High above, a black sun hung suspended in the sky, radiating an unnatural light. Those soldiers of Aleisterre on which it shone felt something being wrenched from them from within.

Weakness, fatigue, itchiness, dread—a miasma of negative sensations bloomed and spread. Their strength and stamina began to drain more and more quickly.

Minds grew dull and thoughts slowed to a crawl. Their eyelids felt weighted. The ardor and resolve with which they had fought seemed to have faded. They now longed only to lie down and rest.

Whatever was being drawn from them seemed to fuel the black sun itself. It flared brighter, the reach of its eerie light expanding, its effects deepening with every heartbeat.

In less than five minutes, dozens of Aleisterran trainee knights had collapsed beneath its rays.

Breath, heartbeat, body heat—all indicators of life rapidly ebbed away. It was only a matter of time before they perished entirely.

And though the full-fledged knights had yet to fall, they clung desperately to life. Some activated their potentials in an effort to resist—but it was all in vain. Against the potential of a legendary knight, their resistance was meaningless. Only their superior physique kept them standing.

“That sun… it’s too dangerous! That’s a legendary knight’s potential! Magicians—attack it, now!”

Kevan, a squad captain, quickly grasped the threat posed by the black sun. If it continued to drain his soldiers’ life force unchecked, the consequences would be catastrophic.

His orders were relayed swiftly to the battlemage corps stationed at the rear, who had already noticed the looming sun. At once, they launched a volley of coordinated spells.

Blazing meteorites howled through the air. Icy blades spun like saws, and arcs of lightning ripped across the sky. The barrage of magic rained down on the black sun.

But nothing landed. The spells passed through it harmlessly. It was not a solid object, but a projection—a manifestation of power, not matter.

“Damn it! We’ll have to deal with the caster himself!”

Kevan clenched his teeth. He had never witnessed the full might of a legendary knight until now. It was staggering. One legendary knight was enough to devastate an army.

“But even if we know the source, what can we do about it?”

Kevan’s heart sank. He had seen the legendary knight in question, who was making no effort to hide himself.

He was a middle-aged man in light armor, weaving through Aleisterre’s formations like a shadow. His longsword blurred with motion, every swing felling foes by the dozen. Blood and broken limbs flew with each arc of steel; the battlefield behind him looked like a vision of hell.

The second legendary knight had channeled his potential inward, enhancing himself. The roar of a beast rang out intermittently, followed by brutal bursts of blood from Aleisterre’s soldiers struck down without warning.

His speed was terrifying. Knights-in-training couldn’t even see him. Their comrades fell one after another—and by the time the pain reached them, it was already too late.

Wounds torn wide revealed twisted bones and gory viscera. Marks of claws and fangs rent flesh. Only a perfect predator, a true hunter, could inflict such horrors.

This was what made a legendary knight akin to an army—not because they could withstand one, but because they could tear through it unimpeded.

Their speed, strength, and resilience had surpassed mortal limits. If they wished to flee, no formation could stop them. If they wished to kill, no defense could hold.

“Damn it… we have no means to restrain them! Not unless we deploy high-tier spells—but can we even land a hit?”

Kevan’s thoughts raced. Every passing second cost dozens of soldiers their lives.

Though their army was vast, at this rate, the losses would be catastrophic. They might not just lose the battle, but the entire war.

“There’s no choice. We’ll have to make sacrifices. If we can trap them briefly with spells, that might be enough.”

Full-fledged knights could just barely track the second legendary knight’s movements as a blur of grey and white streaking across the field. From that, they could estimate his position.

But therein lay the problem: the Aleisterre soldiers couldn’t even reach the two legends. Where the rays of the black sun fell, they would be weakened beyond compare—and the legends were well within its range.

Weakened and outmatched, they would stand no chance. The legends continued their carnage, invincible in the heart of the enemy ranks.

There was only one option remaining: to envelop the whole battlefield in a coordinated spell zone. If the battlemages could cast such a wide-ranging spell, they might be able to hinder the two legends. The price would have to be paid in blood.

“Damn it all…”

Kevan cursed bitterly. His hand trembled as he drew a small alchemical device from his belt, an emergency measure prepared for just this scenario. He had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but now, there was no other choice.

He twisted open the metallic cylinder. Inside, gears clicked into motion, whirring with an unusual rhythm. A low, unnatural hum pierced the din of battle and echoed across the field.

The Aleisterre soldiers still fighting—or being slaughtered—paused for the briefest moment. Then, their eyes sharpened with cold clarity.

Without hesitation, they each retrieved a vial from their pockets: Vital Surge – Undying Fury.

The vials were glass tubes no thicker than a finger and filled with glowing crimson liquid. The soldiers bit down hard, swallowing glass and liquid in one savage motion.

The effects struck them instantly. Agonized, frenzied screams tore from their throats. Muscles bulged. Blood vessels burst in their eyes, staining the whites crimson.

Pain vanished. Hormones surged beyond limit. Every fiber of their being ignited.

This version of the standard berserk potion was cheaper to produce and more potent—at the cost of horrifying side effects that would leave the soldiers at death’s door. They were never meant for routine use, but had been prepared as a contingency against Selwyn’s legends.

“Charge! Drag them down!” they cried, voices choked with rage and blood.

Their bodies, driven to destruction, tore past human limits. Knights-in-training rose to the brink of full knighthood. Full-fledged knights reached the power of grand knights, if only for a moment.

Now, at last, they could reach the legendary warriors. Not defeat them, but hinder them, for that was all they could do.

These were legends, after all, whose realms were far beyond what stolen strength could reach.

“Hold them back!”

“Damn you, Selwyn dogs—I’ll smash your skull to dust!”

With blood-red eyes and broken bodies, the soldiers charged the two legends without fear.

The outcome didn’t change. The slash of a sword wreathed in fighting spirit still felled them. A backhanded strike still shattered bones.

The difference was this: before, they died without resistance. Now, they could block one blow. Perhaps two.

Wave after wave crashed forward, each soldier giving their life to slow the legends’ advance, confining their movements to a narrow zone as the battlemages readied their spells.

Violet arcs of lightning crackled across the air as the density of magic surged rapidly within the zone. An invisible force began pressing down upon everything within its bounds, the pressure growing heavier with every passing second.

The soldiers still charging forward suddenly collapsed, bones creaking in protest, muscles compressed by the crushing force until they ruptured and burst. Hearts faltered under the unbearable weight, their beating slowing,then stopping. Lungs could no longer draw breath. Life was squeezed from them without mercy.

A trace of clarity flashed through the soldiers’ bloodshot eyes. They had bought the time the magicians needed. They had done enough. A moment of peace, a sliver of relief—then, in the next instant, their bodies were flattened into pulp and shattered bone beneath the overwhelming gravity.

The grotesque sound of bodies bursting under pressure rang out again and again. Within the violet lightning, the ground had become a hellish canvas smeared in crimson. Only two figures still stood amidst the carnage—the two legendary knights.

Sixth-Tier Coordinated Spell: Gravity’s Prison. A crushing zone of directed force dragged everything down toward the earth with inescapable might. No living being could survive its oppression. Even metal armor twisted and buckled beneath the pressure—what chance did mere flesh and blood have?

And yet this spell had been cast not to kill, but merely to restrict the movements of, the two legendary knights. All of this was preparation. The true finisher was yet to come.

Kevan’s eyes were fixed on the two figures caught in the heart of Gravity’s Prison. Even they couldn’t stand tall under the effects of the spell; their bodies dipped ever so slightly. It was working.

The second knight, who had been too fast to see, was finally revealed in sight. He could hardly be called human. His body was a menagerie of magical beasts: he had the claws of a direwolf, the tail of a draconian, the wings of a vampire, the scales of a lizardman, and more.

He had fused the powers of countless magical beasts into his own body via his potential, Perfect Behemoth—an apex predator.

He stood still, watching the ground beneath him shudder and tremble. The earth cracked and groaned, the air warping with rising heat—something was about to erupt.

Sixth-Tier Coordinated Spell: Infernal Eruption. A devastating eruption of molten rock and elemental fury, born of fire and earth. It was among the most destructive of all sixth-tier spells—no knight, not even a legend, could withstand the searing heat of the molten deluge.

Its only flaw was its extremely slow casting time. Any worthy opponent would escape before the eruption—but the soldiers had bought time with their lives, and Gravity’s Prison ensured their targets would not escape. This time, the spell would strike true.

Kevan’s eyes gleamed with excitement. The plan was working. Their strategy to counter legendary foes had borne fruit.

And then his eyes widened beyond belief. The bestial knight turned toward him. A cruel smile crept across his face as he looked straight at Kevan, the battlefield commander.

He reached for his companion, the other legend whose potential didn’t grant him physical augmentation. With a slight crouch and a sudden boom, he vanished from Kevan’s sight. The earth cracked beneath him.

“Impossible! How can his body resist Gravity’s Prison?!”

Kevan’s voice trembled with disbelief. There was a sudden tap on his shoulder. He turned—and froze. The two legendary knights stood behind him. When had they gotten there? The older knight, the one who wielded the black sun, laid a hand gently on Kevan’s shoulder as he smiled.

“As a commander, you’ve done well,” the knight said amiably. “But your strength still falls short. These battlemages are troublesome—we’ll go deal with them now.”

The pleasant tone pierced Kevan’s heart like a dagger. “Damn you! How could—!” Fury overwhelmed fear. Kevan drew his longsword in a flash and slashed, despite knowing full well what he faced.

“Too slow…” The knight didn’t retaliate. He simply disappeared, leaving behind only those two words. Kevan could barely glimpse their blurred afterimages as they shot toward the battlemages in the rear.

“It’s over…” Despair clutched Kevan’s heart in its grip.

Magicians were fragile, and hence often stationed at the rear to avoid direct combat. But against two legends, that distance meant nothing. No one could stop them. Magical barriers were laughable before such foes.

And just like that, the tide turned. The Selwynian counteroffensive crumbled, and Aleisterre’s near-certain victory threatened to unravel.

Suddenly, a radiant burst of gold lit the sky. Kevan was forced to shut his eyes, unable to bear the searing light.

“What now—what else?!” His voice was a dry, hopeless rasp. He had grown numb to shock.

As the light faded, only a crater remained where the two legendary knights had stood. They were… gone…?

Kevan blinked away the pain in his eyes. Realization dawned—the source of light had to be Master Garcia’s teacher, the Archbishop of Aleisterre, the vessel of the God of Light, Fang Stuart. He had finally intervened.

Kevan did not know just what Fang Stuart had done, but the result was undeniable. The two legends were gone.

“Charge! Selwyn’s legends have fallen—take the city!” Kevan’s shout rang out, raw and wild.

The news spread like wildfire. Aleisterre’s forces roared, surging with renewed might. Their momentum exploded with terrifying speed.

Within the seams of space itself, a strange dimension unfolded. All around was darkness, the endless void of space. Countless stone fragments, large and small, floated in the abyss.

Upon the largest shard stood three figures. Fang, bare-chested, held his massive meteor hammer—formed from the holy scriptures of the God of Light—and faced the two legendary knights of Selwyn.

The knights watched him warily. Behind them, a black sun emerged slowly, and yet not a single ray of its dark light could reach Father Fang.

“Fang Stuart,” one of the knights began, brows furrowed, “So, you have chosen to act. You’re powerful, no doubt—but thinking you can take both of us alone? That’s arrogance. Let us out of here.”

The speaker was the knight who had summoned the black sun. His tone was threatening, but Fang seemed unmoved.

“This space was gifted to me by a friend,likely a blessing from the God of Space,” Fang said, his voice calm. “It seems to function well enough. I won’t harm you. You’ll remain here until this unjust war concludes. Then, I’ll release you.”

“Enough of this farce,” the other knight growled. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to free us. Do you really think you can take on two legends alone?”

The chimera knight blurred and charged forward.

“Is that so? Then let’s find out.” Fang’s eyes locked on his foe, tracking his rapid movements with ease.

“Divine Severance,” he intoned. Golden light burst forth from his body. And before the chimera knight could understand what was happening, a radiant golden blade split the air and descended toward his head.

“Charge!”

“Break the gates! Break them down!”

With the disappearance of the two legends, Aleisterre’s forces erupted with renewed vigor. Selwyn’s defenders, their will shattered, could no longer resist. Not even legends had turned the tide—what hope remained?

Spells rained mercilessly upon the walls. Siege troops swung their great hammers, battering down stone with relentless force.

At last, with a deafening crash, the gates fell. Selwyn’s capital… had been conquered by Aleisterre’s might.

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