Chapter 433: Breaking the Formation

“?”

Ceylon could barely make sense of what this legendary knight was saying. He wasn’t even a native of Aleisterre; he’d only come to Winterhold after hearing about the fall of Selwyn and the opportunities that came with it.

He knew of Father Fang by name, and he recognized the identities of the two legends before him, but together, their words simply baffled him.

“Thank you for your help.”

Of course, Ceylon had more urgent concerns at the moment. The two knights had stepped in to save his life. That was more than enough. Whatever their motives, survival came first. Everything else could wait.

Gallier, the Perfect Behemoth, flexed the claws that emerged from his hands—long, razor-sharp extensions from some unknown beast. His bestial eyes locked on the frost-clad giant striding toward them through the blizzard.

“So there was something like this beneath my homeland… How could I not have known? And after living here for so long, how did I never sense any disturbance from these ruins?”

Murmuring inwardly to himself, Gallier furrowed his brows. He couldn’t fathom what this icy monstrosity was. Selwyn had known of these ruins, yes, but they were classified as dead and inert.

Ruins of that kind were thought to have lost all vitality under the erosion of time and the elements, and thus held no further worth.

Even if such ruins contained valuables, the risk and effort of excavation never justified the reward. Unless an inert ruin obstructed the kingdom’s expansion, it was left untouched, just another relic half-buried in the snow.

This one, in particular, was embedded deep within the St. Anna Peaks, fused with the mountain itself. It was part of the backdrop, and allegedly not a threat. Selwyn had no reason to disturb it.

And yet from these ruins long declared inert, a towering giant of frost now walked forth in a storm cold enough to freeze their blood.

He and Roderick had lived here in seclusion since Father Fang defeated them that day and spared their lives. Even with his legendary senses, Gallier had felt no sign of the ruins awakening.

“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it first.” Gallier’s growl rumbled low in his throat. “Having something like this festering beneath my own homeland is infuriating.”

He cast aside his doubts and let the beast within deepen its hold. The transformation spread further across his body as fighting spirit flared to life, howling like a tempest. He aimed an attack squarely at the advancing frost knight.

“Legendary knights… it seems this era is no kinder to us than the last,” the voice from within the icy armor rasped, resonating through the blizzard. “This wasn’t what we agreed to. They’ve gone back on their word, haven’t they?”

The cryptic words drew uneasy looks from all four present. This era? And who, exactly, were “they”?

Even as Gallier pondered the words, his assault did not falter. With a thunderous step, his beastlike foot struck the earth. He vanished from Ceylon’s and Johnson’s sight before reappearing in mid-air before the frost knight.

Bestial traits had proliferated across nearly his entire body by now. Fighting spirit coiled about his claws and spun into twin vortexes of killing wind. They crashed down in a sweeping arc of bladed pressure.

The blow struck squarely against the frost knight’s breastplate, driving the massive construct back several steps. The air rang as Gallier’s claws ground against solid ice, carving deep into the knight’s armored chest. Shards exploded outward in a storm of jagged fragments and piercing sound.

The giant’s iron-shod feet slammed into the frozen plain. The sheer weight made the earth tremble. Where the claws had landed, a hideous scar now marred the frost knight’s chest. A plume of frost-white vapor gushed from the wound like blood from a mortal vein.

“Disgusting little insect…” the frost knight growled. From the seams of its armor, torrents of glacial mist erupted outward.

The air, already dense with ice mana, froze solid in an instant, the very moisture crystallizing into sheets of frozen air that tore across the plain.

Gallier merely exhaled, unbothered. He was Selwyn-born and had long been molded by this merciless land of snow. Cold, wind, and frost meant little to him anymore. He had learned to tame these icy plains.

Winter wolf fur bristled along his shoulders; thunderbear hide armored his limbs; the glowing heart of a molten tortoise pulsed in his heart. Together, they defied the killing chill. He stood unmoved as his fighting spirit gathered for another strike.

Ceylon, on the other hand, could only reel back in horror. He drew up his fighting spirit and threw his hands before him, shielding both himself and Johnson from the freezing tide that could end them in an instant.

But the deadly cold never came. Raising his head, he saw that a black sun now hung suspended above them, the same one that had earlier burst from the stormy sky. Its dark radiance poured down, banishing the frost wherever it touched.

Under its shadow, the chill of the world retreated. The blizzard roared aimlessly, and the icy shockwaves born from the frost knight’s outburst were easily deflected.

Roderick’s black sun had been infamous during Selwyn’s war with Aleisterre for draining the life from Aleisterre’s soldiers and spreading corruption through their ranks. Yet here, another aspect of the legendary potential was revealed: an aegis of absolute protection.

Within its reach, the shelter it granted was as strong as any stack of overlapping battlefield blessings.

The frost knight, seeing its attack thwarted, wrenched its massive sword free from the ground. With both hands, it raised the icy greatblade high, then brought it crashing down toward Gallier.

Gallé lifted one arm. His claws met the enormous blade with a ringing impact that split the air. A shockwave burst outward, but the Perfect Beast did not so much as flinch. The ground beneath his feet remained unbroken. The legendary knight’s domain unfolded in silent majesty.

“So this is the power of a legend,” Ceylon whispered, eyes wide. “Such strength must be at the peak of the human kingdoms.”

Before him stood a man who caught the swing of a sword thrice as large as himself with but a single arm. That sight alone was enough to make his heart thump.

Since Ceylon himself was a knight, that display of strength was all the more staggering. If he were the one standing there instead of Gallier, he would have frozen solid long before the colossal sword of frost even cleaved him in two.

A sharp, splintering sound rang out from the massive frostblade that the frost knight had brought down in fury. The sword, forged of the same enchanted ice as its armor, was now firmly caught in the claws of the Perfect Behemoth, Gallier. No matter how the giant strained, the weapon would not come free.

Then, a flash of searing red light flared in Gallier’s left hand. The next instant, the blade exploded. The immense frost sword shattered in two in a deafening blast.

And the blaze that split the sword was only the aftershock of something far greater. From the molten heart sealed in his chest, torrents of scorching energy coursed through Gallier’s body. His left hand had merely transferred a little of it.

The true target of that fiery power gathered in his right claw. Without pause, he swung upward, his burning talons slicing through the blizzard toward the frost knight.

Four blinding red arcs carved a deadly path through the air. The claws, wreathed in roaring fighting spirit and blistering heat, struck with cataclysmic force.

Ice and snow vaporized on contact. Beneath that incandescent strike, the frost giant’s body proved no sturdier than common frost. The claw tore through its armor, rending the icy core that had animated it.

The frost knight’s upper body shattered and fell, smashing into the snow with a dull thud. Only its lower half remained upright—a hollow shell of armor standing lifelessly in the blizzard.

The blazing claw continued onward, carving a red wound through the blizzard itself. The sheer force of the blow ripped it apart, creating a window of stillness within the endless blizzard for a brief moment.

“Amazing…”

Ceylon could only stare, awestruck, at the blazing afterimage. That strike—that unthinkable might—shook him to the core, yet kindled a spark of longing as well. If he could reach those heights himself one day…

“Gallier, move!” came Rod’s voice through the snowstorm. “The blizzard hasn’t calmed down. When you took down that frost knight, I sensed others drawing near. There are many, all the same kind. Don’t get bogged down. Take those two Aleisterrans and go. Our debt ends here.”

Roderick could sense more figures approaching through the black sun beaming from high above.

“…”

Gallier said nothing. He merely turned, his gaze piercing the blizzard as he looked toward the ruins. Then, without warning, he vanished. The next instant, both Ceylon and Johnson felt the ground drop away—Gallier had seized them by the arms. Ceylon managed to stay upright, but Johnson’s massive frame was half-dragged across the snow, his limbs scraping comically behind him.

“Unfriendly outsiders. Enemies. Don’t let them escape.”

A voice echoed through the gale in the same inhuman tone as the first frost knight. Through the whirling snow, silhouettes emerged. Towering humanoid forms closed in from every direction. With their advance, the half-stilled blizzard raged anew stronger than before, driven by their sheer numbers.

“What in the world are those things?” Rod muttered, grimacing. “If the Aleisterrans don’t handle this fast, they’re in trouble. If that storm reaches Winterhold, the whole place will be buried under ice.”

Roderick gaped. Even his potential was starting to falter agaisnt the strength of this blizzard.

“We’ll see,” Galle replied evenly, his tone almost casual as he sprinted across the frozen plains, the two knights still in his grasp. “It was our home once. If the Aleisterrans prove themselves worthy, lending another hand wouldn’t hurt.”

He was dragging Ceylon and Johnson away at breakneck speed. The ruins clearly possessed more power than had been revealed, but not enough to forcefully trap a legendary knight.

The landscape blurred past in streaks of white and gray. Dragged along at breakneck speed, Johnson found his limbs thudding and bouncing against the ground. Even Ceylon’s armor was ringing out with each jolt. But neither dared complain. A few bruises were far better than dying frozen in that infernal storm. After all, knights were built to endure worse. They were proud of their toughness.

Yet what had happened upon the St. Anna snowfields was not an isolated anomaly. Across the wartorn lands of the orcish rebellion, similar disturbances were beginning to stir…

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep