City of Sin

Lyren’s Death

On another side of the battlefield, the Grand Shaman of the Moon Shrine led a dozen others into the battlefield. He had been observing the battlefield all this time, looking for the right moment to enter combat, but the frozen cavalry had been routed far too quickly with no room for his subordinates to interfere. He realised in only a minute that Greyhawk wasn’t as ordinary as he appeared on the surface, possessing strength close to the epic realm that would allow him to tie down the four princes on his own; with the legendary assassin added on top, the princes would soon be doomed.

However, neither of these things were the biggest danger on the battlefield. The Grand Shaman quickly steeled his will, focusing his energy on the druid to help overpower the tetrahedron and neutralise the black hole.

Seeing that the Moon Shrine was finally involving itself, Richard just glanced at the Emperor and smiled. The elf suddenly felt an unknown sense of terror, his movements coming to a grinding halt as he saw the three faces appear around Richard once more. They started chanting long verses in divine tongue, sending out millions of streams of laws towards the Emperor. The laws protecting him immediately cracked apart, a gentle barrage of power ripping the cracks wide open. No matter how he tried to control the laws around him or activate his equipment, the Emperor was suddenly stripped down to nothing.

An epic being without the protection of laws was like a sheep out of its flock, and the wolf was currently staring right at that sheep. The Emperor squealed and drew back immediately, knowing that he couldn’t afford to keep fighting for now. Even if he could recover and return to combat, that would take a while.

Seeing his opponent fly away, Richard couldn’t help but shake his head. He was someone who had defeated the most technically skill combatant of Norland, and he wouldn’t miss easy opportunities like this one. A barrage of blue fireballs shot forth from his fingertips, hundreds upon hundreds surrounding the Emperor. The elf managed to block or dodge most of them, but two still struck his calf and pierced into his body. The Emperor immediately paled, dropping from the sky and fleeing to safety.

The Grand Shaman of the Moon Shrine quickly greeted the Emperor, the green moon appearing atop his head as he started to heal the Emperor. Richard could have stopped this, but he didn’t give chase and instead looked at the four princes who were still in battle with Greyhawk and Waterflower. The one who caught his attention froze in fear, giving Waterflower the chance to leave a huge gash in his back.

Only at this point did the druid finally neutralise Richard’s black hole. He exchanged glances with the Emperor, receiving the buffs from the Grand Shaman and planning to engage once more, but all three of them suddenly felt such great danger that their very souls shuddered in pain. The Emperor’s gaze fell on Richard’s hand, focused on a blood-red glow. Just looking at that glow left him feeling like his eyes had been stabbed, tears quickly blurring his vision.

“What… is that?” he asked in shock, his expression mirrored by the druid and Grand Shaman.

Richard had finally activated Lifesbane, its crimson glow covering Moonlight as well. He had only activated ten layers, but its power was still beyond the imagination of these elves. Even though the rune itself was only grade 3, it had been stacked to the point that only someone like Sharon could bear it outside of himself. If he activated all 36 layers, it would be no different from a true grade 6 rune.

The activation of Lifesbane made one thing clear. If the battle started once more, a single strike from Richard would leave the Emperor gravely injured. A few more would mean death, regardless of the divine items around to suppress the damage. As for the druid, he would die in one blow. High elves were stronger than regular elves, but their bodies still didn’t possess the resilience of other powerhouses; even orcs wouldn’t be able to match the 36-stack Lifesbane, forget them.

The Emperor and druid stared at Richard’s bloody hand with hesitation, the fear starting to show on their faces. They couldn’t rush forward, but they couldn’t retreat either. If they were gone, Richard would be free to decimate everyone else.

It was amidst this tense atmosphere that the battle on the ground reached its end. The last of the frozen knights fell from his mount, leaving only Lyren himself continuing the fight. The prince was seriously injured, but he continued to cut down his enemies even if he was the last one standing.

However, the formation of the night elves suddenly changed. The innermost circle of elves stuck close to Lyren and held him down, while the rest formed a perimeter around him and loaded their thunder cannons. The prince immediately felt extreme danger and tried to run back, knowing that his enemy didn’t care about allies, but just as he tried to dodge Greyhawk managed to spare the time to cast half a dozen curses that halved his speed. The signature explosions rang out as a full round of bullets were focused on the one elf, covering him in explosions and smashing his mount to pulp.

He was rocked around like a boat in a storm, blood constantly seeping out of his body as his energy barrier and armour shattered in quick succession. Richard’s eyebrows arched up in praise as he remained standing after the second-long volley, metal covering his entire body, but as he grunted and took a step forward his knees went soft. The elf roared and stabbed his sword into the earth, but his arms immediately lost the last of their energy and his body crumpled. There wasn’t much blood flowing out from underneath him, but that was only because he had been drained in the battle prior.

Lyren’s fall stunned the tens of thousands of soldiers that still hadn’t been deployed. He was an invincible general in their hearts, a god of the battlefield whose prestige was no weaker than the four epics. He had never been defeated before; today was his first failure, and it would also be his last.

The body of the elven prince quietly lay on the ground, only his sword standing tall. The Emperor and druid glanced at each other and slowly retreated, the elven army doing the same. Richard didn’t order a chase, having the remaining night elves clean the battlefield while he floated in the sky in confusion.

Were any gods of Norland to look this way, they could see countless souls floating up from the dead bodies, absorbed by a tetrahedron inside Richard. Countless faces flashed across each wall of that object as it floated in the sky. When the blazing light of Lyren’s soul was pulled in, Richard actually sank ever so slightly before stabilising.

The night elves were very efficient, cleaning up the battlefield in the blink of an eye. The bodies of the frost knights were lined up together; once Richard’s army left, the elves would be able to take them away.

Once done absorbing the souls, Richard floated down to the ground, “Next stop.”

“Won’t the elves be willing to talk now?” Greyhawk asked.

“No,” he shook his head.