The Vikings turned their heads toward the rising dust cloud. A deep rumble echoed across the field, growing louder with every heartbeat. The ground trembled beneath the hooves of a thousand of warhorses, and a heavy pressure swept over both armies like a storm.

At the front of the charge rode a man clad in black armor, Grand Duke Cassian Draemont himself. But it was the knight riding beside him who drew every eye.

He was tall and silent, cloaked in silver armor. In his hand, a long spear gleamed with killing intent.

A Pentaline soldier's voice cracked as he pointed toward the rider. "Wait… isn't that…"

Another soldier gasped, his face pale. "The Silver Knight…"

Even the Vikings hesitated. Their roars faded into uneasy murmurs as a scarred warrior lowered his axe, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "No… it can't be. The Indomitable Spearman of the North… he's here?"

The name spread like wildfire through both sides of the battlefield.

The Indomitable Spearman of the North.

Grand Duke Cassian's personal champion.

A Knight of the Fifth Stage, an undefeated warrior whose spear had ended countless battles.

The air grew tense. Then, with a single motion, the Silver Knight lowered his weapon.

A thunderous roar followed. The Duke's army crashed into the Viking line like an avalanche of steel. Shields shattered, and the ground turned red.

Lucian felt the weight of exhaustion lift as reinforcements surged past him. He raised his blade, watching the flash of silver cutting through the chaos.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "About time."

Vorn's scowl deepened, his axe dripping with fresh blood as the fires roared around them.

Lucian straightened, his sword trembling with renewed light. "Don't even think about running," he said coldly.

The Viking's glare burned with fury. "You're making a mistake," he growled. "Our king will not forgive this. When he comes, none of you will live to tell the tale."

Lucian's eyes hardened, the flames reflecting in them. He took a step forward. "Then let him come."

Before Vorn could reply, the air suddenly cracked with pressure, like thunder splitting the heavens. The ground trembled. From the far end of the battlefield, a silver streak flashed across the chaos.

The Silver Knight had arrived.

Sir Roderic moved like a phantom of war, his strikes were merciless. Every motion drew hundreds of bloods. Enemies that dared stand before him were cut down before they could even react.

Vorn's expression faltered as the knight's killing intent washed over him. For the first time, the Viking warrior took a step back. "No… not him…"

Across the field, Silas and Daigo struggled to hold their ground against Bryndor, whose strength and speed seemed unstoppable. His axe swung down like a falling mountain, until a flash of silver pierced the air.

A spear drove straight through Bryndor's chest, the impact echoing like a thunderclap.

The massive Viking staggered, eyes wide in disbelief. Blood poured from his lips, yet he still managed a broken laugh. "King Hroldir… will avenge us all… HAHAHAH!"

His laughter faded into the smoke as his body fell, and silence briefly claimed the field.

Sir Roderic stood over the body, pulling out his spear without a word. His silver armor gleamed faintly as he turned toward Lucian's direction.

Lucian, battered and bruised, stood face-to-face with Vorn, who still grinned with savage delight.

"Sir Roderic," Lucian called out as the Silver Knight stepped closer, "leave this one to us."

Roderic paused. His visor turned slightly toward them. "He's one of the Dreadwake's Chosen. You're pushing your luck, young ones."

Lucian smiled faintly despite his wounds. "We know… but we can't keep relying on someone's help forever."

Daigo and Silas nodded beside him, both trembling but determined.

"This time, we'll win with our own strength," Daigo spoke, his eyes shining.

"We'll surpass our limits," Silas added. "We have to."

For a brief moment, Roderic stared at them, then slowly lowered his spear. "Very well… then prove it."

Lucian raised his sword, his aura flaring with renewed life. Flames burned around his blade as if his very spirit had ignited. Silas's body glowed with faint light, his movements becoming faster, while Daigo's aura turned dark and heavy, his fists cracking with energy.

Vorn smirked, gripping his axe tighter. "Come then, heroes. Show me the power of your dying empire!"

The three charged together, Lucian leading with a fiery strike, Daigo dashed low with twin katanas, and Silas weaving between them with precise slashes. Their attacks flowed as one, each movement covering the other's weakness.

Vorn roared and swung his axe, clashing against Lucian's blade with brute strength. Sparks exploded on impact. He blocked Daigo's first strike, barely dodged Silas's daggers, but the tide was already turning.

Lucian caught his weapon mid-swing, locking it in place. Daigo's blades carved deep across his legs, forcing him down. And in that single, perfect moment, Silas lunged, driving his dagger through Vorn's chest.

The Viking's body froze mid-motion.

He looked down at the blade piercing his heart, then gave a ragged grin. "Not bad…" he muttered before the strength left his eyes.

His massive frame crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.

Bryndor and Vorn. Two of the Dreadwake's Chosen had fallen on the same field, under the watchful eyes of the Indomitable Spearman of the North.

…..

The battlefield was silent now, except for the faint crackle of flames and the cries of the wounded. Smoke hung heavy in the air, and the stench of blood mixed with the scent of burned steel.

Lucian stood with his sword planted into the ground, his breath unsteady but his eyes still sharp. Silas and Daigo stood beside him, both exhausted, their armor dented and stained.

From the northern side, a formation of banners approached, marked with the crest of a dragon over a spear.

"It's Duke Cassian!" a soldier shouted, relief breaking through the weary silence.

The Duke rode forward. His calm, composed face carried both pride and burden. Behind him, the rest of his personal army followed in disciplined formation.

Cassian dismounted and walked toward Lucian. "Why didn't you bring the Arden Knights with you, Heir Arden?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lucian straightened, wiping blood from his cheek. "They're currently fighting the Sengolio and the mages at the southern front," he replied.

Cassian's frown deepened. "Then tell me, why did you come here without support??"

Lucian met his gaze without hesitation. "You know how things are, my lord. Three of our Legates have already fallen, and the rest are still holding the front lines against the Sengolio. Only two remains to defend our lands. We can't just stand by while the people die. We're doing what we can… to save whoever's left."

Daigo and Silas nodded beside him, their faces reflecting the same resolve.

For a moment, Duke Cassian didn't speak. His eyes moved from Lucian's tired but burning expression to the fallen Viking corpses scattered across the field. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"Don't keep throwing your life away like that," Cassian said quietly. "We haven't lost yet. The churches still stand, and the Iron Legions are marching as we speak."

Lucian nodded, but deep inside, all of them knew the truth that hung heavy in the air.

Their empire was now on the edge of ruin.

Foreign enemies surrounded them, and even their mightiest champions were falling one after another.

The Pentaline Empire was facing its greatest danger in all of history.

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