The mountain was surrounded.
Several fronts advanced at the same time.
They were isolating it, little by little.
From the summit, Lusian watched the movement in silence.
—Looks like the problems are back… —he murmured.
Emily embraced him from behind, holding onto him as if she wanted to take even a fraction of the weight he carried.
She knew better than anyone that Lusian did not want to raise his sword again.
But seeing the army surrounding the mountain…
that already seemed inevitable.
Ever since they left the sea behind and advanced toward the first foothills, the ten thousand had not stopped.
Even though the army had already lost part of its numbers, no one spoke of defeat. The incidents along the way almost felt like a selection process, as if the continent itself were deciding who was strong enough to keep advancing.
Without realizing it…
the real trial was only beginning.
The camps began to rise around the mountain.
Trenches.
Walls.
Improvised towers.
Each unit occupied its exact position, moving with almost mechanical discipline as the encirclement slowly closed.
And among all of them, the same belief still remained.
That this would end in a glorious victory.
The breeze carried the scent of damp earth and withered resin.
Every step around the mountain was silent. Measured. Inevitable.
The Lithaar guided the deployment.
Cold. Precise. As if they had imagined this battle hundreds of times before arriving.
But while the others prepared the siege on the surface, the Lithaar were thinking about another war.
One beneath the earth.
Their true target was not the mountain.
It was the Tree.
They planned to pierce the roots from below and destroy it from the heart, trusting that the divine blessing would protect them long enough to survive the contact.
They revealed forgotten paths beneath the earth. Currents of mana flowing through the depths of the mountain. Places where the forest breathed weakly and the roots lost strength.
The Lithaar pointed out every area as if they were marking open wounds.
Where they had once lived in balance…
they were now planning a war.
Every instruction was given with absolute care.
Because making a mistake beneath the mountain did not mean retreating.
It meant disappearing.
And even so, they continued.
Convinced that the blessing of the gods would protect them when the moment came to break through the roots.
Meanwhile, on the surface, the Solar Furnaces were anchored in silence.
Their light began to spread around the base of the mountain, pushing the darkness back.
That was their purpose.
To seal every exit.
To prevent the Malignant One from escaping.
Once the encirclement was complete, Lusian would be trapped up there.
No paths.
No retreat.
Locked before a single fate:
death.
Columns stretched toward the sky, covered in ancient runes that did not seem made for this world.
The air vibrated around them.
Even the ground itself seemed to hold its breath.
And when they were finally activated…
Aurelius, the Herald of Dawn, stood at the center.
Like a conduit, the power of the heavens descended through him, as if the gods themselves were using his body to transmit the mana that activated the device.
Without him, the columns were only stone.
With him… the heavens answered.
The artifact had a clear purpose.
To awaken an ancient spell that responded only to those blessed by the divine.
Once activated, it did not merely strengthen them…
it changed them completely.
The energy of the heavens poured into them, amplifying their bodies, sharpening their senses, and pushing their endurance beyond normal limits.
And the mana flowed endlessly.
Even though the human body had limits for handling it…
those limits stopped mattering.
They could cast spells again and again, recovering what was spent almost instantly.
No fatigue.
No pause.
No rest.
Turned into weapons that no longer needed to stop.
What they did not know was the true cost of using that artifact.
Their cores would not endure it.
Once activated, the constant use of power would shatter them.
To the gods, they were nothing more than tools… sacrifices.
They only needed them once.
From the mountain, Lusian felt the first pulse like a direct blow to the chest.
A wave of power swept across the battlefield.
The spell had awakened.
But something did not go as expected.
The artifact failed to weaken him.
The divinity within Lusian stopped it effortlessly, as if his body simply did not recognize the power of any other god.
The gods had not foreseen this.
His power was not borrowed.
It was real.
Only a god could defeat him.
But for that, they would have to descend…
and then the spell, tainted by Kheris, would do the rest.
The Mother Tree reacted before he did. The roots shifted beneath the stone, intertwining into a network so dense that the ground itself began to pulse with a new rhythm.
It was a defense system.
But not one that harmed its own.
The already chosen humans and the dark elves felt it immediately: their power increased.
The seals on their bodies glowed with an intense green light.
When the ten thousand realized the preparations were complete,
Aurelius rose into the air.
—For the gods… death to the malignants.
The shout fell like a final command.
The war entered a new phase.
The Chosen advanced toward the mountain.
From the high terraces, Lusian watched the army move.
—Since they came looking for me… it would be rude to keep them waiting —he murmured.
Elizabeth clenched her teeth. Mana coursed through her skin like contained electricity, unstable and ready to explode.
Lusian raised his hand.
The dark elves drew their bows.
At the exact same instant, a rain of mana-infused arrows began to fall from above.
Several arrows pierced the first soldiers, dropping them instantly.
But the advance did not stop.
On the middle slopes, the battle opened on another front.
The herbivores resisted from elevated positions, using the terrain to their advantage, while the carnivorous semihumans shattered the front lines with direct assaults.
There were no perfect formations there.
It was the savanna in its rawest form… brought to the edge of the mountain.
Horns crashing against claws.
Teeth against hooves.
And between every collision, bursts of mana amplified the force of their bodies, making every impact more violent than should have been possible.
Where soldiers fell, no corpses remained.
The blood turned dark and thick, mixing with the soil as Dayana moved among the bodies. Her red eyes swept across the battlefield and, one by one, the dead began to rise.
Awkward movements.
Tilted heads.
Dragging legs.
But they kept advancing.
Without fear. Without pain. Without exhaustion.
The air grew heavier when Dayana extended her mana over another fallen body.
The corpse trembled slightly.
It was supposed to rise.
It was supposed to obey.
But something went wrong.
The dead man's fingers slowly closed over the earth.
His head turned with a dry crack.
And the soldier stood up.
Not under her control.
Against her.
Dayana reacted on instinct when the strike passed inches from her face.
One of her undead immediately threw itself in front of her and took the blow instead.
The body was sent flying.
Dayana stepped back, staring at it.
That was not supposed to happen.
The enemy corpse advanced toward her again.
Fast.
Direct.
As if it were still alive.
Then a voice broke through the chaos around them.
—Interesting.
Dayana turned her gaze.
—So you're the vampire.
Morgana stepped out from the trees without hurrying. The darkness seemed to part for her as several corpses walked behind her.
But there was something different about them.
They did not move like puppets.
They were not dragged by force.
They followed her… because they wanted to.
Dayana raised her hand.
The field answered instantly.
Bodies began to rise one after another, stiff, clumsy, empty. Mana pierced through them like invisible strings, forcing them to move even after death.
Her will.
Her army.
The corpses surged toward Morgana in a wave.
Then one of the dead dodged the first strike.
Dayana blinked.
It should not have done that.
The dead do not dodge.
Another twisted its body before taking a hit. Another raised an arm to shield itself.
Small movements.
But too natural.
Too human.
Morgana watched silently from the other side of the battlefield.
Behind her, her corpses breathed unevenly. Some moved their eyes. Others trembled faintly, like people trapped inside bodies that should already be dead.
They did not look like puppets.
They looked like exhausted soldiers trying to stay alive.
Dayana tightened her control.
Her dead charged again.
Morgana's staggered backward, tripped, collided with each other… but they reacted. One caught another before it fell. Another threw itself to the ground to avoid losing its head.
Instinct.
They still retained instinct.
And that made no sense.
Dayana's corpses obeyed orders.
Morgana's seemed to decide for themselves.
For the first time since the battle began, something uncomfortable crawled down Dayana's spine.
—What are you…?
Morgana smiled faintly.
—I don't force them.
One of her corpses suddenly turned and buried its teeth into the neck of one of Dayana's dead.
—They still want to live.
Dayana raised her hand again.
This time mana exploded outward.
The ground trembled under the pressure and every corpse rose at once, advancing like an uncontrolled tide toward Morgana.
She wanted to crush her with numbers.
Morgana did not even step back.
She only looked at her.
—Is that all?
Dayana felt the shift before she understood it.
The battlefield no longer belonged entirely to her.
Some bodies still obeyed her.
Others hesitated.
And a few… were listening to someone else.
For the first time since the fight began, Dayana took a step backward.
Morgana started walking through the dead without hurry. The corpses moved aside for her as if they recognized something within her.
—You only know how to give orders —she said calmly—. Until someone capable of giving better ones appears.
Dayana gritted her teeth and unleashed another wave of mana.
Bodies slammed into one another.
The ground shook.
The air filled with dead flesh throwing itself against more dead flesh.
Then a corpse stopped in front of her.
Dayana did not even look at it.
She swallowed hard.
And the body moved.
Toward her.
One of her undead tried to intercept it, but the corpse avoided it with unnatural speed.
Dayana felt a cold emptiness in her chest.
That was not necromancy.
The impact made her lose her balance.
Just for an instant.
But it was enough.
Morgana was already there.
She did not run.
She did not cross the battlefield.
She simply appeared in front of her.
One hand grabbed her throat.
The other pierced through her abdomen without resistance.
Dayana's eyes widened.
She felt the fingers emerge through her back.
The air left her lungs as hot blood began running down her body.
Morgana held her close, observing her with an uncomfortable, almost calm curiosity.
With the little strength she had left, Dayana released one final mental command.
The corpses that still obeyed her threw themselves at Morgana all at once.
And using that instant of chaos…
she fled.