Valley of Weeping Blood.
The iron tide of a million-strong army stretched across the land.
Battle flags fluttered in the wind, armor reflecting dazzling rays of light.
Pope Uther VII stood atop the foremost dais.
The holy relic, “First Ray of Light,” emanated a gentle and divine glow in his hand.
Wherever that light shone, the long-standing resentment and gloom that had shrouded the valley vanished instantly.
The once lifeless land began to pulse with renewed vitality.
“Brothers!”
The Commander of the Sword of Judgment Knights drew his longsword.
The blade gleamed under the illumination of the holy light.
“Today! We do not come as conquerors!”
“We come as saviors!”
“In that accursed city of Nightfall—”
“Our brethren suffer and struggle in darkness!”
“They wait for us! They long for us!”
“Their souls call out for the salvation of the Holy Light!”
The blood of a million soldiers ignited completely.
They raised their weapons and roared with earth-shaking fury.
“Purify!” “Save!”
“Fight for the Holy Light!”
The roar soared to the heavens, making the very ground tremble.
Echoes reverberated from the distant mountains, scattering birds and beasts alike.
Pope Uther VII raised the “First Ray of Light” high.
The sacred radiance expanded instantly, illuminating the entire valley.
“Advance!”
“Let the Holy Light shine once more upon this cursed land!”
“Let our brethren reclaim their freedom!”
The iron tide began to move forward. Infantry phalanxes marched in perfect step.
Cavalry kicked up clouds of dust, siege engines rumbled with a heavy thud.
An army exceeding one million marched toward the Eternal Night Empire.
Majestic and unstoppable.
***
Meanwhile, at Nightfall City, atop the Silent Throne.
Ophelia held Sylvia in her arms, standing on the terrace.
The evening breeze blew softly. Sylvia nestled into her mother’s embrace, her eyelids heavy.
She had just eaten her third serving of pastries today.
The pastry chefs’ new creations were indeed excellent—sweetness and acidity perfectly balanced.
Full stomachs often lead to drowsiness.
“Mother, the wind is a bit strong.”
Sylvia let out a small yawn.
“I want to go back to my room.”
Ophelia gently stroked her daughter’s silver hair but her gaze was fixed on the distance.
At the horizon’s edge, a faint glimmer of light flickered.
It was the radiance of the holy relic, “First Ray of Light.”
Even tens of thousands of miles away, it was still clearly visible.
“Sylvia, look.” Ophelia pointed toward the distant skyline.
“The dawn is breaking.” Sylvia followed her mother’s finger.
Sure enough, a streak of brightness shimmered far away.
Against the backdrop of eternal darkness, it stood out vividly.
“Mm.”
She rubbed her eyes, her voice heavy with sleep.
“It’s very bright.”
“But I still want to sleep.”
Ophelia looked down at her daughter in her arms.
That delicate little face bore no sign of worry or fear—only pure fatigue.
She sighed softly in her heart.
This was for the best.
A child should sleep peacefully, not be burdened with worries about these filthy wars.
“Mother, what are you thinking about?”
Sylvia noticed Ophelia’s silence and looked up at her.
“Nothing.”
Ophelia’s expression calmed once more.
“Just wondering what kind of bedtime story I should prepare for you.”
Sylvia blinked.
“No stories needed. I can fall asleep on my own.”
She yawned again, her voice growing faint.
“Mother, your embrace is so warm.”
Ophelia’s heart skipped a beat.
She hugged her daughter tightly.
Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Always will be.”
At that moment, the sound of light footsteps approached.
Avira appeared on the terrace.
She had changed out of her usual casual clothes and donned a suit of crimson armor.
Every detail of the armor exuded lethality, the blood-colored thorns embroidered on the chest shining faintly in the night.
Her sword, “Lament,” hung at her waist.
The hilt was wrapped with fresh, blood-red ribbons.
“Mother, sister.”
Avira’s voice trembled with barely contained excitement.
She licked her lips, her blood-red eyes burning with fanatic fire.
“My stage is ready.”
“Shall I begin?”
Sylvia shifted in Ophelia’s arms but did not wake.
She only changed into a more comfortable position, continuing to bask in the warm embrace.
Ophelia glanced at her sleeping daughter, then at Avira.
“Don’t disturb Sylvia’s sleep.”
“Make it quick.”
Avira grinned, a smile as innocent as a child’s.
Yet it chilled the air around her.
“Of course! I’ll be swift!”
She turned to look at the flickering light in the distance, her excitement deepening.
“How dare those worms speak of purifying my sister.”
“Such ignorance.”
“I will show them what true despair means.”
With that, she caressed the hilt of her sword, her entire aura beginning to shift.
What was once merely a dangerous predator now transformed into a true harbinger of death.
Ophelia gently handed Sylvia to a nearby maid.
“Take her back to her chambers.”
“Remember, do not let any sound wake her.”
The maid accepted the little princess respectfully, cradling her carefully as they walked toward the royal quarters.
Sylvia mumbled faintly in her drowsiness during the transfer but soon slipped back into slumber.
Only mother and daughter remained on the terrace.
Avira was already restless.
She drew “Lament,” its blade reflecting an eerie crimson light in the moonlight.
“Mother, I’m going.”
“Go.”
Ophelia slowly raised her right hand.
Instantly, centered on Nightfall City, endless darkness began to spread in all directions.
One by one, stars in the sky extinguished, the moon swallowed by shadows.
The entire world began to fall into true Eternal Night.
Avira laughed wildly, transforming into a streak of blood-red light soaring into the sky.
Her figure tore through the night, heading rapidly toward the Valley of Weeping Blood.
Behind her, the spectral image of Crimson Thorns blossomed in the air.
That was the power of her mindscape awakening.
Ophelia stood on the terrace, silently watching the distance.
Her Night Authority worked at full strength, immense forces of law converging around her.
In less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea, the border of the Eternal Night Empire would become a true Domain of Eternal Night.
There, any enemy daring to invade her daughter’s sanctuary would face absolute despair.
Meanwhile, in the warm and soft royal chambers.
Sylvia was gently laid on her cloud-like bed.
The maid tucked the blanket around her, adjusted the room’s temperature, and then slipped away without a sound.
Sylvia turned over, seeking a more comfortable position.
She had no idea of the apocalyptic scene about to unfold outside her window.
In her dreams, she lay on a soft meadow, basking in the sun.
No war, no bloodshed—only warm sunlight and gentle breezes.
This was the life she wanted.
Simple, peaceful, and without turmoil.
Yet reality always seemed to enjoy playing cruel tricks on her.
Eh, I didn’t expect to see this warm scene between mother and daughter, and the world is too cruel for it