The heart of the Empire thundered.
It was the sound of war drums, the clashing of armor, the unified heartbeat of countless soldiers.
Ever since the Hero descended, the Empire had never been so united, nor so… heavy.
The gaze of the entire continent was fixed upon this unprecedentedly massive allied army.
Knights of humanity, under the Empire’s call, had gathered into a steel torrent, seeking to crush the darkness.
At the very front of this torrent stood a single figure — Luo Ling.
He was no longer merely the avenger bearing the weight of family and nation’s hatred.
Through previous battles and deliberate propaganda, he had become the spiritual symbol of the Empire’s resistance, the embodiment of hope for light’s victory over darkness.
He wore the Empire’s highest grade of Supreme Enchanted Armor.
Silver armor reflected a cold light beneath the morning sun, like a Sacred Knight of Dawn from legend.
The Royal Cloak behind him fluttered in the wind, woven from the Empire’s last royal treasures, symbolizing supreme honor and responsibility.
Yet only Luo Ling himself knew how heavy this armor of honor was, almost enough to crush him.
The army stretched for dozens of miles, tents like clouds, banners blocking out the sky.
The air was thick with sweat, leather, metal, and an indescribable tension.
A storm was brewing — this oppressive calm suffocated more than any noisy slaughter.
Generals made their final deployments.
Soldiers checked weapons and gear.
Bards tried to lift morale with stirring battle songs, but it all felt pale and weak.
Everyone knew: this battle was an all-in gamble.
Victory, and the world would return to light.
Defeat, and there would be no salvation.
Luo Ling stood alone on a high ground, tightly gripping the holy sword “Dawn” that had fought alongside him through blood and fire.
The blade was cold, yet seemed to sense the heat and trembling in his palm.
His gaze pierced through the ranks of soldiers, toward the distant black fortress at the edge of the plains — Demon King City, sprawled like a dormant beast.
That city was even more eerie and terrifying than legend.
It was not built of ordinary stone, but seemed forged from solidified shadows and despair, walls soaring into the clouds, glimmering with ominous dark-red magic runes.
The sky above was shrouded in gloom, no sun nor moon, only eternal dusk and occasional flashes of blood-red lightning.
That was the source of evil — the target he yearned to destroy day and night.
In his eyes, the flames of vengeance burned fiercely.
Eve’s tragic death, the wails of Old Capital’s fall, the moments comrades perished—
Scene after scene flashed through his mind, each one carving a piece from his heart, setting it alight, fueling him forward.
He wanted revenge.
For all innocents slain by the Demon King, for all he had lost.
Yet, deep within the flames, a faint confusion floated, like ash cast into the fire, so weak he himself refused to acknowledge it.
Where did this confusion come from?
Fear of the coming battle?
No — he who had faced countless deaths had long since crushed fear beneath his heel.
Doubt in victory?
Perhaps a little, but the allied Empire’s strength was greater than ever — he had no right to doubt.
Then what was it?
Fragments of memory surfaced, whispers lingering at the edge of dreams, rumors that the Demon King was not born evil…
He even remembered Samuel, of the Church of Holy Light.
Their last meeting, Samuel’s words lingered:
“Sometimes, the darkness seen by light is not the whole truth. Hero Luo Ling, does your sword point at the source of evil — or the beginning of another tragedy?”
At the time, Luo Ling scoffed, dismissing it as Samuel’s cowardice.
But now, facing that fortress of ultimate evil, the words rose like a ghost.
“What am I hesitating for?”
Luo Ling shook his head fiercely, trying to banish the ill-timed thought.
“The Demon King is the Demon King. He brings only destruction and pain. That is the ironclad truth!”
He drew a deep breath, forcing down the confusion, gripping “Dawn” once more.
The sword hummed, as if answering his resolve.
No matter what, the arrow was drawn — there was no turning back.
Today, either he would die, or Demon King City would fall.
“Vanguard Officer!”
A Messenger rode up swiftly, dismounting and kneeling on one knee.
“Order from the Marshal: The army stands ready. At your command, we shall charge!”
Luo Ling slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers assembled below.
On their faces were nervousness and fear — but more than that, the resolve to fight to the bitter end.
They saw him as leader, as hope.
He could not falter.
He would not allow himself to falter.
He raised “Dawn”, the blade pointing to the sky.
The silver edge sliced through the heavy air, releasing a clear, dragon-like ring.
“Soldiers!”
His voice was not loud, but it carried a force that pierced to the heart.
With the Amplification Spell, it resounded across the entire army.
“Behind us stand our homes, our loved ones, light and hope!
Before us lies the nest of darkness, the embodiment of evil!
Today, with the sword in our hands and the courage in our hearts, we will tear this darkness apart!
For the Empire!
For freedom!
For victory!”
“For victory!!!”
A tidal wave of shouts rose, shattering all prior oppression.
Weapons were raised, thunderous roars shook the earth, morale surging to its peak.
The confusion in Luo Ling’s eyes was swept away — only icy determination and blazing battle spirit remained.
He slashed his sword toward Demon King City.
“All forces— advance!”
“Kill!!!”
The horn sounded, war drums thundered.
Like a flood released, the allied Empire surged forward, overwhelming and unstoppable, toward Demon King City — the pinnacle of darkness.
Steel flowed in waves, smoke rose, and cries shook the heavens.
The final assault had begun.