The clash of steel against steel echoed across the battlefield, but beneath that sound, the true roar was the heavens themselves. The storm was not merely a tempest of wind and rain—it was as if the gods were battling for supremacy in the skies above. Each bolt of lightning felt like a strike from the divine themselves. The Northern Kingdoms had brought more than an army; they had summoned a storm to fight by their side.
But I would not falter. I would be the calm at the center of this fury.
As the first rays of dawn sliced through the darkened sky, my forces regrouped, our ranks still strong despite the devastating onslaught of magic and power that had rained down upon us. The enemy's mages were fierce, their connection to the divine storm granting them unnatural strength. Yet, in the chaos, I saw something—their lines were faltering. They were powerful, yes, but they were not invincible.
I turned to Eryndis, who stood nearby, her hands raised to the heavens as she manipulated the flow of magic around us. Her face was drenched in sweat, and her eyes glowed with the intensity of the storm she controlled. "We need to strike now," she called out over the roar of the wind, her voice steady despite the chaos. "We've weakened them enough—they're not ready for the push."
I nodded, turning to my generals. The time had come to take the fight to them. Victory could be ours—but only if we struck quickly and decisively.
Breaking the Storm
Riding forward, I called for our archers to release their volleys, sending a barrage of arrows into the ranks of the Northern forces. At the same time, our cavalry surged forward, the horses moving like a single unit, unstoppable in their momentum. We were not simply an army—we were the wrath of a man determined to carve his destiny.
The Northern demigod, who had stood at the vanguard of their forces, raised his hand, summoning the power of the storm to shield him. Lightning crackled around him, his form crackling with divine energy as he stood unyielding. I had faced men of power before, but this was different. He was a living conduit of destruction.
But I was no ordinary ruler. I was a man forged in the fires of ambition, tempered by the struggles of war. And this was my war.
"You will fall," I muttered to myself, the words barely audible beneath the noise of battle. I spurred my horse onward, charging directly at the Northern demigod.
The Clash of Titans
When I reached him, the storm seemed to follow. The winds howled as our swords met—mine gleaming with the might of a thousand battles, his crackling with divine fury. The force of our clash sent a shockwave through the air, knocking nearby soldiers to the ground. This was no ordinary duel. This was the clash of mortals and gods.
"You are nothing but a man!" he shouted, his voice booming with the authority of the divine. "Bow before the power of the gods!"
I gritted my teeth, pushing against his strength. I had no fear of gods—only of my own failure. "I bow to no one," I retorted, my blade striking forward once more.
For a moment, we were locked in a deadly dance—each of us seeking to overpower the other. Lightning crackled, the storm swirling around us as if it too sought to join the battle. But then I saw it.
His strength was not infinite. There was a weakness.
The Divine Opening
As the Northern demigod raised his sword for a final strike, I saw an opening—his posture was momentarily off-balance. In that fleeting moment, I acted. I feinted to the left, drawing his guard just enough, before thrusting forward with all the strength I could muster.
The sword sank into his side, and for the first time, I saw the Northern demigod falter. He staggered back, his divine aura flickering.
"No…" he gasped, his voice tinged with disbelief.
I stepped forward, not giving him a moment to recover. With a final, decisive strike, I brought his reign of divine fury to an end.
After the Storm
The battlefield fell silent. The storm, which had raged for so long, seemed to lose its power, the winds dying down as the Northern demigod fell. But the battle was far from over. His fall had shaken the Northern forces, but they were not yet defeated.
"Victory is within our grasp," Cassius called, his voice cutting through the silence. His eyes, sharp as ever, were already planning our next move. "We've broken their front lines. Now, we push them back—drive them into the sea."
I looked around at my soldiers—tired, bloodied, but resolute. The storm had not broken us. It had only made us stronger.
And so, we pressed forward, our forces like a river breaking through a dam.
The Northern Kingdoms had underestimated us. They thought they could crush us with divine fury. But they had underestimated the resolve of Aurelian Valerius.