Outside the city of Lyria, a brutal and blood-soaked battle had long since erupted.
Though the Nilfgaardian forces were fierce and unyielding, they were crashing against the allied army like waves battering a stone cliff.
For standing firm were the brave soldiers of Aedirn, Lyria, and Rivia.
And alongside them—the crucial forces that had turned the tide of battle—were the Mahakam heavy infantry regiment and the special units brought by Duke Lannister.
The sheer force of the heavy infantry's charge was as overwhelming as a rock troll's landslide. Meanwhile, the uncanny innate magic of the succubus caused the cavalry's warhorses to panic, throwing their charges off course.
Overhead, two massive dragons soared freely, unleashing torrents of flame with impunity. With no effective anti-air measures in place, nothing hindered their devastation.
Yet the Nilfgaardians were simply too numerous, and their discipline was disturbingly flawless.
They fought like a torrent of steel slamming into iron-forged walls. The battle dragged on with no end in sight—neither side yielding. Though the waves were shattered time and again upon the ramparts, their momentum never waned, and the walls never fell amidst the raging onslaught.
"United Kingdoms, charge!" Queen Meve raised her longsword and cried sharply, "Make the Nilfgaardians pay!"
Leading the charge herself, the queen surged forward with all her cavalry. The silver-red pennant billowed high above their heads.
The cavalry clash was a brutal collision of raw force. Though it lasted only moments, the carnage was intense and unforgiving.
Soon, the shield wall braced with longspears parted to let the returning queen through. The cavalry of the United Kingdoms pushed into the formation, squeezing past dwarves clad in chainmail and helmets. Knights were thrown from their saddles, dwarves behind shields fell one after another.
And swiftly, the medics moved in—grabbing every opening they could to carry the wounded to the rear lines.
"Commander! Where is the dwarven commander?!"
"Right here, little lass!" Colonel Barclay sprang to his feet. At his side were Zoltan—who had just escorted Yarpen to the rear and returned—along with Gabor Zigrin and Petrit Fuchs.
"There are too many Nilfgaardians!" Queen Meve raised her voice to rise above the din around them. "If we don't plug this breach, they'll break through our front! We can't hold this line any longer—we either fall back, or we strike forward!"
"Fall back? Is that supposed to be a joke?" Colonel Barclay's bloodshot eyes burned with a wild and terrifying intensity. He hadn't fought a battle this large in over a hundred years. His blood surged like crashing waves, but his mind was steady—solid as stone.
Meve ignored the dwarf's dismissive address. Given his age, he likely had a right to it. "What's your proposal, dwarf?"
Barclay let out a fierce laugh and turned to look at the three dwarven officers at his side.
There should have been four.
"Yarpen's a good lad!" Barclay roared. "He's lying in the back getting patched up! And what about you lot? Got problems that need solving?!"
Zoltan, Gabor, and Petrit were all soaked in blood. Zoltan's chainmail bore a vicious, sharp-angled gash. Gabor's head was haphazardly wrapped in bandages. Petrit's eye was so matted with blood that he couldn't even open it.
"I don't get it," Zoltan growled, "Why does everyone keep asking us that damn question?"
"Just give us the next bloody order already, Barclay!"
…
"In step!" Colonel Barclay bellowed. "Stay aligned! Keep the formation tight! Move as a unit! As one!"
It felt like a wall of steel had begun to march.
No one would've believed it.
Not before today. Not even after. And when this moment is discussed in future military or history classes, few will believe it then either.
The allied front line—far from being broken by the Nilfgaardians—had begun to advance!
Cavalry from all directions continued their assaults—attacks, raids, and harassment from every flank. Yet the dwarves pressed forward. Step by step, shield to shield, unwavering in formation.
They pressed forward, stepping over corpses, shoving aside the black-armored Nilfgaardians… They were advancing!
"Kill them all!"
"Keep in step! Stay aligned!" Colonel Barclay shouted again. "Hold the formation! Sing! Children of the mountains, sing our song! Let these damned blackclads hear the voice of Mahakam!"
"Sing, all of you!"
Thousands of dwarven voices burst into the famous Mahakam war chant:
"Ho—! Ho—! Ho—!
Just you wait—we're coming soon!"
Nilfgaardian cavalry had become living battering rams, crushing everything that protected the dwarves—spears, lances, polearms, and shields. They stabbed like knives into flesh, blood splashing everywhere, staining the ground so deeply that even the horses began to slip in the muck.
"Soon the flames will rise!
The killing ground will crack and fall!"
But though the Nilfgaardians struck deep like a blade, they failed to pierce any vital organs. They couldn't shatter the dwarves before them—instead, they found themselves stuck, unable to advance.
They were trapped—wedged inside a mass of infantry packed as densely as pitch.
The dwarves' warhammers and axes soon followed. With their heavy shields braced, they quickly adapted to the force of the cavalry assault and began to strike back.
They were infantry—but now they were advancing under a charge from Nilfgaard's heavy cavalry!
"Crush them down to the bone!
Ho—! Ho—! Ho—!"
…
"United Kingdoms, attack!" Queen Meve's sharp soprano sliced through the dwarves' roaring chorus like a fine blade.
The cavalry surged out of the formation once more, driven by vengeance and grief, charging headlong at the Nilfgaardian horsemen.
Each strike they dealt was also an act of self-sacrifice. The coalition's armor was far inferior to the hardened steel forged and funded by the entire South. Without the dwarves' halberds, spears, and shield wall to protect them, Queen Meve and her forces were instantly exposed to the full brunt of Nilfgaard's offensive.
The clash of blades, screams, and frantic neighs rang out all around her. Swept into the chaos, Queen Meve was face-to-face with carnage and madness. Knights constantly threw themselves in front of her to block enemy blows, and the queen's own longsword struck again and again, felling foes who had slain her people.
A Nilfgaardian rider, his cloak marked with a silver sun emblem, broke through the royal guard's flank. Rising in his stirrups, he drove his axe into the skull of an unhelmed knight, then sank it into another man's chest.
Meve spun in the saddle and swung her blade sideways.
The Nilfgaardian took the blow hard—his reinforced armor absorbed the strike, but it still sent him tumbling from the saddle. For a brief moment, the crush of bodies kept him suspended between two horses.
Then, a breath later, he hit the ground. The instant his head met the dirt, a hoof came down—and his skull shattered.
"Again!" Queen Meve roared with fury. "Keep attacking! Hold the line, children of the United Kingdoms! Kill them!"
…
Her sharp voice still pierced the chaos of battle—until a much deeper, heavier roar drowned her out.
[BOOM!]
A deafening explosion tore through the field.
"My God!!" came a bestial howl from some unseen throat.
And in the very next second, everyone saw what had made that sound.
It was impossible to miss—too tall, too overwhelming, too drenched in blood to ignore.
An ice giant, a relic of the ancient bloodlines of Skellige.
"Haha! That's armor we forged ourselves!" Colonel Barclay shouted in exhilaration, his eyes sweeping the giant's gear with the intensity of a man appraising a priceless beauty.
"Mahakam! Our reinforcements are here—CHARGE!"
…
When the Nilfgaardians saw the ice giant, they naturally couldn't miss the blond knight standing on its shoulder.
That face had already circulated through every Nilfgaardian encampment in every intelligence report. Every officer had long memorized Lannister's traits—his appearance, his equipment, and his weapon.
Given the times, they knew more about Lannister than about their own parents.
Not to mention, many Nilfgaardian officers had only recently witnessed this same blond witcher kill their previous commanding officer right before their eyes—and dismantle the entire bodyguard detail along the way.
They knew him all too well…
Wait.
That realization hit them like a thunderclap—Was it their turn now?
…
Lann had considered reenacting his previous feats right here on the battlefield.
Assassinate enemy commanders one by one, break the spearhead of the Nilfgaardian cavalry for the frontlines, then carve into the rear lines and sow chaos. Once Menno realized the tide had turned, he'd likely retreat, giving Lann the chance to carry out the next phase of his plan.
But the current battlefield had unfolded in a way that even Lann hadn't expected.
He knew the Mahakam heavy infantry would be strong—that's why he'd gone to such lengths to convince them to come.
But he'd never witnessed them in combat with his own eyes. He hadn't expected them to hold their ground against so many Nilfgaardian heavy cavalry—and push back.
And Queen Meve, once reeling in retreat, had now shown the true face of a battle-hardened monarch—personally leading charges, breaking through the Nilfgaardian formation again and again.
Until now, Lann's role—whether in Cintra or the eastern campaigns—had always been that of a firefighter.
The kind of man for whom 'only with Lann can the war be planned', 'only with Lann can the war be fought', and 'only with Lann unleashing divine wrath can the war be won' were common sayings.
A one-man crisis response unit.
But this war was different.
The Mahakam dwarves had held the line against the Nilfgaardians. The final defenders of the North had withstood the tide. The other 'Lion's Pride' members Lann had summoned were now cutting down foes left and right across the battlefield.
He, the so-called master of time management, had barely finished dealing with Menno before rushing here—only to find the situation already stabilized.
A wave of relief welled in Lann's heart. After so much maneuvering, forging alliances, and recruiting warriors, this battle was finally bearing fruit.
Perhaps now, he no longer needed to be the one endlessly dashing around to put out fires. Maybe… he could just charge into battle alongside them.
Just then, the two dragons swept across the battlefield's flanks, trailing walls of flame from both wings before circling toward Lann's side.
And the ice giant barreled forward, each colossal step smashing through the Black Army's defensive lines, finally linking up with the dwarves and Northern coalition.
"My god!!"
"Lann!"
"Duke Lannister!"
The blond knight no longer guided the giant. Instead, he leapt from the titan's towering shoulder, a full ten meters to the ground below.
A flare of emerald light bloomed beneath him—his jet-black warhorse reared up with a fierce cry.
A flash of golden light—and in the next instant, Lann was mounted in the saddle, raising the blazing Sword of the Lady of the Lake high above his head like a torch.
"Charge with me!"
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