Before the first golden rays of dawn pierced the mist over the empire's Northern Border, Aveline had already mustered the Silver Oath Shield and Royal Flame Knights, their armor gleaming. In the camp, war banners flapped in the wind, countless tents like embers waiting to ignite. As she walked past the lined-up soldiers, her gaze was both resolute and gentle; every word of comfort was a flame kindled in their hearts: "March with me, and no one shall be left behind."
Lucian reined his horse beside her, the outline of his battle robe standing tall in the morning light. He nodded, whispering: "Intelligence shows the Northern Border rebel remnants and church lackeys have retreated to the Western Wasteland. The ancient abbey there is their last stronghold."
Aveline pondered, her tracing the griffin head carved into her white jade scepter. "Its tunnels crisscross—church priests and traitors have prepared well. We must destroy their foundations in one strike, or this war will only be delayed."
Half an hour later, the Royal Flame Army set out through the mist. Riding side by side, Aveline and Lucian occasionally conferred in low voices about the attack route, their horse hooves brushing accidentally—a silent reassurance as much as a pillar of support. She turned to him, lips curving: "I could not be so composed without your sword at my side."
He sighed, eyes twinkling with a smile. "If not for your royal blood oath, how could Snowflame and royal power shine as one today?"
At noon, the army reached the ancient abbey ruins. Faded holy emblems hung from the archways of its dilapidated gates. Rebel sentries fled in panic, only to trigger a volley of arrows. Aveline signaled a halt, drawing her longsword. Her silhouette in the sunlight radiated regal dignity: "The battle begins now."
The Silver Oath Shield charged first, their shields a forest advancing step by step; Royal Flame Knights swept the flanks, iron hooves kicking up dust. Aveline and Lucian approached the abbey's gates, where black vines twining the wooden doors were set ablaze by flame marks. Exchanging a brief glance in the firelight, they shouldered through into the hall.
Deep in the hall, church priests and remaining rebels formed a half-moon array with sacred vessels, watching their arrival coldly. The air reeked of sulfur and holy oil, sending shivers through the spine. A priest raised a blood-red crozier, his voice echoing in the corridor: "Snowflame Queen and War God Lucian—you have defiled the holy and shall be punished!"
Aveline rested her hand on the scepter's hilt, its blade shimmering with royal bloodlight. "True saints protect the people, not slaughter kin in faith's name. Today, I judge your heresy in the name of royal blood and divine justice!"
As her words fell, royal blood sigils coiled along the blade, instantly igniting into flames that swept the priestly formation. Lucian struck from the side, their battle cries and the priests' chants clashing—only to shatter before the fire. With priests forced back, the rebel remnants lost all resolve and threw down their arms.
After the battle, the abbey's tablet corridor ran red, new embers rising from the ashes. Aveline walked to the altar, pulling free the scepter—once a symbol of traitors and priests, now a key to break its seals in her hand. She snapped it apart, raising the pieces to the sky: "Henceforth, no one shall sacrifice blood for the throne!"
Night fell. Lucian stood outside the tent as flames lit war banners dancing, the night wind carrying the warm scent of embers. Aveline closed her eyes, savoring this hard-won peace, yet knowing the realm still needed her royal power to protect. She traced Lucian's cheek, voice soft: "Tomorrow, return to the capital. Its throne awaits us to guard together."
Their lips met in the firelight. Though the smoke of war had cleared, the journey where battle and emotion intertwined had just begun its new chapter.