Beneath the night, the Blazing Frontier shimmered with a hazy red glow. A crescent moon hung low, as if peering over this battlefield soon to be set ablaze. In the distance, the line of fire pulsed like a heartbeat—the Royal Flame Army had quietly advanced to the last outer defense of the Holy Cult.
Avelyn stood atop the forward highland, clad in crimson flame armor. Her golden hair danced in the firelight, her gaze as sharp and cold as a blade. Her eyes crossed the scorching earth, fixing on the scarlet barrier in the valley—the last divine-forbidden fortress of the Lunar Rift King.
"In this battle, we do not retreat." Her voice was calm, yet it seemed to rouse the soul of the entire army behind her.
Lucian rode closer, chuckling softly: "I remember you used to only say such things on the battlefield."
Avelyn did not turn around, replying faintly: "Now I still only say them on the battlefield."
A stir ran through Lucian's heart. He knew this was her declaration of war—not just against the enemy, but against fate itself.
In the middle of the night, the war drums had not sounded, yet an unusual flame flickered in the royal tent.
It was a private blaze.Deep in the Royal TentAvelyn removed her armor, her naked back reflected in the bronze mirror. Moonlight and firelight flowed over her smooth skin. Lucian watched her silently, his eyes igniting with a desire hotter than any battlefield flame.
"Tonight, you don't have to pretend to be strong anymore." He said, stepping closer.
Avelyn did not turn, but glanced at him from the side, her voice low: "Don't misunderstand. I just... need to vent."
Lucian smiled faintly, suddenly lifting her into his arms and pressing her toward the brocade couch in the inner tent. He lowered his body, his lips and tongue brushing her neck—the familiar warmth and scent making her tremble instantly.
"How do you want to vent?" He murmured, his fingers sliding from her waist to between her legs.
Avelyn did not answer, merely lifting her leg to wrap around his waist.
What followed was a symphony of gasps and moans, tangling and spreading through the night wind and firelight.
Lucian moved with a fiery roughness, as if retaliating against her coldness during the day. But Avelyn did not yield; instead, she pushed him down and reversed their positions. They seemed to wage another war of conquest on the couch—tongues clashing, nails digging into each other's skin, sweat and desire mingling in a primal release.
When he rolled over and held her tight, her final whimper dissolved into a sudden laugh.
"If I die on the battlefield tomorrow, tonight will be my last farewell to this world."
"You won't die," Lucian whispered against her ear, his voice hoarse, "I'll kill everything that stands in your way."
Before dawn, Avelyn stood outside the tent, donning her royal robe, gazing at the blood-red mountain ridges on the frontier.
The apostle of the Lunar Rift King—a valkyrie named "Salan"—had appeared in the border canyon, leading thousands of Lunar Rift royal guards to form a battle line at the mouth of the Flame Valley. She wore black-silver armor, her eyes cold and empty.
Eria also arrived at the pre-battle highland, reporting softly: "Abnormal energy fluctuations have appeared on the eastern border... The Soul of Casas may have been temporarily awakened."
Avelyn paused in thought, then ordered: "Assemble the entire army and raise the Soul Flame Tower. I will personally confront the Lunar Rift Apostle."
Eria hesitated, then finally asked: "Do you believe in fate, Your Majesty?"
Avelyn turned, smiling faintly: "I only believe that fire can burn away fate."