The plains of Talas stretched endlessly toward the horizon.The earth was dry, the sky the color of ash.Even the wind seemed to have forgotten how to pray.
Kaelric sat atop his horse, listening to the silence.It was not the silence before a storm, but the silence left behind by the dead.
After two days of travel, the SkyDrane army finally took formation.Before them stood the combined forces of the Solarin Empire and the Holy Empire—one hundred and eighty thousand soldiers, an ocean of armor glimmering under the pale sun.At Kaelric's back stood only forty-five thousand.The gap was so wide it could bend the will of gods.
Intelligence had lied.They had told him "a hundred and twenty thousand."But when he saw the truth with his own eyes, he could smell the betrayal.The king clenched his jaw in silence.So the enemy wasn't outside. It was within.
He summoned his generals and spread the map upon the ground."The Crescent Tactic remains," he said."The center will retreat, the wings will close. I'll lead the front line myself."
Cedric lowered his head. "Your Majesty, you—"Kaelric raised a hand, cutting him off."This war belongs to me. This nation was born in blood—if it must end in blood, let it be mine."
The wind shifted.From across the field, the envoy of the Holy Empire rode forward.His white robe gleamed with gold embroidery, fluttering in the cold breeze.He amplified his voice with magic.
"Kaelric SkyDrane! You've defied the sacred faiths!Both the Pope of the Holy Empire and the ruler of Solarin have declared you a heretic!Before blood is spilled, kneel and swear the oath of faith!"
A heavy stillness fell over the plain.Even the wind held its breath.
Kaelric pulled the reins, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.He was not angry—only sorrowful.Then, as if lifting the weight of centuries, he raised his head.
Behind him stood forty-five thousand weary men—swords rusted, hearts scarred, yet still standing tall.A voice echoed within him:Kneel and live, or stand and die.
Kaelric raised his sword."Days pass, seasons change, men change," he said."But the land where one is born—never changes."
The sunlight caught the blade, glimmering like a pale flame."For SkyDrane!"
The cry tore through the heavens."SkyDrane! SkyDrane! SkyDrane!"
It was as if not forty-five thousand, but four hundred and fifty thousand voices roared together.Drums thundered.Horses screamed.The air thickened with the scent of iron and blood.
Kaelric charged forward.His cavalry, strengthened by wind mana, surged through the enemy lines like a storm.The ground trembled.The Solarin mages raised their formations; priests called down divine fire.But the SkyDrane soldiers didn't falter—rage burned longer than faith.
The first clash was thunder itself.Steel shattered against steel, spears snapped, shields splintered.Kaelric leapt from his horse, his sword cleaving into an enemy's chest.The strike was so fierce that fifteen men around him were hurled backward.
He released his Dragon Authority.His aura pulsed outward in waves; enemy soldiers buckled under its weight, knees hitting the earth.Kaelric swung once—ten men fell.A second strike cracked the ground.Each movement shook the soil, bleeding the veins beneath.With every swing, the air itself was cut apart.
The SkyDrane army gained ground in the early hours.But the Solarin forces were far from broken.
Two figures stepped forward then—Arthwin Lork, "The Steel Saint" of the Holy Empire,and Roney Maccliffer, the legendary swordsman of Solarin.Their arrival darkened the sky.
Roney struck first, moving like lightning.Kaelric raised his blade; steel met steel, the sound like a bell tolling for the dead.Aura exploded.Soldiers on both sides were thrown back; two armies retreated to watch the duel that shook the earth.
Roney was fast, but Kaelric's eyes were faster.He read his opponent's intent before every move, predicting each step.One twist—Kaelric parried and drove his knee into Roney's gut.The swordsman staggered, but Kaelric didn't relent.He slashed sideways, the blade grazing Roney's shoulder.Roney's breath faltered.
Kaelric unleashed his full Dragon Authority.The air grew heavy; even dust hung motionless.The earth cracked, the wind bent.Roney's movement slowed for half a breath—and Kaelric vanished.A glint of light—then a cut.
Roney tried to defend, but too late.His right arm was severed, spinning into the air before falling into the mud.His scream spread through the battlefield like a curse.The Solarin soldiers faltered in terror.The SkyDrane warriors roared in triumph.
"The king has slain one of them!" they shouted.
But the joy didn't last.The ground split open.A massive hammer came crashing down upon Kaelric's chest.His armor shattered; bones cracked; blood gushed from his mouth.
The weapon flew back into Arthwin's hand."You defied divine justice," Arthwin said coldly. "Now be crushed beneath it."
Kaelric staggered—but did not fall.Through torn lungs, he looked up, eyes blazing."If your god rules with blood," he rasped, "then I shall pray with blood."
He charged again.Roney, half-dead, fought with his remaining arm.Arthwin pressed with his hammer.Between them, steel and aura danced—a storm of sound and fury.
Each clash cracked the earth; sparks burst in the air.Kaelric's breathing stayed steady, his heartbeat measured between blows.Arthwin struck from above; Kaelric raised his sword crosswise, diverting the blow.Roney lunged from the left; Kaelric spun away.
For a moment, he stood between both foes.He surged his authority once more.The wind reversed, the ground heaved upward.His eyes glowed crimson.Even his own soldiers froze—recognizing that their king had entered the final phase of Dragon Authority.
Kaelric twisted midair and brought both blades down.Roney fell to his knees. Arthwin met the strike head-on.Their powers collided; thunder roared.
Mana flared—Kaelric was thrown back, landing on his knees.His breath was ragged, but he rose again.Blood dripped from his palm.That blood took shape—dark red turning black.A sword of blood was born.
Now he wielded two weapons.Roney screamed and charged again.Kaelric parried with steel and struck with blood.Two rhythms collided—one cold and sharp, the other hot and alive.
Arthwin swung his hammer; Kaelric turned, deflecting blow after blow.He pressed his blade against the hammer's shaft, redirected it, stepped aside, and cut across.His strike tore through Roney's armor, ripping flesh.The swordsman collapsed, still barely breathing.
Arthwin struck again, but Kaelric didn't retreat.He crossed his blades to block.The impact exploded.Dust swallowed everything.
When the air cleared, Kaelric was still standing.Red light flickered in his eyes.He was no longer merely a man—he was a prayer made flesh.
From afar, Cedric shouted, "Your Majesty! We can't hold much longer!"
Kaelric's breath was broken, yet his voice thundered."Prepare the formation signal!"
Roney lunged once more, shrieking.Kaelric blocked, kicked him in the chest, sent him sprawling.Arthwin stepped forward, slamming his hammer into the earth.The ground split open, dividing the SkyDrane lines.
Kaelric's insides burned with blood, but he stayed upright.He found a moment—just enough—and fired the signal flare.A red flame pierced the sky.
At that instant, cavalry poured from behind the hills like a crimson crescent.The enemy was encircled.Sky, soil, and blood all turned the same color.
Kaelric had drawn both champions to himself.He had bought his army time—at the cost of his life.
Cedric roared, "Activate the formation!"The mages slit their wrists; blood spilled onto the earth.Crimson circles ignited.The heavens flared bright as day.
When the Blood Formation completed, the air froze.The Solarin soldiers looked around, confused—until they felt the heat beneath their skin.Their blood was boiling.
They dropped their shields and screamed.It was agony beyond sound.They ran in chaos—but it was too late. The formation had sealed.
Hundreds, then thousands of bodies exploded from within.The sky turned scarlet.The mages collapsed, their mana spent, their bodies crumbling to dust—yet even in death, they smiled.
The ground drank deep of blood.The holy armies broke—but reinforcements arrived.The priests raised white flames to the heavens, shattering the formation.Balance was lost again.
Kaelric had nothing left.Arthwin lifted his hammer one last time and struck.The blow caved in the king's chest.
Kaelric fell to one knee.Cedric ran toward him—but Roney blocked his path.Their eyes met—one filled with loyalty, the other with vengeance.
Kaelric drove his sword into the soil; blood dripped between his fingers."This battle is over," Arthwin said.
Kaelric lifted his head."Yes," he whispered, "but you still don't understand the meaning of a prayer."
Arthwin smirked, seizing Roney's sword."Then pray, King."
The blade fell.Kaelric SkyDrane's head hit the blood-soaked earth.
The sky fell silent.No wind. No birds. No prayers.Only a lingering echo—
"Lane…"
The wind carried that name.For a heartbeat, a shadow passed across the heavens—vast, serpentine, divine.A dragon's shadow.It made no sound.But it had seen.
Kaelric's prayer was now written in blood.