The blazing sun burned like fire, and the desert appeared as a massive furnace. Inside this furnace, everything was boiling.
What was boiling was humanity, blood, and killing.
The blood had turned the desert's color from dry, desolate golden yellow into a deep red. The intense heat was causing the bodies and blood on the ground to evaporate, and the stench in the air was so thick that each breath felt like inhaling a hot, bloody mass. But no one cared about this. Everyone was greedily gulping down the air, shouting madly, screaming in agony, and hacking at each other. No battle between natural enemies could ever be as fierce, as deadly, as the slaughter of humans against one another.
The nomads, dressed in uniform cloth robes and riding tall horses, wore no armor, yet they showed no sign of retreating or hesitation when facing fully armored swordsmen. As the long swords stabbed into their bodies, they fought back with curved knives, aiming at the gaps in the swordsman's armor, striking and stabbing their faces, doing whatever it took to leave as many and as large wounds as possible on their enemies' bodies.
The other half of the warriors were mounted on wild boars, hailing from another nomadic tribe on the edge of the desert. Under the pressure of the Celeste army, these tribes had no choice but to band together. These wild boar riders were desperately holding back the cavalry, and despite the devastating impacts of heavy armor and lances, causing the wild boars and warriors' bodies to be scattered everywhere, they had little in terms of effective resistance. Yet, they still did not retreat. But no matter how brave they were, the difference in equipment and numbers was insurmountable, and the Church's forces were gradually gaining the upper hand.
"Allah above, the forces of the evil Celeste have gained the upper hand. Prophet, it would be best for you to retreat for now." The chaos warriors had lost more than half of their number, and the few remaining were drenched in blood. As the spiritual leader of the tribe, the Prophet was never supposed to be at the forefront of this battlefield.
The Prophet was a middle-aged man with black hair and a black beard, wearing a sky-blue star-and-moon robe. Under the protection of his guards, he forced his way to the frontlines of the battlefield.
Celeste, which had originally been locked in a standoff with Orford, suddenly shifted its focus and concentrated its unprecedented military strength on the nomadic tribal alliance in the southern desert. Within just a few days, they had conquered the desert that once belonged to the tribes. This was the final battle. All the nomadic warriors had already given up their lives, fighting not only for their Allah but also for the safety of their homes behind them.
A sharp wind howled, and two chaos warriors leapt forward, blocking the Prophet and his few companions. The sound of countless crossbow bolts filled the air, like heavy rain pounding against banana leaves. In the next second, those two guards fell to the ground, their bodies pierced by so many bolts they were almost disintegrated. With the crossbowmen shooting in unison, it wasn't just their lives that were lost—there was nothing left of their forms. It was clear that this was a targeted assassination aimed at the Prophet, the spiritual leader.
"We have nowhere left to run. Behind us is the heart of the tribal alliance. Even if we manage to escape, the tens of thousands of women, children, and elderly in our tribes will never make it." The Prophet's voice, far grander than one would expect from his body and age, resonated through the ranks of the nomadic warriors. "Perhaps Celeste won't kill them, but they will force them to betray the Allah and follow their evil god. This is a far more evil act than killing them. To betray the Allah is to doom their souls to eternal torment in hell. But if we fight and die for the Allah, He will see us from above..."
With the Prophet's words, the already high spirits of the nomadic warriors surged even higher, as if they had gone mad. With no defense left, they no longer cared for their own lives. They threw themselves into battle using every means at their disposal—by ramming, twisting, and even biting with their teeth.
"The Allah can see the bravery of the warriors and will bless them..." The Prophet spread his arms wide, and a blue light emanated from him, soon covering almost every nomadic warrior around him.
The priests behind the swordsmen, who had been responsible for support and healing, were now in a frantic scramble, quickly using purification spells to dispel the light on the nomads. It was the effect of a blessing spell, which, though not a particularly complex support spell, became incredibly powerful when used on such a massive scale with thousands of warriors. The nomads, who had been at a disadvantage, suddenly regained their footing.
Suddenly, a knight from the constrained cavalry formation broke through and charged toward the Prophet. His steel lance struck like a thunderbolt, sending any wild boar warriors who tried to stop him flying through the air, their bodies and hundreds of pounds of wild boar tossed aside with a single thrust.
"Stop him!" The command of the Chaos warrior echoed, and several nomads rushed forward to intercept him.
With a loud thud, a pillar of white light erupted around the knight. The knight didn't even hesitate to stop his momentum and, using the force of his charge, sent several nomads flying in all directions.
"It's the Temple Knight!" Beneath the white magical glow, the Temple Knight activated the Celestial Blessing, donning his shining battle armor. This time, it wasn't just a few warriors but an entire squadron of nomads charging forward.
This Temple Knight had broken free from the main force and, alone, led a dazzling white light as he carved a bloody path through the battlefield. None of the nomads could withstand his charge. With every thrust, sweep, or stab of his lance, a warrior was sent flying, either cleaved in half or impaled.
But as the nomads kept closing in on him, his momentum began to slow. With a sharp whistle, the knight abandoned his horse and leapt high into the air, landing a solid blow on one of the nomad warriors.
With a sickening crack, the nomad's body bent unnaturally as if the weight was too much to bear. Using the momentum, the Temple Knight leapt even higher, soaring toward the Prophet. Dozens of curved blades were hurled toward him, cutting through the air with a fierce whistling sound. Yet, the Temple Knight ignored them. The sound of metal clashing rang out as the blades, useless against the dazzling armor, rebounded harmlessly away.
The Prophet shouted in fury, and a fireball rolled through the air, speeding toward the knight. At the same time, the knight hurled his steel lance.
The lance, filled with fighting spirit and white magic, howled through the air, easily dispersing the fireball like a puff of smoke. The lance's momentum did not diminish at all, and with a thunderous speed, it shot directly toward the Prophet.
One of the Chaos warriors stood in front of the Prophet, raising a massive blade, about a meter long and a foot wide, like a small door. But with a resounding crash, the blade shattered into pieces, along with the body, as if it were made of cotton and cardboard.
However, in that moment of distraction, another Chaos warrior managed to pull the Prophet out of the way. The lance's force continued unabated, piercing through several warriors behind them. Then, three Chaos warriors brandished their large swords, rushing to meet the descending Temple Knight.
The Temple Knight did not dodge or retreat. As he descended, he could neither avoid nor yield, and the massive sword struck the glory armor with a sound like a bell being struck. The Chaos warriors' greatswords were so heavy and powerful that they could slice a charging horse in two from head to tail. These swords were even heavier and more solid than the axes of dwarves.
Even with the formidable defense of the glory armor, it could not completely withstand such an attack. The knight's body trembled violently, nearly dropping to his knees. Blood began to seep through the seams of his armor, and he spat a mouthful of blood from under his helmet. However, in that same moment, his longsword at his waist flashed with white light, and the three Chaos warriors were cleaved into six pieces.
The knight was badly wounded, but he did not falter. The prophet was retreating, protected by the last two Chaos warriors, while more and more nomads surged forward. The knight charged, and with a swift motion, his longsword flew from his hand, piercing the skull of one of the Chaos warriors.
With his spear lost and his sword gone, the advancing knight clenched his fist and threw a powerful punch at the prophet. The Chaos warriors' massive blades swung down toward his head, aiming to strike a fatal blow. No armor, no matter how strong, could withstand such a strike. If the blow landed cleanly, even if the skull didn't shatter, the neck would surely break.
"Die, evil..." The prophet's face lit up with a smile, his hands already glowing with magic. As long as the knight gave him an opening, he would unleash his magic. Even if it had little effect on the glory armor, at the very least, it would knock the Temple Knight back, and the warriors behind would swarm in immediately.
But he never finished his words. With a sickening crunch, her nose and teeth were crushed under the Temple Knight's fist, her skull caving in.
The knight did not relent. His head and body barely shifted, the large blade scraping a terrible sound across his helmet before it swung down onto his shoulder. He grunted in pain; even with the protection of the Glory armor, his shoulder blade cracked. He couldn't even raise a defense, for he only had one hand left.
The helmet of the knight cracked open and flew off. A cascade of golden hair, stained with blood, followed. Beneath the helmet, the face revealed itself—it was a woman's face. Despite the blood and the bloodshot eyes filled with fury, her beauty and fierce elegance were undeniable.
Watching the prophet fall, his flesh and blood a mess, the chaos warrior hadn't even had time to register their shock when an intense pain in his groins sent them flying into the air.
The female knight staggered forward, took the large blade from the fallen warrior, and with one clean swipe, severed the prophet's head. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering across her face and hair. She didn't even blink, her expression colder and harder than any man's, her eyes filled with an unyielding resolve.
She scanned the surrounding warriors, the nomadic fighters poised to surge forward. Whether it was the prophet's death or the sheer ferocity of this woman, the soldiers stood frozen, as if turned to stone, their bodies completely still.