The sanctuary seemed to hold its breath beneath a gray sky dripping with menace, low clouds weighing like a shroud over the white cathedral. The amber crystal hummed softly at its peak, a golden light licking the marble walls, tingeing the air with a scent of storm and molten iron. Renn stood by the altar, the bracelet on his wrist projecting a flickering blue hologram like a restless specter. [System: Resources updated: 157,450 Holy Crystals, 0 Epic Materials.] He brushed the altar's edge with his fingers, growling low. "We're short on materials. I don't like this."
Lilith, perched on a nearby pew, wove shadows between her fingers—a raven that dissolved into wisps—and tilted her head with a playful smile. "What if I weave you an army of shadows, my lord? They don't ask for crystals, just a bit of my charm." Her black wings streaked with white buzzed softly, brushing the air.
Renn snorted, a dry laugh escaping his throat. "Save your tricks, Lilith. I don't want ghosts that crumble at the first hit." He scratched the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the hologram, when a faint tremor shook the floor, a distant drumbeat growing until it vibrated in his boots.
Melisa, leaning on her spear near the window, frowned and turned her head. "That's not the wind." She drove her weapon into the ground with a dull thud, peering outside. "Something's coming."
Eryn strode over in two steps, her crimson cape billowing like liquid blood, and narrowed her eyes at the mist curling beyond the perimeter. "Caravan. Big. Half a kilometer, maybe less." Her voice was a cold edge, her fingers tightening around her spear's haft until her knuckles paled.
Nyra, standing by the altar, snapped a communication crystal to life with a flick, her black habit whispering like dry leaves. "Hundreds," she said, warm yet sharp, as the crystal crackled with distant echoes. "Not stray patrols. This is a damn army."
The group clustered together, weapons in hand, a ragged semicircle of Templars forming behind Renn. Selene drew her bow with a faint hum, Thalia struck the floor with her spear, and Astrid adjusted her armor with a grunt. Vera and Sigrid exchanged a glance, while Lin, the youngest, gripped her spear with trembling but steady hands. The two new Templars, their silver armor gleaming, stood silent, spears at the ready.
Renn snapped his fingers, shutting off the hologram with a buzz that sliced the air. "Ardyn, that bastard, doesn't give up," he muttered, voice rough. "Thought we had him sweating."
Lilith leapt from the pew, wings buzzing, and leaned toward him with a mischievous glint in her red eyes. "Another slaughter, my lord? My wings are itching for some fun. I could make their shadows stab them for me."
"Easy, Lilith," Renn said, clapping her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble. "If it's blood you want, wait for my order."
A second, stronger tremor rattled the amber crystal, and the air filled with a low rumble, like boots and wheels crushing wet earth. Seraphina, near the altar, crossed her arms, her white robe glowing under the golden light, her silver hair cascading like a stellar river. Valka, beside her, lifted her chin, her white armor streaked with blue creaking faintly, her light-spear still but ready.
"This wasn't in the plans," Seraphina said, her icy voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. Her golden eyes swept the group, silencing murmurs.
Five hundred meters from the sanctuary, the mist tore apart like a shredded veil, and the caravan emerged like a leviathan of wood and steel. Elven wagons carved from living trunks, their veins pulsing with glowing sap, rolled heavily, pulled by scaled beasts with green eyes that growled under the weight. Green torches hissed in the fog, tainting the air with a venomous glow. At the front, Darion Veltharis, level 120, Champion of the Sylvan Bastion, rode a black steed clad in runic plates, his figure slicing through the mist like a shadow carved from obsidian. His black armor gleamed with elven runes whispering in the gloom, an echo of ancient power. His ash-gray hair, short and tousled, framed sharp green eyes like daggers, and the longsword at his hip thrummed with contained energy that seemed to tear the air as he passed.
To his right, Eryndor, level 80, Ardyn's captain, rode a lighter horse, staff in hand, his tattered cape flapping like a broken banner. Behind them, twenty epic-tier elven soldiers, level 80, formed an imposing line: silver armor glinting under dim light, curved swords and spears ready, their faces chiseled with discipline. Further back, a sea of two hundred common troops—ninety red-eyed kobolds with rusty spears and a hundred and ten elves with bows and shields—stretched like a restless tide, around level 70, a dull roar of footsteps and metal.
Darion raised a fist, and the caravan halted with a creak that echoed through the mist. He dismounted in a fluid motion, his armor rumbling like distant thunder, and drove his sword into the ground with a sharp thud that shook the earth. "I am Darion Veltharis," he said, his voice a dry thunderclap breaking the silence, "right hand of Lord Ardyn, Champion of the Sylvan Bastion." His green eyes scanned the horizon, calculating, as the wind tugged at his cape. "A year ago, I was summoned into this broken world, a specter torn from nothing by Ardyn's will. Since then, I've led his armies through a hundred battles. I've crushed orc hordes on the northern plains, shattered trolls in the ash passes, broken warlords who thought themselves untouchable. A thousand troops have followed me, and a thousand have fallen under my steel when the enemy raised their banners. I bring words, not war… for now."
Eryndor dismounted beside him, more cautious, adjusting his staff with tense fingers. "We've lost much to your steel," he said, measured but firm. "We want peace, but not for free. Lord Ardyn demands justice."
Darion crossed his arms, his sword still in the ground like a silent challenge. "Ten thousand Arcane Crystals," he declared, his tone sharp as a freshly honed edge. "The price for the lives you've torn from our ranks. Pay, and we withdraw. Resist, and this land becomes your grave." His gaze hardened, confident in the mass of troops at his back, an army Ardyn had forged to intimidate, to break. In his mind, there was no doubt: no lord would refuse a deal under the shadow of such force.
Inside the sanctuary, the air buzzed with murmurs and clashing metal as the Templars shifted like a restless swarm. Renn scratched his chin, growling low. "Peace? After all we've ripped from them, now he wants to talk? This stinks of a trap."
Nyra crossed her arms, her black habit rustling, a sharp smile crossing her lips. "It's bait, my lord. I should go. My shadows'll make him sweat before he opens his mouth. A deal like that doesn't come without hidden teeth."
Lilith laughed, wings buzzing as she leaned into Renn, her breath grazing his ear. "Or me, my lord. I'll wrap him in illusions till he's begging on his knees. Picture his face when his own men stab him by mistake."
Melisa spun her spear in a quick arc, winking. "I say let 'em come and we gut 'em. Ten thousand crystals? I'd rather carve it out of their hides."
Before the chaos could swell, Seraphina stepped forward, her white robe gleaming like an icy beacon, her silver hair spilling like liquid light. "No," she said, her voice calm but unyielding, slicing the air like an invisible blade. "I'll go. With Valka. The rest of you, prepare for the worst." Her golden eyes, bright as a trapped dawn, swept the group, silencing protests with an authority that brooked no argument.
Valka stepped up beside her, her white armor creaking faintly, light-spear steady in her hand. "The water whispers danger," she said, her deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "We're ready."
But before she could take another step, he caught her hand in a quick motion, his rough fingers brushing hers, softer, trembling faintly under the ethereal glow of her cloak. "Hey," he said, voice dropping to a warm murmur that cut through the sanctuary's clamor. "You sure about this?"
Seraphina turned to him, and for a moment, her icy facade softened. Her golden eyes met his, and a faint, almost shy smile curved her lips. "I'm sure, my lord," she replied, her voice a tender whisper that seemed to wrap around him. "Don't fear for me. My light is yours, and I won't fail." She squeezed his hand briefly, a fleeting but firm touch, before letting go.
Renn watched her a second longer, his gaze tracing the shimmer of her silver hair as she walked away. He trusted her, fully. He'd seen her fight before, tearing through enemies with a lethal grace that left him speechless, and now, ascended to Deity rank as a Redeeming Luminara, he had no doubts about her strength. Still, a knot tightened in his chest. This was different. This was big. "Don't get yourself killed, Seraphina," he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as she and Valka crossed the threshold into the mist.
Nyra, who'd been about to step forward, fell back with a theatrical sigh. "As you wish, sister," she said, warm but edged with curiosity. "Hope you rip their tongues out if they lie."
Eryn slammed her spear against the floor, growling. "Fortify the towers. If this goes south, they won't breach the first line." The Templars scattered, a whirlwind of metal and orders, while Lilith huffed, wings buzzing. "If it gets messy, my lord, my tricks are ready. A fake dragon and they'll wet themselves."
Renn slapped the altar with his palm, the echo ringing out. "Let 'em talk, but if they twitch, we gut 'em. No one touches what's ours and walks away."
The mist coiled thick and cold, reeking of rotting moss and wet ash, as Seraphina and Valka advanced toward the caravan five hundred meters from the sanctuary. Seraphina walked with her ethereal cloak rippling like lunar fog, her silver hair glowing like a stellar beacon, her white robe with silver plates glinting under dim light. Valka, at her side, held her light-spear with lethal calm, her white armor reflecting watery glints, her silver hair falling like liquid frost over her shoulders.
Darion waited, still beside his sword staked in the ground, flanked by Eryndor and the twenty epic elves, their silver armor forming an intimidating barrier. The two hundred common troops—kobolds and elves—stretched behind him, a sea of spears and shields roaring with restless steps. His green eyes scanned them, intrigued, a faint frown crossing his face. He couldn't sense their rank, nothing, as if they were ordinary. "Impossible," he thought, his calculating mind clashing with the fascination hitting him. He'd never seen women so striking: Seraphina, a beacon of icy beauty and celestial authority; Valka, a storm contained in a figure of ice and steel. But he steadied himself fast, hardening his stance.
Seraphina stopped ten paces away, her voice cutting the mist like an icy bolt. "I am Seraphina, voice of Lord Renn. Speak quickly, elf. My time isn't wasted."
Valka planted her spear in the ground with a dull thud, the echo reverberating. "The water listens," she said, deep and serene. "Don't make us wait."
Darion crossed his arms, his armor creaking, his tone firm, sharp as a newly forged blade. "Ten thousand Arcane Crystals. The price for the lives you've torn from our ranks. Pay, and we withdraw. Resist, and this land becomes your grave." His green eyes gleamed, confident in the mass of troops at his back. "Two hundred twenty souls, twenty of epic rank. You don't have the numbers to defy us."
Seraphina tilted her head, her golden eyes pinning him with surgical precision. "Ten thousand Arcane Crystals for a few rats? Your master values his losses cheaply. Or maybe he can't count."
Darion's frown deepened, his voice hardening. "They're not rats. They're soldiers I've led through a hundred battles. Orcs shattered on the plains, trolls broken in the passes, warlords who thought they could face me. I'm Ardyn's edge, and my steel doesn't lie."
"I don't doubt your edge," Seraphina shot back, her tone cold but laced with subtle mockery. "I doubt your judgment. You bring an army to beg for scraps. If your steel's so precious, why didn't you use it to protect your dead instead of weeping for them now?"
Valka laughed low, a sound rumbling like distant thunder. "The river's swallowed more than that without burping. Your numbers are noise, not strength."
Eryndor stepped in, adjusting his staff with tense fingers. "We don't want war," he said, measured but firm. "But the lost loot stings. Pay, and we leave. It's reasonable."
Seraphina turned to him, her gaze sharp as a scalpel. "Reasonable for those who can't win what they claim. If the loot stings, teach your men not to fall so easily. We don't pay for others' clumsiness."
Darion took a step forward, his hand brushing his sword's hilt. "Watch it, woman. I've broken armies with these hands. Don't talk to me of clumsiness when your hands are stained with my people."
"Stained hands?" Seraphina raised an eyebrow, her voice icy but sharp as a needle. "My hands clean what your master leaves dirty. If your armies were so grand, you wouldn't be here begging for crystals. Or does Ardyn send you to talk because he no longer trusts your sword?"
Darion clenched his jaw, his calculating mind probing for a crack in her words. "Ten thousand Arcane Crystals isn't begging," he growled. "It's justice. Blood for blood. Your tricks don't change the numbers."
"Numbers," Seraphina repeated, her faint smile like a blade slipping under skin. "Two hundred twenty, you say. Twenty epic. A pretty parade. But numbers don't win wars, elf. Strategy does. And yours seems to be groveling after losing. How many more do you need to sacrifice before you learn that?"
Valka tilted her head, her spear humming faintly. "The water doesn't bargain with losers," she added, her ice-blue eyes flashing. "Speak plain or save your breath."
Darion took a deep breath, his armor creaking, and gestured to the troops behind him. "Look close. This isn't a patrol. It's a force that can crush your sanctuary in a night. Paying's your only way out."
"Crush?" Seraphina crossed her arms, her ethereal cloak rippling faintly. "You threaten with a hammer you haven't swung. If you're so sure, why haven't you attacked already? Oh, right. Because you know every step you take is one less for your men. My lord doesn't pay for fear, and I don't haggle with bluffs."
Darion stared at her, overwhelmed by her cunning and that beauty hitting him like a silent echo. "It's not a bluff," he said, slower, testing her. "It's an offer. Ten thousand or blood. You choose."
"I choose nothing," Seraphina replied, her tone sharp and precise. "You already chose to come here with one hand out and the other shaking. Take your offer to Ardyn and tell him to learn to guard his own before crying over it. My lord doesn't pay debts he doesn't owe."
Tension crackled like lightning about to burst. Darion, frustrated, raised a hand, and the twenty epic elves stepped forward, their silver armor gleaming, swords unsheathed in a chorus of metal. "Last warning," he growled, his voice a dry roar. "I didn't come to play."
Seraphina raised a hand, and her Redeeming Celestial Light erupted without warning. A white beam sliced through the mist, blinding the troops, and a choked scream escaped the nearest kobolds as the light seared them, reducing them to ashes scattered by the wind. Valka struck her spear against the ground, and a Valkyrie's Chant rang out, a deep hum that paralyzed the common troops, some collapsing to their knees with blood dripping from their ears.
Darion reacted in a heartbeat, drawing his sword with a swift spin. The runes flared, and a green energy shield blocked an echo of the light, the impact ringing like a gong. "Fall back!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos, while Eryndor, pale, stepped back, muttering, "This wasn't planned."
From the sanctuary, the Templars responded instantly. A dagger whistled from a tower, embedding a meter from Darion with a dull thud, and Melisa's laugh echoed through the mist: "Next one's you, pretty boy!" Eryn, in another tower, raised her spear, and Selene drew her bow, an arrow nocked and ready.
Darion lowered his sword, calculating losses in a second. "This isn't a retreat," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "It's a pause. Ardyn will hear of your insolence." He turned to his troops, raising a fist. "We're leaving!"
Seraphina watched, unmoving, her icy voice slicing the air. "Tell him to bring something better than a dog with tales and threats. My lord doesn't deal with scraps."
Valka smiled faintly, her ice-blue eyes glinting. "The water awaits his next visit. Hope he swims well."
The caravan withdrew, a dull roar of footsteps and wagons fading into the mist, while Darion mounted his steed with a growl, his mind already plotting the next move.
Seraphina and Valka returned to the sanctuary, their footsteps echoing on the marble. The Templars greeted them with cheers and jeers, a whirlwind of laughter and metal. Melisa spun her spear, winking. "That was a show! Did you see their faces? Looked like wet kobolds."
Eryn slung her spear over her shoulder, grunting. "Good work, but they won't stay gone. That was a warm-up."
Renn met them halfway, eyebrow raised and a crooked smile on his lips. "Sent 'em home with their tails between their legs?" he said, crossing his arms as he looked them over.
Seraphina tilted her head, her tone cool but tinged with pride. "For now. But they'll be back, my lord. They're too many to give up so quick."
Valka nodded, her spear humming faintly. "The river won't hold if they hit hard. They're a swarm."
Nyra approached, warm but sharp, her purple eyes gleaming. "Ardyn's testing our grit. This isn't peace—it's bait to see how much we bend."
Lilith draped herself over Renn's arm, wings brushing him, her playful voice cutting the tension. "What if I make 'em see trolls next time, my lord? A couple fake roars and they'll piss themselves."
Renn grunted, serious, nudging her off with a gentle elbow. "If they want crystals, they'll bleed for 'em. We gear up for war, not chats." His gaze hardened, lingering a moment on the amber crystal humming louder, like it smelled the storm. He snapped his bracelet on, the blue hologram flaring. [System: Resources: 157,450 Holy Crystals, 0 Epic Materials.] "Let 'em come," he murmured, that crooked smile returning with a dark edge. "We'll give 'em a holy hell."
Seraphina stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm with a chill that sank deep, her voice low but firm. "My light's with you, my lord. Always."
He looked at her, and for a second, the knot in his chest loosened. "I know, Seraphina," he said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "That's why you're still here."
Lilith huffed, wings buzzing. "How sweet. Do I get my turn now, or am I still the spare pillow?"
Renn laughed, a rough sound filling the sanctuary, as the Templars scattered, weapons ready and eyes fixed on the mist still hiding the enemy. The amber crystal pulsed, a heartbeat promising blood, and the air thickened with the certainty that this was just the start.