Just yesterday, they had retreated at full speed—only to run into scouts sent by the Nascent Duchy.
In order to avoid drawing the attention of the main army, they had swiftly launched an ambush to eliminate those scouts.
They thought they could make a clean escape.
But Augustus had reacted faster than expected.
He had personally taken action, cutting them off before they could flee.
The entire group had been captured alive.
Now, standing at the front, Lord Kili cleared his throat, forcing himself to ignore the stunned expressions on the city walls.
He raised his voice and called out:
"Captain Celt, you know who I am! Marshal Augustus has already made his stance clear—if you surrender willingly, your lives will be spared!"
"You may even be rewarded—treasure, titles, and beautiful women await you!"
"You stand no chance against an army of a hundred thousand! Better to surrender now!"
Lord Kili did everything he could to project authority and confidence.
If he couldn't persuade Celt to surrender, then Augustus would no doubt use his head as a chamber pot.
He still believed that the weight of his former authority in the city would be enough to sway Celt.
If Celt obeyed him and opened the gates, everything would be resolved.
But before his voice had fully faded—
A cold voice drifted down from atop the city wall.
"A mere bandit dares to impersonate Lord Kili!"
The words from Captain Celt rang out, sharp and unwavering.
"You put on quite a performance. But the Lord Kili we knew—like every other official in this city—was a man of unyielding integrity."
"How could someone like him allow himself to be captured?"
"It's the dead of winter now. You launched this surprise assault with barely any supplies or preparation, didn't you?"
"If you surrender, I might consider petitioning the king to grant you ranks and honors!"
Celt's voice rippled across the battlefield, and ironically, he was the one attempting to convince the Nascent Duchy to surrender.
"So this… is the man you claimed could convince Winterhold to yield?" Augustus asked, his voice like ice as he stared at Lord Kili.
Though Augustus held no fear of Winterhold, commanding a force of a hundred thousand, he had hoped to take the city without shedding blood.
If cities began surrendering without a fight, his future campaigns would be much easier.
But now—
Under Augustus's murderous glare, Lord Kili couldn't help but shiver.
He knew all too well what kind of man the Marshal was.
Since being captured, he'd witnessed Augustus's cruelty firsthand.
One wrong word could get a man killed on the spot.
"Celt! I am Lord Kili, Winterhold's rightful governor! How dare you disobey my orders?!"
Lord Kili shouted in desperation, his voice cracking with fear.
But Celt's voice remained cold.
"There's no point pretending. Lord Kili, like all citizens of Winterhold, would rather die than surrender. If you have the strength—then come and take the city by force. We'll stand our ground to the bitter end!"
Celt's attitude was resolute.
Surrender?
That word didn't exist in his vocabulary.
Lord Kili's heart sank.
He knew Augustus wouldn't tolerate failure—especially not now, when time was critical.
That thought had barely formed in his mind—
When suddenly, he felt a chill around his neck.
The world spun.
And just like that—everything changed.
He saw Augustus draw the longsword from his waist.
He saw his own head—
Separated from his neck.
Blood sprayed high into the sky like a crimson fountain.
The governor of Winterhold—beheaded on the spot.
"Useless trash."
Augustus snorted coldly.
The other captured officials beside Lord Kili met the same fate.
Heads rolled across the ground.
Blood soaked the earth, staining the sky red.
The metallic tang of blood filled the air.
In that moment, the silence of death and the solemnity of war descended upon all present.
"Advance the army! Annihilate Winterhold! Leave no one alive!"
Augustus raised his blood-soaked sword, issuing his order.
But even before his voice had finished echoing—
A strange shift occurred.
People began to notice something—
A dark figure descending from the clear blue sky.
"Well, well... a force of a hundred thousand. Weaklings, perhaps—but enough in number to make a decent test subject for my new ability."
The voice was cold.
Emotionless.
It reverberated through the heavens.
Every soldier from both nations instinctively looked toward the sky.
And when they saw the source of that shadow, they were stunned.
The black figure—
It wasn't descending by natural means.
He was riding some sort of magical flying device, soaring effortlessly through the air.
More than that—
Just looking at him, everyone's attention was unconsciously drawn toward him.
He became the focal point of the entire battlefield.
The pressure that had built between the two armies before his arrival now deepened—
As if space itself were collapsing in upon them.
A weight settled over their hearts, heavy and inescapable.
Even hardened warriors like Augustus and Celt narrowed their eyes in alarm.
They couldn't see through this man at all.
But one thing was clear:
He was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
The battlefield fell silent for a breathless moment.
Then—
A figure within the Nascent Duchy's army suddenly burst into the sky.
A black blur holding a long spear, charging directly at the cloaked man above.
His spear gleamed with frost as it pierced through the air like a dragon.
The aura of a full military formation surged behind it—powerful enough to shake the heavens.
The attack came fast.
So fast that most soldiers hadn't even registered the moment of initiation.
All they saw was the cold flash of the spear as it aimed directly at the black-robed man's heart.
Too fast for reaction.
Too sudden for defense.
Yet the black-robed man didn't even raise a hand.
He merely looked up—
And locked eyes with his attacker.
In that instant, everything changed.
The charging general's expression shifted from confidence to dread.
In those eyes—he saw nothing but endless frost and seething murder.
His soul plummeted into an icy abyss.
His body began to tremble.
His soul had been shaken.
Who… who was this man?
How could a single glance carry such terrifying force?
Fear crept into his heart, spreading like poison.
His limbs turned weak, the resolve in his heart began to crumble.
Clang!
The spear slipped from his hands.
Blood gushed from his mouth as he fell from the sky.
His body twitched.
His eyes lost their focus.
No one else even knew what had happened.
All they saw—was that a single glance from the black-robed figure had brought down a seasoned general.
A general who had once led thousands into battle.
This was no ordinary warrior.
This was… a monster.
Curiosity toward the figure vanished.
All that remained was sheer, unfiltered fear.