Carol had strength comparable to the Werewolf King to begin with—an expert of the vice-duke level. She was not significantly below the Whitebone Duke in terms of rank. Now eager to finish the battle quickly, she unfurled her power completely. Crackling lightning whirled around her figure, resembling the wrath of the Thunder Gods.
She was not alone in this battle. Four high-ranking Executors of Stormlight flanked her, each surging with azure electricity that they poured steadily into Carol. None of them engaged in combat but remained wholly focused on channeling power to amplify her strength.
The whip-like thunder lash extended over dozens of meters; sinuous as a dragon, sweeping the battlefield like a tempest. It ravaged swathes of enemies with great swipes while also displaying remarkable intricacy, targeting individual opponents with expert strikes.
The azure lightning was naturally both swift and fierce in its might. Now however, the Whitebone Duke paid no heed as he overlooked from above; and on Jade Sea’s side, even among many strong combatants, no being could withstand Carol’s onslaught. No warrior lasted beyond three lashes before having their back broken and collapsing onto the battlefield.
Carol regarded the masses of Werewolves—numbering in the hundreds of thousands—as naught but scenery, freely maneuvering in the sky, singularly targeting powerful foes each time. Often she moved so swiftly only after her thunderous after-image remained; her actual location long since lost to perception. Fast beyond bullets. Fast beyond reason.
Yet from below, Xu Jingxuan watched warily, despite their advantageous position on the ground battle, nearly all his attention tethered to the chaos unfolding aerially—his brows tight and perspiration beading upon his brow as he murmured aloud: “Why fight this way?! Why won’t they surround?!”—he spoke not realizing repeating himself—testifying a nerve stretched to the absolute breaking point.
From Xu Jingxuan’s vantage point, Carol’s unmatched fierceness would find ideal purpose fighting side by side with Qian Ye in attacking the Whitebone Duke directly. Were the Duke beaten, capturing Jade Sea remained trivial indeed. By dividing force instead and fighting independently—was not opportunity being sown straight into the hands of the enemy who might retaliate decisively one by one? What value resided in slaying countless lower-ranked combatants then?
More horrifying to him—if Qian Ye stumbled… met demise in battle—the fate for them would be bleak indeed!
Aiska realized swifter, instincts flaring at once. With a roar:
“The entire army, launch the offensive!!” he commanded.
Without waiting for an answer, the man charged forth from protective structures. He rushed headlong despite still tending un-bandaged wounds and howling at foes. Amidst the Great Corridor wolves, there remained some who questioned abandoning such a sturdy position, yet once their Great Leader had taken the front they would never entertain notions of trailing at the ranks.
Those remaining mobile, each capable fighter among them rose up in solidarity, charging toward swarms greater in force.
Ground erupted into chaos instantly.
Amidst skies, Qian Ye at once opened eyes now gleaming—his very gaze crystallized clarity… eerily serene depths clashing with the mudded state of his form covered blood and dust… as if two entirely different worlds shared the one body.
Setting his sights on the Whitebone Duke:
“Indeed… you are a peerless duke. And yet…” Softly came his words, “…alas you are old now.”
Rage reignited flames within the Duke’s stare—his malice condensed and sharp enough to burst outward in waves. Utter silence. He instead tightened fists, striking with amplified might.
Yet this time his blow did not strike against the absurd resilience of Qian Ye’s own superhuman body, but against an unseen barrier, gossamer-thin but solid beyond sight.
A similarly resilient force, but barriers had limits. Sucking in breath, the Whitebone Duke shifted fists into phantasmal blurs striking in a torrent, relentlessly against Qian Ye’s barrier. Breaking it—hardly the Duke’s first triumph against its surface.
Within heartbeats came over a dozen blows—each thunderous—worn it down to nothing. Only a taut final line remained intact.
As rupture loomed close and certain—the Duke recoiled suddenly. Stopped.
Only previously a small handful of strikes shattered it with effort, why… how did today demand so many, and yet the sheath held unbroken?
He studied anew. This barrier bore the same fiery gold hue—but subtly infused, glimmering at center of core was blazing whiteness—an image of sunrises at dawn, on the very brink of bursting into being.
High aptitude matched with centuries of experience—his caution flares. Within his own mind, he rewinds his attacks.
And thus perceived the battle nuances previously missed—the barrier, after every strike reinvigorated, showed not only brighter luster with every new activation, but stouter too.
Could it be described somehow… that the entire process was like smelting iron, as though impurities within that raw energy burned away gradually under every strike?
Yet Qian Ye’s Dawnblood energy was as pure as Whitebone Duke had never before imagined! Even with such refinement—were such energies even capable retaining imperfection?
Qian Ye raised brow, bemused at the unexpected retreat. “It’s complete,” the younger man mused with gentle tone. “Much thanks… for your contribution.”
The protective barrier around him flared blindingly—an all-consuming, raging, ember-gold fire flooding skies. At climax, amid brilliant glow bursting through clouds, a luminous heat broke through the aurora. Slow and majestic ascension—it resembled an ocean rising with golden dawn.
It shone increasingly brighter. Finally condensing into a column stretching skywards; even the massive and fearsome Whitebone Duke appeared swallowed within the column of blazing light—only dimmable shadow remained inside where Qian Ye could barely be seen.
At last, the blinding column returned into Qian Ye, gathered entirely within his body. He hovered midair, armor fractured, skin marked with wounds, his gaze the only exception—a radiant ember glowing steadily in his eyes’ depths.
An incomprehensible sensation crept suddenly across the land, as it overpowered and devoured all presence belonging to Whitebone Duke. This newly-born might—where before, his domain endured contestation—had begun to utterly consume and annihilate his power completely.
When Qian Ye and Carol breached his domain in the beginning—tears were clearest… the Whitebone covering most battlefield held still some dominance.
But now?
This time… his domain faced incineration, as if completely melted the instant those two clashed anew.
The new dominion lacked both form and weight—yet scorched intensely with an unbearable force to destroy all in its reach. For dark-origined masters—suddenly cast upon surface of sun itself—each expecting combustion, reduced into cINDER with the next breath.
Liberation happened in fleeting moments as the scorching force dissipated and softened back into imperceptible pressure—yet their bodies burned in phantom sensations. An entire span longer still?—masters, even among them, speculated incineration itself had merely moments spared…
While powerhouse stood astute awe-stricken above, every Werewolvian in the new aura’s grasp shrieked at the merciless heat. The weak, collapsed to blood-soacked earth while the stronger only quivered and twitched—strangled gasp of life as searing heat from Dawn’s primal birth seared into their flesh, unopposed.
The Duke’s might clung now only within battle’s edges. In terms of dominion struggle? Crushed decisively.
And upon the threshold’s edge, wolves of Jade Sea, unable resist instinctual rush forwards. Even into oncoming blades and bulwarks of the Great Corridor’s werestained lines. For no blade, no barrier—equated the terror now surrounding: unknown fire—wholly contradictory to their own darkened nature.
Whitebone remained transfixed on Qian Ye, his gaze awash in shock, disbelief, and jealousy gone wild. He bit words out in staccato tones:
“You… have become a Saint-Commander?”
Qian Ye, nodding once while smiling knowingly, “If not for your generosity, I might have yet failed the ascent across that celestial threshold.”
“You… used me?!” Whitebone nearly spat out blood in fury.
The younger offered calm expression: “Rather… you proved yourself, lacking in the means required… to simply kill me when the window emerged”
A low hum. The elder replied in coldness: “Do you truly imagine you—holding nothing but the rank of newly-ascended Saint-Commanders—is fit to meet this lowly creature I am now?”
Humankind’s fresh arrival into the Saint-Commanders equated no better than noble vampires’ Honor Lords alone—thus pitted to the dark’s hierarchy of the Old Night, the distance remained vast still. It required a seasoned commander like Carol to confront him directly. The common Saint-Commander would flee at first strike by him.
Even so as the declaration passed his lips, Whitebone felt hollowness behind it.
Qian Ye acknowledged in approval.
“You speak truth originally,” his gentle tone betraying no arrogance or doubt. Yet soft gaze turned steely.
“This—remains the battlefield still. Myself… you… none of which can deny such reality.”
Fury nearly blindsided the old Duke at this calm. The very essence of bloodthirsting Werewolvian fury nearly pushed him forward despite the knowledge—the domain struggle already decided outcome. Still, he forced himself still. Victory ensured dominance—but the opposite?
Loss would herald collapse in its entirety…
Scanning the younger rival intensely, strategizing furiously. Before he stood—merely a sea of flame… with what hid below unseen entirely.
Yet, when Whitebone hesitated, Qian Ye allowed a soft, small smile to grow.
“Do not forget, Lord Duke… battlefield it is.”
“Battlefield?”
He failed grasping the deeper meaning until pain struck the rear—an epiphany. He twisted sharply in time.
Carol descended—bathed in thunder and infernos ready to crash in a furious arc!
This—truly remains Battlefield: a field with no rules forbidding outnumbered duels!
Qian Ye’s promotion concluded—two Saints opposed only One. Whitebone? Solitary in this reckoning…
Assessed instantaneously.
He howled in denial.
Soaring toward distant horizons—yet, within skies faint traces of three dark luminant feathers gleamed once in the light before piercing straightly into the whiteboned sovereign’s back.
His entire being stiffened once airborne.
Fell.
As dust did he land—final moments fading in eternal silence.
At Qian Ye’s shoulder, Carol floated:
“Already so long into battle, you still hadn’t revealed yet—naturally the Primal Lance cannot even dream of being evaded?”
Unconcerned, the boy raised empty hands: “Too engaged. Forgotten it entirely, yes.”
And so with Whitebone Duke’s untimely end came an almost abruptness. Time frozen. Roarer’s symphony hushing into deathly stillness. No howl stirred amidst the werespotted ranks—Jade Sea nor Great Corridor alike stood motionlessly fixated upon spot where the legendary figure’s mortal frame met earth.
In such a single timeless flash—it was tradition itself, ancient inheritance spanning over three centuries. Crumbled away. With it came the intangible sense that formed identity, fear, worship, even myth—the pillars of psyche, collective history, a soul stitched from legacy, had ended… irrevocably.
Every beast—clan-bound or free—experienced something vital torn and hollow within… void vastness unbearable…
Among others such as Great Corridor’s own Chief—Aiska… countless visions of seeing that lofty seat crumble into history had long passed through his mind, but… it simply arrived with ridiculous ease…
As though… merely a jest.
Possibly among sole witnesses to three dark wings’ flight… he felt nothing of true power behind them… and it terrified him.
For the force that effortlessly took down the Whitebone? No struggle? Only insurmountable divergence beyond even comparison.
Though confidence filled his mind about his strength—even Jade Sea couldn’t deny his worth despite the shadowed outcast of his people within The Big Corridor… he remained drowsy in his realization even amidst confusion from the surrounding hush.
Before long though, Xu Jingxuan’s finger dug softly into his belt. “Hey… is he really…?”
Dazed, he replied:
“…Dead…”
“So then,” continued Xu. “Shouldn’t we go see what became?”
“Enemies are still out there.”
“But there remains… absolutely none.”
Jade Sea masses were still too stunned to process anything tangible… yet their legs followed reflex faster than reason could dictate, parting in a path wide across ranks leading straight where corpse of their once-great leader now lied…
Just outside a main force… not too far behind. But every eye, every leg refused stepping nearer. In that sky hovered Qian Ye and Carol—Saints both—but particularly Qian Ye and that sunfire realm scorching their bones at recollection…
So who would dare walk there now?
Yet upon the question’s suggestion, both considered moving forward, staring at each other… neither making a move. Tense, anxious to traverse through hundreds of thousands—pass them—and stand near the once-tyrannical Whitebone. Even imagining such sent cold shivers dancing across skin.
When motion occurred nearby—some made hesitant gestures, drawing both to turn.
Song Lon shook his head:
“Now is not the right time…”
In understanding they paused too.
The Whitebone Duke wore numerous formidable relics—each an heirloom treasure. Their trespass into forbidden proximity might spark accusations of intent.
Up above Carol peered down where Qian Ye still floated—unmoving, placid silhouette.
“Not going over?”
“Check his remains yourself,” Qian replied serenely amidst the soft curl of his lips.
“Still a Duke you realize…” Carol eyed him questioningly. “Sure about this? You’re not interested… in whatever artifacts that remain behind?”
The young Saint’s reply retained gentle smile:
“That so?” suspicion bloomed, she demanded:
“Tell me the truth!”
“No use hiding it, then…”
At this point his expression shifted slightly more somber, more serious, as he spoke:
“It’s done already.” Qian Ye said.
Carol was silent for a few heartbeats, before nodding, understanding dawning.
“It’s already sealed,” Qian reiterated.
“I already claimed what was most valuable… Not something that may simply remain and be discovered.”
With the wind rushing against their suspended stances above a now eerily hushed field of battle, she simply looked at this young figure next to her, realizing in that instant, she had underestimated the final depth of what exactly her friend had become. Something more than even the legends dared whisper of. Something new. Something unfinal… and infinite possibilities awaited.
And the dawn of the world shimmered softly all around… as two figures watched silently, the beginning of the legend was but freshly inked beneath their feet across the field.
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