The Supreme World Conqueror

Chapter 37: The Vengeful Tide

The marching orders were given at dawn. The unified army of Helimdor flowed from the gates of Adraels Keep, a river of steel and living power that stretched for miles across the plains. At the vanguard rode the indomitable Black Horned Lions of House Adraels, their dark pelts rippling like a shadow. They were flanked by the proud Gryphon riders of House Griffor and the serene, gliding forms of House Aetheria's Sky-Serpents. And among them, a grim, determined force that set a new tone for the army: the hardened but unyielding remnants of House Hailch, riding their massive Dire Wolves. These beasts were larger and fiercer than any common wolf, their fangs impossibly long and sharp, a terrifying echo of their house's ferocity.

Don rode at the army's head, mounted on Onyx, a figure of serene, terrifying power. Beside him, Caria rode Blizzard, radiant in her armor, a beacon of ferocious loyalty. Just behind them rode Don's newest consort, Lady Serina Hailch, her beautiful face a mask of sorrow and smoldering fury. She was mounted on her own Dire Wolf, Nightfang, its immense form moving with a fluid, predatory grace that betrayed her vengeful purpose.

Their path led them into the Iron Hills, a grim, forbidding landscape of jagged, rust-colored peaks and deep, winding valleys that reeked of sulfur. This was Tidor's domain, a land forged in volcanic fire and ambition.

As they entered the hills, a chilling wave swept over the army. It was subtle at first, a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was a gnawing sense of emptiness, a whisper of profound despair that settled into the souls of the soldiers. Horses stumbled, their hooves suddenly heavy. Gryphons faltered in the sky, their powerful wings feeling like lead. A Sky-Serpent, its majestic form suddenly listless, drifted dangerously close to the rocky spires.

Don felt the full force of it. The Black Flame within him pulsed, but its radiant warmth was smothered by the oppressive chill. It was the Pale Wraith, no longer a localized shroud, but a pervasive, all-encompassing force that blanketed Tidor's domain. It was a psychological weapon that sought to break the will of the army before a single blade was drawn.

From the front lines, Don heard the first cries of panic. A company of pikemen, their faces pale, dropped their weapons, staring into the oppressive mist with haunted eyes. A Gryphon rider, his face a mask of terror, suddenly fell from his mount, plummeting to his death.

"The Wraith!" Earl Varant's voice boomed over the hills, a crashing torrent of rage. His own Gryphon, Tempest, fought the chilling influence, its mighty talons gripping the rocks with a desperate strength.

Don felt the psychic attack on a visceral level, a thousand voices whispering of failure, loss, and the futility of their cause. He felt the cold touch of the Wraith reaching for Caria through their bond, trying to sever their connection, to turn their love into dust.

He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, a simple, firm grip that anchored them both. "It's here," he said, his voice a low rumble.

"It's stronger," Caria affirmed, her face pale but her emerald eyes blazing with a defiant light. "It's a net, not a shroud. It's trying to consume the whole army!"

Don's mind, fueled by the cold precision of his Black Flame, rejected the terror. He would not allow this spirit of despair to take his army, not after all he had forged. He closed his eyes, focusing his absolute will not on a single target, but on the entirety of his army. The Black Flame, stifled for a moment, erupted in a silent, magnificent roar within his soul. It did not push back the Wraith. It enveloped his army.

A shimmering, invisible field of dark, resolute energy spread from Don and Caria, flowing through the command chain. Every soldier, every Gryphon, every Sky-Serpent felt it—a surge of unyielding courage, a cold, focused fury that pushed back the despair. Where the Wraith whispered of futility, the Black Flame answered with a cold promise of vengeance. The faltering archers drew their bows with renewed purpose. The weary Gryphons beat their wings with a defiant strength.

"It is a mind without a body," Don said, his gaze fixed on the center of the Wraith's presence in the valley ahead. "It has no form to strike. We must meet it with a spirit of our own."

He turned to his commanders. "Admiral Valerius! Send your Sky-Serpent riders to the skies! Use their celestial magic to weave a warding curtain above the army! Warden Varant! Take your Gryphons and protect our flanks! Grand Magister Thornf, focus your mages on countering the Wraith's influence with pure arcane energy! And Medrin! Prepare your troops! We will charge!"

His order was met not with fear, but with a roar of renewed defiance.

Atop the grim, obsidian spires of Emberstone Fortress, Earl Ekarvel Tidor watched the approaching army. He saw the shimmering shadow of the Pale Wraith clinging to his forces, ready to swallow the enemy whole. He saw the advancing Helimdor army falter, felt their morale waver.

Then, he felt it.

A cold, unyielding force that pushed back against the Wraith. He saw the enemy banners stiffen, their step regain its brutal certainty. He saw a shimmering, dark aura spread over their ranks, a silent, defiant roar against his despair.

Ekarvel snarled, his gaunt face contorted in a mask of absolute hatred. "He uses it against me! He turns despair into a weapon!"

He turned to his son, Vaers. "It is time. Unleash the legion! Burn them! Show him his defiance is a fool's hope!"

In the valley below, the united forces of Helimdor roared their battle cries, a single, thunderous voice. At the head of the army, Don raised his blade. His eyes, burning with the dark, triumphant light of the Black Flame, met the oppressive void of the Wraith. He felt Caria's vibrant power, her hand a warm anchor. He felt the trust of his allies, the devotion of his men. He was no longer just a lord. He was the architect of a new age.

"For Helimdor!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din.

The unified army surged forward, Gryphons and Sky-Serpents descended, and the final battle for the south began. Emberstone Fortress was in sight, and the clash would decide whose power would truly forge the future.