Chapter 566: Act 314 – Oath and Sword III
The sword stood between the wilderness and the sky, its blade shining brightly like a pool of autumn water, the white ties with a crescent moon insignia wrapped around the hilt twisting in the gentle wind, swaying slightly as if recalling a memory.
With wise and deep eyes slightly narrowed, he curiously watched as the horizon transformed into an almond shape stretching wide; a white cloak draped over him, beneath it a pair of rough hands rested on a dark sword sheath. He stood tall and proud, like a lion.
“Your Majesty, the time is late.”
“Krentel, can you guess what I am looking at?” The elder smiled briefly and calmly turned to ask.
“Beyond this grassland, forward, further ahead, the land of Erluin.”
“Erluin, that is the land we gamble our lives to protect. But I am looking at my sword, Krentel.” The elder shifted his gaze; the sword appeared uniquely long in the desolation, yet it supported a piece of the world.
“Your sword?”
“I am contemplating whether, after a millennium, someone will still take up this sword, wipe off the dust on it, and remember our oath? Will our descendants withstand the test of time—do you think Erluin will endure?”
“Erluin will endure, Your Majesty.”
“But time flows by; what if one day our descendants forget today’s promise? The Crusian people once had a glorious past, yet they have long since failed to reclaim that. Perhaps one day, the people of Erluin will be the same.”
“Your Majesty.”
“What I desire is not Erluin, Krentel.”
In his gray-blue eyes, clouds were reflected. The soft gray hair lay against the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes; time had left a heavy mark on him. The elder felt the flame in his heart burning out little by little, yet at this moment, it seemed to rekindle with brilliance.
He had witnessed too many wars, too much suffering, and too many dear ones sacrificing on this land; he closed his eyes, and past scenes unfolded like a golden painting, as if still in that sunset twilight when they first left the land of Cruz.
That was where everything began.
“What I desire is not Erluin, Krentel—but the souls and beliefs entrusted to this land. I want this voice to be passed on forever. I want the resistance and pursuit belonging to Erluin to never be forgotten, and I want its nobility to always remember their duties—”
“Krentel.”
“Remember—if one day the people of Erluin truly forget all of this, then the sword shall return to where it came from, no longer protecting this land.”
Then the sword shall return to where it came from.
“Your Majesty, the people of Erluin have truly forgotten all of this.”
“Only two hundred years have passed.”
“This land no longer bears that pure ideal—”
But today, the sword has returned.
In Krentel’s eyes, the sword was radiating an endless golden light; it trembled in the girl’s hands, as if it had come back to life, quivering excitedly as if about to leap out of its sheath.
Krentel suddenly felt his tears could no longer be contained, though they had long ceased to flow.
But those were tears from the heart.
Your Majesty, do you see? Someone has picked up this sword, wiped off the dust on it, and remembered our oath. Thus, it once again felt that belief. After being forgotten for centuries, that radiant banner has returned to Erluin.
Brendel also looked at the Lion Sword in Freya’s hands.
In that moment, he heard the voice of the sword—like mountains collapsing and the sea surging, a great voice resonated and narrated, and he seemed to see that glorious era, saw in the desolate wilderness those two elongated shadows.
The sword answered the oath—
Will Erluin endure?
Erluin will endure, Your Majesty.
“What happened, Freya?” Nemeses shouted.
Everyone was stunned by the sudden bright light emanating from Freya’s sword.
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Freya stared blankly at the trembling sword in her hands, as if it had come alive, responding to something: “It seems to sense something…”
The entire Ampere Seale began to tremble—
Foster rushed out of the tent as if mad; the command center of the White Lion army was enveloped in a massive humming sound. Within the camp, everyone involuntarily stopped, raising their heads to gaze in one direction.
In the center of the camp.
That immense white lion battle flag was emitting an incomparably dazzling light, standing tall amidst wind and rain, the white lion on the flag seemed to come alive, baring its claws.
“The banner of brilliance…” Foster suddenly froze.
It seemed he understood something, staring dazedly towards the west.
Knight Commander Karlen of the Fourth Division of the White Lion army was looking in the same direction. In the storm, an army he had never seen before was slowly passing through the rain curtain, approaching him.
In the rain, there seemed to be singing.
‘I vow before this sword—’
‘I vow to lead my people—away from slaughter and conflict, away from the arrogance and greed of the nobility.’
‘I vow to never repeat this cold-blooded mistake, I shall make the nobility of the new kingdom follow the spirit of the knights—just and strict, upright and brave, kind and forgiving.’
‘I take this oath, today and always, shall be the same.’
A silver elven helmet bathed in rain, on its shoulders a white lion, as if stepped out from a legend. The sword in hand measured five feet long, one hand wide, with a lion heart mark on the guard, clad in heavy armor, wearing a scale skirt, chanting the oath as it moved.
At this moment, legend and reality overlapped.
The army emerging from the downpour instantly struck deep into the softest part of every White Lion soldier’s heart. It was as if they were stepping out of a vividly historical story, still carrying that mysterious and magical aura found in fairy tales; the army that existed only in legend appeared before them.
Those were their ancestors.
Their history.
Their pride.
The Royal Guard of the White Lion army.
But now they were their enemies—
Thus, they ultimately betrayed their oath; they prided themselves on inheriting the glory of their ancestors, Ek, yet at this moment all must be wiped away. The army from legend would now come to remove the crown from their heads.
Everyone couldn’t help but take a step back instinctively.
That was the legend they had heard countless times from stories, that had accompanied them as they grew up, solidifying their faith—the legend. Although that White Lion army moved silently through the rain, it was just a half-squad. The White Lion army was composed entirely of veterans, a single glance could calculate the opposing numbers.
Forty-five.
But what of it?
Knight Karlen felt cold sweat in his palms; since becoming a knight, never had he felt so devoid of courage before facing an opponent. But a soldier’s honor forbade him from abandoning his sword, and the ephemeral fear was merely a momentary illusion.
Karlen instantly reacted, nearly gritting his teeth to shout, “A great dishonor! Where did these clowns come from to dare disguise themselves as the White Lion army?”
The voice echoed far across the rain.
“The White Lion army?” That army halted, and the commanding officer visibly paused.
Now was the moment; Karlen seized the fleeting opportunity and immediately raised his sword: “Fourth Division of the White Lion army, follow my command! Eliminate these heretics who blaspheme our ancestor Ek!”
The soldiers of the White Lion army let out a furious roar, as if only such a shout could dispel the doubts in their hearts, reminiscent of countless times when their ancestors, their comrades charged into battle against the Crusian cavalry on the highlands; after centuries, they had finally charged into battle against the people of Erluin.
The horn of the White Lion army echoed long and clear.
The melodious sound contained the long and glorious history of this legendary army, the unfaltering charge it made, for they had never had a true opponent, not because of invincibility, but because of unwavering tenacity.
Before the White Lion army, no enemy could instill fear sufficient to make them tremble.
For this was the courage of the lion.
It was the conviction bestowed upon them by their ancestor Ek.
The soldiers drew their long swords; though barely two hundred, they carried the momentum of thousands. The banner of the White Lion moved forward amidst wind and rain, the formation tight like a sharp blade. What upheld this sword was not only discipline but also belief.
Yet, today the hands that held the sword felt heavy for the first time.
“Truly the White Lion army.” Carglis felt a sudden sense of destiny, as if an invisible hand had orchestrated their meeting; this encounter was both fleeting and eternal.
But he also understood what it meant for an unexpected enemy formation to appear on the battlefield.
“Situations have changed,” the young commander decided to first regroup with the Lord, but before that, they had to face an army that shared the same name—White Lion army.
He drew his sword.
Karlen gripped his sword tightly.
“Follow my command—!!”
“White Lion battle formation!” In the pouring rain, two commands were shouted simultaneously. Carglis had anticipated this; yet Karlen felt as if he had just been hit by a sharp arrow.
Before him, that strange yet familiar army suddenly quickened their pace.
Clearly in heavy armor, wielding large swords, yet it seemed like each of them had unleashed a terrifying galloping momentum, the ground trembled, and the slate stones of the long street curled up at the corners.
‘Infantry Knights.’
Karlen’s palms turned pale. That was the legendary Infantry Knight; the blue winds swirling around their White Lion armor were a forging technique the White Lion army had lost since the Battle of Lunen. It was the core technology contained within Queen Wind’s armor, enabling a set of heavy armor to move with the agility of light armor.
They were all magical armor.
The soldiers of the White Lion army felt oppressive. Since the Holy War, or rather for two centuries, where would Erluin find such an army? Yet, the key was the unyielding momentum; both armies were almost indistinguishable.
If there was any difference, it was that the opposing side seemed to possess a persistence they lacked. From them, one could see the pride and honor of being a soldier, while within the shining eyes beneath their visors, they harbored something the White Lion army had never witnessed.
Persistence.
And pursuit.
The two armies were a hair’s breadth apart; the veterans of the White Lion army felt no fear; rather, they felt a pang of shame—fighting against odds like this was not where the honor of the White Lion army lay. But this did not prevent them from lifting their swords, hearts resolute and without obstruction.
The experiences they had earned through countless battles supported them in handling every unexpected circumstance coolly and steadily.
But unforeseen events indeed transpired.
Only ten meters left.
The armored charge of the White Lion Guard raised their massive double-handed swords—a sword five feet long, one palm wide, with a lion heart mark on the guard, and three claw marks on the blade—was the legendary Lion’s Sword. But Karlen saw that every enemy’s sword blade was gleaming slightly.
“Not good…” A worrisome thought flashed through his mind.
“Dodge—” This knight commander tried to salvage the situation at the last moment, but regrettably, it was too late. Carglis and his White Lion Guard suddenly swung their great swords diagonally in the rain, executing a simultaneous swing.
A perfect, unified strike.
A spray of water, like a full moon’s splash, shot forth, forming a spreading curtain of water down the long street.
In that water curtain subtly flashed white light.
Like a flawless arc.
The arc leaped forward, crossing nearly ten meters, shimmering like rippling water.
The first line of the Fourth Division soldiers of the White Lion army seemed to crash into an invisible wall, collapsing to the ground in unison, and moments later a desperate scream pierced the air—a flood of blood stained the rain, and the cobblestones turned a blood-like hue.
“White Crow sword technique, this is impossible…”
“No, a little earlier… this should be…”
“Queen Wind’s sword technique, the Tooth of the White Lion…” Karlen felt a bleakness in his heart.
A synchronized sound echoed as the White Lion Guard sheathed their great swords; the entire army moved as one, perfectly aligned. In that moment, layers of history, countless images, seemed to merge like chaotic shards arrayed before the White Lion army.
The past, the present, legend, stories, glory, victories and failures, innumerable memories flowed like a quietly flowing river through their hearts.
That was the White Lion army.
But this name no longer belonged to them.
It was as if a huge voice proclaimed amidst the vast heavens and earth: “Today, I shall take your crown from you, for you have strayed from the glorious path—”
It was the voice of their ancestor Ek.
At that very moment.
Suddenly, Carglis raised his head, his eyes filled with disbelief. To be precise, everyone present momentarily halted in their actions, as if the air were thick with a heavy pressure, even the flow of wind and water became viscous.
Everyone felt an immense weight.
And a resonance within their bodies.
The sword and the oath.
They resonated.
With a loud crash, Foster saw a beam of golden light shoot up from the shining banner. Just then, another beam of light rose from the east.
Two beams of light shone brilliantly in the morning sky.
Foster remained silent for a long time because he knew—
That was the Lionheart Sacred Sword.
Ek’s sword.
……(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please support it with votes on Qidian (qidian.com), your support is my greatest motivation.)
