Raubern said nothing in response to Count Punk’s words, yet his silence was not agreement. He simply did not see any justification in them.

  Once a man tastes power, indulgence inevitably follows—he knew this well, for in his youth he had been no different, quarreling with his wife time and again over such arrogance. Only after their separation did he finally learn restraint.

  “My lord Count,” Raubern said calmly, “whether that incident was truly Homet’s doing or not no longer matters. Pelnes has already believed it was him. If the two of them were ever to be together, happiness would be impossible.”

  He cherished his niece dearly and could not bear to see her hurt.

  Besides, the debauchery of the Punk family’s sons was no secret in Battersea—their hands were stained with more innocent blood than could be counted. There was no way he would allow Pelnes to marry into such a house.

  “This matter can still be discussed,” Count Punk said thickly. “Come now, we’ve stood here long enough. Let us continue inside.”

  Raubern could only grit his teeth and, with a strained smile, gesture them into the manor.

  From the distance came the thunderous roar of demons—the next assault had begun.

  Knights jolted from their brief respite, rallying their spirits and charging once more toward the enemy.

  Glenn, like the other logistics officers, was ordered to the rear, away from the front lines, lest the demons break through and slaughter them.

  Shrill, piercing cries split the heavens. Massive winged beasts swooped through the sky, followed by a vast shadow—the dark host of high demons.

  Glenn lifted his gaze and spotted the creature known as the Sky Lord, soaring behind a colossal black griffin.

  So it really came here after all, he thought grimly.

  Around him, the support troops erupted in awed cheers. The sight before them was staggering—more breathtaking than any grand spectacle of their former world. Their hearts swelled with pride. This was the might of their kingdom—majestic and invincible!

  But Glenn’s eyes never left the black griffin at the head of the host. The aura it emanated was the most terrifying he had yet encountered. Without transformation, he could not gauge how its power compared to his own ultimate form—but instinct warned him that it was immense.

  Then something even greater drew his attention.

  A titanic bone dragon, wreathed in infernal flame, three times the griffin’s size, hurtled toward the royal army, radiating an aura of annihilation.

  That must be their leader, Glenn judged instantly. And one not easily slain.

  The battle was driven high above the clouds, where Fitt sought to keep the devastation from reaching the ground below.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  She alone faced the demon commander, while the others of near-equal strength—Reiz and the rest—were locked in combat with upper demons.

  Even with Glenn’s sharp vision, the two combatants were little more than specks clashing amid the distant storm clouds. Only the gusts of wind laced with raw magic told how ferocious the fight truly was.

  This isn’t good, Glenn thought. The combined strength of that commander and its bone dragon surpasses hers. If this drags on, she’ll lose—unless she has a plan.

  Those around him, oblivious to the true danger, cheered wildly for the knights’ bravery.

  Then the bone dragon’s flames flared blindingly bright, flooding the heavens in molten light as it dove like a meteor toward the black griffin.

  Three layers of darkened battle aura shimmered before the griffin, each shield shattering in succession under the dragon’s assault.

  The two behemoths collided, and hellfire scorched the griffin’s flesh, burning through its hide—its meager magic resistance no match for such demonic power.

  Fitt suddenly leapt from her mount, six spectral black wings unfurling from her back as she streaked toward the demon commander upon the bone dragon’s spine.

  The demon let out a guttural, mocking laugh, unfurling its own tattered flesh-wings to meet her head-on.

  Their powers were evenly matched—perhaps—but Fitt’s precision and rhythm soon began to dominate.

  They drifted farther and farther from their mounts, though the frenzied demon failed to notice. It believed itself her equal.

  Meanwhile, the black griffin, its body half-charred and bleeding, clung to the bone dragon in a vicious grapple of tooth and claw.

  No one could tell how long the clash raged until Fitt’s voice tore across the sky:

  “Now!”

  The demon commander’s eyes widened, sensing doom—but it was too late.

  The air around the two mounts warped and twisted. In an instant, a vast iron sphere materialized, splitting open to engulf both creatures within.

  The bone dragon’s roar of fury shook the heavens as it plummeted alongside the griffin, both ensnared in the blazing cage.

  Within, the griffin’s eyes glowed with inky shadows—dark tendrils unfurling like spectral chains to bind itself and the dragon together.

  “Flamefang—!” the demon commander bellowed, trying to rush to its steed’s aid, but Fitt barred its path.

  “This cage will hold them for only a minute,” an aged voice boomed from afar—it belonged to the elder who had come late to their aid. “You must finish it before then!”

  Fitt said nothing. Power erupted from her in a torrent, her aura transforming into something vast and terrible.

  The demon snarled, fury burning in its eyes. “Human woman! I’ll cleave you into dust!”

  With a roar it lunged, but this time the outcome was utterly different.

  The demon was crushed beneath her might—its every strike of abyssal force countered by her flawless swordsmanship.

  Yet it felt no fear, only a cruel confidence. If she was merely this much stronger, there was no way she could kill it within a minute.

  But then realization dawned—too late.

  After a flurry of strikes, Fitt abruptly halted. Her sword drew back, and the world seemed to fall silent—she alone at its center.

  Terror flooded the demon’s heart. No matter how it moved its wings, it could not escape.

  All those previous blows—it understood now—they had marked it, preparing this final, inescapable strike.

  Her sword came down. Slowly, almost gracefully. And yet from it surged a tide of blackened swordlight that consumed everything.

  Death is coming.

  The demon’s mind screamed. Perhaps if the bone dragon were here, it could block the blow—but it was gone.

  At that final instant, it unleashed its innate demonic art.

  Fitt’s vision blurred—then shifted.

  Suddenly she stood in a sunlit courtyard from long ago, a tall man calling to her with a smile. “Fitt! Time to practice your swordsmanship.”

  “Father…” she whispered. Her grip loosened, sorrow flooding her chest—but instinct snapped her back, and she struck again.

  Too late—the blade veered.

  The demon commander was cleaved almost in half, yet it laughed through the blood and smoke.

  “Ha… hahaha… human woman—you failed!”

  From afar, a column of fire and smoke erupted skyward like a vast black mushroom cloud.

  The bone dragon roared as it burst free from the smoke, soaring to its master’s side.

  The demon absorbed the dragon’s flames, its body swiftly reforming from ruin.

  And Fitt—her strength was spent, her wings faltering, struggling even to remain aloft.