Elden Ring: The Shattering!

Borrowing the flickering light of the flames, two ferocious, hideous, yet familiar skulls appeared before the twenty-something Cuckoo soldiers. Many of them were still in mid-motion, rushing forward to assist, but in an instant, they froze, as though struck by a binding spell.

This…

Their thoughts stalled, their minds rigid. Just as they were at a loss for what to do, the blood-soaked swordsman threw the two heads onto the muddy ground and directly unsheathed his Curved Sword.

"Flee or die!?"

The dark crimson blade, stained with who knows how much fresh blood tonight, gleamed ominously. Around them, the wounded and weary finally reacted. Arnold clutched his abdominal wound to keep his intestines from spilling out, veins bulging from the excruciating pain.

"Flee or die!"

More and more people raised their weapons, advancing. Their growls unified into a single line of determination.

"Flee or die!!"

Thud.

A Cuckoo soldier dropped his Straight Sword and turned to flee. They had been fighting all night, exhausted and drained. With their knights fallen, their taut nerves snapped like strings. These Carian warriors, unwilling to waste their lives, found their frozen minds jolted into motion by the growls.

Run, flee quickly!

The battlefield fell apart like a crumbling barrier. Weapons clattered to the ground, but the Carian soldiers didn't sit idly by. The twang of bowstrings resounded, and arrows accurately pierced the fleeing soldiers' backs. Like a hunt, they shot down group after group of soldiers.

Kaelith tilted his head and saw the Carian woman standing on a rooftop, bloodied and fierce, her wounds so deep that her bones were visible.

A true warrior of blood and iron!

He discarded the skulls and used Glintstone Pebbles to pick up the severed heads. He kept attacking until his mana was depleted. Outside the manor, the ground had become a pathway of flesh and blood, littered with the bodies of all the Cuckoo soldiers.

The arrows and magic stopped simultaneously. Everyone turned their gaze toward the central figure—Kaelith. Clad in new equipment, most of them didn't recognize him. In the oppressive atmosphere, Kaelith turned to face them and slowly raised his Curved Sword.

"Glory to Carian!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a sense of grandeur. Against the backdrop of the corpses strewn about, his words were more convincing than ever.

"Glory to Carian!!"

The ferocious cheers erupted, like a storm sweeping through the blood-soaked manor, drowning out all cries of slaughter.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but for a brief moment, the chaotic battlefield fell silent. Both sides—enemy and ally—were drawn to the source of the cheers, turning their eyes toward him.

"No one leaves without delivering a killing blow," Kaelith commanded, sensing the mix of astonishment and elation in their eyes. Pressing the Curved Sword down, he declared, "If you can fight, follow me, and wipe out the wretched Cuckoo completely!"

The battle was far from over, and their bodies were near the brink of collapse. Yet, as they watched the lone warrior advance, the soldiers found strength in their legs and began to follow.

Exhaustion made their limbs tremble, but Kaelith's steps remained steadfast. He tread through the blood-soaked mud at the forefront, like a flag rallying scattered troops.

Fifty men, eighty men, a hundred men…

Under the fire's glow, a steel tide surged within the manor. They were in tattered clothes, their armor shattered...

Yet they were like an injection of adrenaline into the hearts of the struggling Carian soldiers. To the Cuckoo legion, they were a hammer blow, shattering their resolve.

"Commander, look!"

"I see it!"

On the city walls, Matthew's face turned grim, his eyes burning with rage and unwillingness, blazing like a fierce inferno.

On the walls and below them lay countless corpses. Alain had been forced into a remote corner, surrounded by a few knights engaging in a coordinated attack. Meanwhile, the Troll Bols, shackled with chains, roared incessantly... Yet it was futile. Once his strength was exhausted, the Cuckoo forces might just manage to capture him alive.

Just a little more!

If they could take down this manor, Alain would immediately join the reserves. From there, he could follow the routed forces to assault the Carian fortress. With additional reinforcements, they might even seize the fortress outright. With the Carian treasure in hand, they could recruit more troops, and the Raya Lucaria Academy would eventually fall into their grasp!

Even if he couldn't capture it, Alain knew he could at least raze this manor to the ground. The despised walls would be reduced to rubble… At that point, the Carian forces, isolated in their stronghold, would find escape nearly impossible.

Despite the disparity in power, Alain couldn't understand how the two leading Cuckoo Knights and their elite strike team had fallen to a group of ragtag survivors. He only knew that while these remnants had no strategic value, their symbolic significance was extraordinary!

The Carian forces were counterattacking. They furiously rushed to the Troll's side, cutting its chains, while the surrounding Cuckoo soldiers recoiled in panic, watching Bols inch closer to freedom.

After an entire night of fierce combat, both sides were at their limits. What remained now was a battle of sheer willpower, and it was clear that the Carians held the upper hand.

Thud, thud, thud…

Heavy footsteps echoed as several enormous Trolls appeared in view, some even crawling forward with severed legs like vengeful demons. At the forefront stood a blood-soaked figure. Matthew gripped his greatsword tightly and growled:

"Who is this man!?"

His face was indistinct, his strength unknown, but his power to inspire was undeniable. Hesitating for a moment, a knight beside him urged, "Your Excellency, decide quickly!"

A blinding light erupted atop the walls. Alain conjured a ten-meter-long Carian greatsword, sweeping it horizontally, knocking all the nearby Cuckoo Knights aside. One spear-wielding knight failed to dodge in time and was cleaved in two, man and weapon alike.

Splat…

As the greatsword dissipated, Alain crushed the head of a groaning knight underfoot, his face twisted in a savage grin. "I told you, you cannot take this place!"

Matthew had no interest in a war of words. He glanced back toward the rear camp, which remained eerily silent. Only a few hundred reserve soldiers whispered amongst themselves. The knights' expressions grew more furious.

These damned Sorcerers!

He turned his gaze to the Carian Knight standing before him and leaped down from the walls, his growling voice echoing in the distance:

"Retreat!"

True warriors were decisive even in retreat. The Cuckoo forces, experienced in such maneuvers, wasted no time. Seeing their commander leap from the walls, the others followed suit.

"Withdraw immediately!"

Soldiers jumped from the walls like raindrops. Fortunately, the hardy physiques of The Lands Between allowed them to survive the five- to six-meter fall unscathed. They dashed through the manor's gaps, fleeing as though their parents hadn't given them enough legs.

"Don't chase! Hold your ground!" Alain shouted from the walls. But the Carian soldiers, intoxicated by the momentum, paid no heed. They pursued the retreating enemy, leaving behind only corpses strewn across the ground.

Barely a hundred steps out, dawn's first light brought chilling howls. Trebuchets and crossbows unleashed a volley, pinning dozens of Carian soldiers to the ground and snapping them back to their senses.

The Cuckoo forces had retreated, not scattered. This disciplined military unit, tempered by countless battles, would never allow themselves to be chased into their main camp.

Caught in indecision, the Troll Knight Bols charged forward. His colossal sword swung in wide arcs, shielding the retreating troops until they were safely covered.

Watching this unfold, Alain felt as if all his strength had been drained. He slid down the blood-drenched wall, his chest heaving. After a few moments, he forced himself upright, his gaze meeting that of a blood-soaked swordsman in the manor.

Both were drenched in blood, both utterly exhausted. That swordsman, so real and raw, made Alain completely forget his prior insults to this so-called coward.

Whatever had happened in the interim, Kaelith Light had clearly earned his respect. Alain slowly and solemnly performed a knightly salute, to which the swordsman responded with a smile.

After a moment of silent acknowledgment, the stench of blood faded into the background. Together, the knight and swordsman raised their swords high.

"Victory to Carian!!"

The resounding cheers reverberated endlessly, as though shaking the Erdtree and summoning the sun.

The golden rays illuminated the battlefield, casting light on twisted corpses, smoldering ruins, shattered weapons, and battered shields. The survivors, dazed and scattered, only then realized—

The night had been unbearably long.