Amber Sword

In the city of Ambeser, the Silver Smith River was just a small ditch. A rainstorm nearly overflowed its low and flat bank, and at this moment, everyone stared at the water’s surface.

The water trembled as if it were milk in a glass placed on the table.

The surface of the entire Silver Smith River quivered slightly.

Until a long spear pierced through the rain curtain—

The spear tip shimmered, resembling a Silver Shuttle, causing all raindrops to fly away from its sides. A rider with silver hair billowing, a snow-white cloak unfurled like a flag, painted with pure lilies, seemingly still flickering on a battlefield from a thousand years ago.

"Elf?"

The thought barely flashed in the mind of the noble private soldiers holding a family hostage on the other side of the riverbank. He was completely stunned, mouth agape, staring in astonishment at the growing spear tip in his view.

In an instant.

As if time froze and then suddenly resumed its flow, with a squelch, the long spear directly penetrated through the soldier’s wide-open mouth into his brain. The spear tip pierced the throat, then the massive impact shattered his skull entirely, contorting his features. The terror in his eyeballs twisted, and after the skin displayed maximum tension, it ripped open with a ’whirr,’ exposing the flesh and blood plasma beneath.

Blood sprayed out, but the long spear continued forward, flipping open half the skull, carrying this crimson flag onward.

The soldier, half-headed, convulsed and then collapsed limply onto the ground. Blood petals fluttered amidst the wind and rain, with some splattering on the ’captives’ nearby, a family of three frozen in terror.

Medisha swept coldly past them.

Like a streak of silver light.

Blood petals landed on the Silver Elf Princess’s face, some icy and chilling, yet she didn’t blink. In human years, she was only fifteen, but she had experienced thousands of wars.

It was the bloodiest war since the Saint’s Year, where countless familiar faces perished, making life and death mere guests with battle remaining as instinct.

This was the Silver Elf’s combat skill.

"Enemy attack!"

"It’s cavalry—!" The shrill cry echoed across the riverbank like an ear-piercing alarm, waking everyone as if from a dream. It seemed the enemy was not as weak and easily bullied as imagined.

Baron Rodu’s face turned pale with a sudden bad premonition. He turned back to see the knights exchanging glances. When had they ever seen such a rider?

Medisha raised the long spear high.

In the storm, the flag unfurled.

With a thunderous crash, something shattered behind her—before everyone, the rain curtain shattered like a glass wall, and the rain turned into glass fragments, suddenly advancing. Behind it, a massive army of knights burst forth.

Black uniforms, black armor, black warhorses, a black torrent.

"Long live!"

"Long live!"

The knights shouted, never stingy or sparing their bloodshed. Although Medisha was just a little girl, after demonstrating the true demeanor of a knight, she became the goddess in everyone’s heart.

Female War God.

"Stop them!" A noble knight on the other side of the river finally reacted, almost screaming hoarsely: "Raise the long spears, raise the long spears, or you’re dead!"

The noble private soldiers across the river seemed to come alive at this moment, fumbling to raise their spears. Whether driven by survival instinct sparking their final potential or the shallow Silver Smith River offering solace, at the last moment, these insignificant third-rate soldiers strangely steadied themselves.

A forest of long spears appeared on the opposite riverbank.

Medisha was unfazed, merely raised the long spear—

"Spiritual Wings!"

A crisp shout echoed across the battlefield.

Circular Arrays unfolded beside the young girl, spinning, spiritual lines extending along the Arrays, rapidly connecting as one. ’Whoosh’— a pair of wings over a hundred feet long spread open. The wings gently flapped, and the Silver Smith River before Medisha seemed to be infused with some magic. The white waves instantly surged upward, forming Twelve Heads Nine-Headed Snake’s heads which rose high as they came crashing down on Baron Rodu’s private army across the river like a landslide and tsunami.

"Ah!"

Baron Rodu was utterly shocked, momentarily unsure whether to order a resolute stand or retreat. He had some mediocre Wizards under his command, but at this level, they were utterly meaningless. The noble private soldiers could only watch as the monstrous waves descended upon them.