Chapter 121: Varania’ Victory
The scorched expanse of the Hudeii Desert lay dead under a sky bruised by divine violence.
Hours had bled away since the apocalyptic flashing on the horizon ceased, yet the air remained thick with the suffocating stench of burnt ozone, superheated glass, and fading divine residual force.
The intense heat radiated off the desert floor in shimmering waves, so hot it felt like swallowing embers with every breath, burning the lungs of every warrior stationed at the perimeter.
At the entrance of the Great Varania Forest, the atmosphere was drawn as tight as a bowstring.
The Dukes stood shoulder to shoulder atop the outer earthworks, silent, unyielding, and unmoved for hours.
Their hands gripped their weapons with white-knuckled intensity, their eyes fixed on the distant ruined silhouette of Norona City with deadly, unwavering precision.
They were men who had governed provinces and commanded armies, but today, they stood prepared for the absolute end of the world.
At the absolute front of the defensive line stood High Priest Croak.
As the sole Martial Saint on the field, his massive frame radiated an imposing, dangerous weight.
His reptilian eyes were narrowed into razor slits, scanning the horizon with deep, absolute concentration.
Every microscopic shift in the thermal currents, every tremor in the subterranean earth—Croak processed it all, his body coiled to spring at a fraction of a second’s notice.
He had already deposited the unconscious knight-priest Hector with the rear medics, and now, his full, lethal focus was dedicated solely to the horizon.
Beside him, Alisa stood deathly still.
Her pale face was caked in dried sweat and desert dust, but her posture was ice-cold.
Clutched tightly in her trembling fingers was the cold, pulsing frame of the Grade 0 Divine Relic.
Its ancient, terrifying aura bled into her palms, threatening to devour her vitality, but she didn’t care.
If an enemy emerged from that hellish mist—if he did not return—she was prepared to ignite the relic’s full, forbidden power, driving her own life force into the dirt to burn whatever monster stepped into their sanctuary.
Suddenly, the desert wind shifted.
A vast, towering cloud of ash and white sand billowed outward from the deep desert, rolling toward the forest edge like a tidal wave.
Through the swirling storm, the rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps echoed—heavy, unhurried, crunching against the scorched glass.
Step. Step. Step.
"Positions!" Croak’s guttural voice thundered across the front line.
Instantly, the Dukes drew their blades, their aura flaring in a synchronized display of desperate defiance.
The archers notched their heaviest beast-slaying arrows, and Alisa’s knuckles turned bone-white as she began channeling her soul into the relic, ready to sacrifice everything in a final, suicidal strike for the God of Beasts.
The figure broke through the white wall of smoke.
The tense, murderous air evaporated in a single microsecond.
It was not a bruised-purple nightmare. It was not the terror of an ancient deity.
Emerging from the haze was the tall, calm figure of Roy, wearing the familiar, sharp features of Jarden Rome.
His clothes were tattered at the hem and coated in a fine layer of gray dust, but his stance was erect, his long, dark hair blowing softly in the desert breeze.
A collective, shuddering gasp rippled through the entire Varanian defensive line.
The crushing weight that had been sitting on the chests of the Dukes for hours instantly dissolved.
Weapons were lowered, tense shoulders slumped, and a heavy, overwhelming wave of relief washed over the battlefield like a cooling rain.
"Lord... Jarden?" Croak rasped, his massive chest heaving as he slowly stood down from his combat stance, staring in genuine awe at the man before him.
Before anyone else could move, a blur of motion cut through the dust.
Alisa dropped the Divine Relic into the sand, entirely abandoning her posture as a commander.
She sprinted across the open ground, her boots kicking up plumes of ash, and threw her arms tightly around Roy’s neck.
The impact slammed her against his chest, her fingers clutching frantically at his torn robes as tears finally broke through her dusty cheeks, streaming down her face in joyous, uncontrollable relief.
"Where were you?!" she sobbed, her voice trembling violently against his shoulder. "What happened out there?! The sky... the pressure... we thought—we thought the entire desert was being erased! What was that?!"
Roy stood still for a moment, letting out a soft, tired breath before his hand rose slowly to rest on her head, gently stroking her hair.
"I was busy," Roy replied quietly, his voice raspy and devoid of its usual booming resonance.
He gently pried Alisa back just enough so he could address the gathered leaders.
His gold-flecked eyes swept across the Dukes, High Priest Croak, and the weary Varanian vanguard who were hanging onto his every word.
"Listen to me carefully," Roy said, his tone dropping into a low, icy register that demanded absolute obedience. "Do not dig into what transpired within the walls of Norona today. Do not ask questions, do not write records, and do not let your curiosity lead you into the ruins.
It is a secret that must remain buried in the ash. If anyone attempts to pry into the forces that fought here today... death will be the only answer they find."
He paused, letting the weight of the divine warning settle heavily into the minds of every noble and soldier present.
"That is the explicit warning of the God of Beasts," Roy added softly.
Croak bowed his head deeply, his voice solemn. "We hear and obey, Lord Jarden."
Roy turned his gaze back toward the horizon, where the distant, ruined silhouette of the subterranean city lay broken beneath the dying red sun.
A small, cold smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"Norona City is no more," Roy declared, his voice carrying clearly across the silent ranks.
"The Troll King is dead. His entire host has been erased. From this day forth, the Hudeii Desert belongs entirely to the Kingdom of Varania."
A cheer began to build in the throats of the surrounding Dukes—a victorious roar to mark the greatest expansion in Varanian history—but the sound died before it could cross their lips.
Roy took one step forward toward the forest threshold.
Suddenly, his gold-flecked irises flickered and rolled back. The world around him spun violently into pitch-black darkness.
The toll of the battle hit him like a physical mountain.
Every single drop of his Divine Essence had been drained to absolute zero.
In the final seconds of the clash, he had literally spent his last system point, exhausting every last bit of his divine currency just to maintain his spirit form long enough to walk back to his people.
His knees buckled.
"Lord Jarden!" Alisa cried out.
Before Croak or Alisa could catch him, Roy dropped straight forward, crashing heavily onto the cool earth at the forest border.
He was entirely uninjured, but his body was completely cold, his soul spent to its absolute limit.
The False God had slain a deity, conquered a desert, and secured an empire... but even gods require their time to rest.