Chapter 378: The Final Battle (Part 1)

  A dim sphere of light had already risen high on the horizon. If not for the utter emptiness of the sky, no one would believe that this sphere of light, like a candle flame about to be extinguished at any moment, was the same sun that, in the past, could blind one's eyes just by a direct gaze here.

  It was very cold. A sunless desert was not much warmer than a tundra, and this cold was a dry cold, a cold with no trace of moisture, a death-like cold. The deathly gray sky covered it like a giant pot lid. There wasn't a wisp of cloud, let alone any birds; only a will-o'-the-wisp-like sun hung there, lifeless. The Wyvern Wastes, once a scorching hell, now seemed like a giant graveyard. Even though tens of thousands of the continent's most elite soldiers were standing here, the air was still filled with a silent, cold, deathly aura.

  Not only relying on magical maps for detection and judgment, constant scout patrols were watching the movements of the Lich King and the undead army, and the frontline deployment remained meticulous and seamless. Just as planned, all units that could arrive had already arrived. They were all here quietly awaiting the common enemy that was about to arrive.

  The tens of thousands of soldiers made almost no sound. Only occasionally did the crisp, powerful sounds of orders ring out in all directions. The atmosphere and immense pressure here made it impossible for them to even speak.

  Two massive blue Dimensional Gates flickered, and a continuous stream of orcish soldiers, warriors, and mages were filing out in formation. This was the last, and also the most elite, batch of warriors. Walking at the rear of the troops were Regiment Commander Roland and Lancelot, as well as Adelaide and Graden, the two Tower Masters.

  The last to step out of the Dimensional Gate were two people. Gru and Ethan.

  Gru was still bare-chested, without any armor or protection. He seemed to never need these things. However, he was now holding the black longbow in his hands.

  Completely different from when it was in the hands of the elven patrol, this Phantom Divine Bow was no longer an ordinary black. A faint layer of rippling light flowed over it. Within the ripples of light, countless complex and incomprehensible characters rose and vanished.

  "What a grand display..." The Dimensional Gate behind him slowly closed. Ethan looked at the tens of thousands of troops before him and sighed.

  As far as the eye could see, there were people. And these were no ordinary people. They were all the most outstanding warriors. It was just that the purpose of these warriors here was to desperately escort him.

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  Looking back, behind them was a vast, boundless range of tall and imposing black mountains. This was the The Shadowspire Peaks he had heard about countless times but was only now seeing. Diya Valley, the Necromancer Guild, and The Black Star were all behind this boundless mountain range.

  An incomparably dense black aura was spreading from that direction. That place was already pitch-black; it was nearly impossible to distinguish with the naked eye where the sky ended and the mountains began. This mountain range was like a colossal tombstone. Not just his tombstone, but everyone's tombstone.

  Coming to this place, which had been entangled with him for so long, for the first time, Ethan's hand tightly gripped the blade at his waist. It was his own blade. On the hand that gripped the blade, he also wore the Ring of Kings, its power drained.

  Originally, this blade had been confiscated when he was captured at The Radiant Citadel. He had Lancelot send people to the ruins of The Radiant Citadel to retrieve it. It was unknown whether it was due to being tainted by the Lich King's aura or cleansed by the Archangel's immense power of light, but the magic originally attached to it was gone. The blade had reverted to an unremarkable, ordinary weapon, that ordinary weapon forged by his own father from materials he himself had collected.

  Randomly picking a magical weapon from the Church or the Magic Academy would definitely be more powerful than this blade, but Ethan still brought this blade. What he wanted was not actually a weapon, but the feeling of holding this blade. Just like now, the simple and unadorned, yet incredibly familiar, sensation transmitted from his hand could give him a little more peace.

  Ethan was wearing the Robe of the Lich Lord. It seemed to be affected by the fluctuations coming from deep within The Shadowspire Peaks. This magical robe seemed to have come to life, resonating with the aura of his body while also breathing in sync with the aura from deep within the mountain range. The air was frozen as if dead, yet the robe was constantly trembling slightly.

  "That guy is still more than sixty li away..." Ethan closed his eyes and said. Through the sensory connection from this Robe of the Lich Lord, he could feel that massive fluctuation approaching.

  "No, only twenty li now," Lancelot, not far away, said. In the distance, a red flag was being waved in a specific pattern. This was a message from the scouts at the very front.

  "Twenty li?" Ethan's own senses were clear, but he also knew that Lancelot's subordinates couldn't make this kind of mistake.

  "What you're sensing is only the core guy," Gru said flatly.

  "In other words, this undead army has a radius of about forty li," Adelaide's voice sounded a bit chilly.

  Lancelot said, "The report the day before yesterday said its range was only twenty li."

  "The closer he gets here, the stronger the effect of The Black Star," Ethan said. Behind him, in a deeper, darker place within The Shadowspire Peaks, an even more powerful sensation was roaring and churning, struggling to burst out and drown and crush everything. "Probably before our army even assembled, all the undead within The Shadowspire Peaks had already actively moved to get close to him. Never mind actually pulling up The Black Star; as long as he can enter Diya Valley, I'm afraid no one will be able to stop him."

  "Forty li..." Regiment Commander Roland sighed softly.

  "It doesn't matter how many li. We just have to fight our way in," Gru said flatly.

  "Well said." Lancelot nodded, then took a deep breath, and a rolling, surging voice roared out. "All units, listen to my orders. The battle begins. Move out."

  This roar was like a clap of thunder, as if it wanted to tear and shatter the surrounding deathly silence, and it reached everyone's ears.

  "Move out... move out... move out..." The rising and falling sounds of orders from all directions echoed everywhere. The tens of thousands of soldiers who had been standing still here, like a colossal, massive beast that had just awakened, began to move, advancing toward the visible blackness ahead.

  It was unclear who roared first, but all the marching warriors began to shout and roar. No one was deliberately rousing morale. This was a fighting spirit that had long been suppressed and pent-up, a desire for survival from the depths of their souls in this dead-gray graveyard between heaven and earth. Even the priests and mages began to shout together involuntarily. The shouts of tens of thousands of people converged into a giant dragon of sound that galloped and thundered through the lifeless space. Finally, this world of death seemed to begin to stir with some fluctuation.