CHAPTER 33

A stone fortress stood strong as the fierce and cold northern winds battered against it, resisting with unwavering might. Inside the fortress was a woman just as unyielding as the stronghold itself. She had golden hair, piercing indigo eyes, and the sky-blue skin of an ice elf. She sat at a table surrounded by her commanders, listening intently to the details of a battle unfolding just a few kilometers away—a brutal conflict in which her soldiers fought for their lives.

Clad in full battle armor, with a helmet adorned with two metallic feathers protruding from the sides, she was prepared to join the battlefield at the right moment. However, her commanders held her back, fearing for her life. The enemy had been mysteriously eliminating their most renowned commanders, striking them down with strange and unpredictable tactics. As a result, they dared not make a move until they could locate the enemy leader.

Markinz Algota Sio Altz, a fearless woman and a leader among the Winter Knights known as the Valkyries, could barely contain her frustration as she heard of the losses her troops were suffering. She slammed her gauntleted fist against the iron table, bending its sturdy surface with a single strike.

"If that underground demon can take me down with some trickery, then waiting here is useless! A million soldiers are fighting to the death down there, and we, their sworn commanders, are sitting here?! Every moment we delay, hundreds more will perish, and hundreds of families will mourn!"

The counts and viscounts under her command could do nothing but lower their heads under her fierce gaze. Most of them were ice elf knights and sorcerers, and Markinz ruled over their entire race under the northern king, Dietrich, sovereign of the North and Winter.

"I want all my banner-men gathered near the cursed cave where that wretched demon has slaughtered countless innocent villagers! May his soul freeze in the cold of our vengeance!"

"Victory to the North!"

Her banner-men saluted and left the grand hall of her fortress. She stepped onto the terrace and gazed upon the vast ranks of her forces stretching fifty kilometers toward the cave. More troops arrived every moment, while bodies were carried out of the cave entrance.

"I will keep your heart frozen and imprison your soul within it forever. You will suffer the eternal curse of the ice elves!"

A week had passed since the battle began. The cries and wails of mourning families in the city beneath her castle tormented her—people who had lost loved ones fighting for her cause while she remained inside.

An hour later, she stood in the depths of the underground battlefield, feeling uneasy in the intense heat radiating from the molten lava around her. But such discomfort did not faze her. As she neared the battlefront and heard the battle cries, she leaped forward, forcing all her banner-men to follow.

As soon as she and her warriors of the fifth warlord rank entered the fray, the towering red-skinned demons—giant, humanoid monsters clad in armor and wielding massive axes—fell like paper, despite their heavy iron armor. They retreated deep into their lair. Algota and her banner-men, wielding swords forged from the sacred frozen lake of the North, cut a bloody path through the demons, spraying their purple and black blood in every direction. Before long, only demon corpses remained in their path—until a powerful force struck her head, making blood pour from her nose and ears.

She struggled to understand what had hit her, but soon realized she was under a mental attack. At that moment, a hybrid army emerged from other tunnels and assembled in the underground battlefield before her.

The cavern was dark, but her sorcerers cast light spells, illuminating the battlefield like daylight. And then, she saw Terror—a ten-meter-tall demon with two enormous, bat-like red wings, its muscular frame clad in cursed heavy armor. Its fanged maw jutted from beneath its helmet, and in its hand, it wielded a seven-meter-long hammer, weighing at least ten tons. It struck the ground with a force that sent tremors rippling through the battlefield.

A cold sweat formed on Algota's brow as she glimpsed the demon's rank—Warlord, level 7. It was on the verge of reaching legendary rank, and as a Chaos Demon, it would likely grow even stronger as the battle raged on.

Before her fear could take root, Count Alexia, one of her closest and most loyal nobles—who had been acting strangely in recent months—spoke up.

"Markinz Algota, we have eleven noble warlords here, plus the twins. With a thirteen-to-one advantage, defeating it isn't impossible!"

She turned to Alexia. The count had always been a strong ally, though his recent behavior had raised suspicions. Still, she agreed with his assessment. Their warlords were slightly lower in rank, but they could not afford to let Terror reach legendary status—that would spell true disaster.

Nodding in agreement, she issued commands to organize her army. She saw that Terror was doing the same on his side, rallying his demonic forces. In minutes, the two armies were positioned, locked in a tense one-kilometer standoff.

Terror roared, enraged that the enemy had disrupted his excavations for new forges and killed thousands of his kin. He raised his hammer and bellowed:

"Demonic soldiers! Battle is but a game to us! These long-eared ice rats are nothing!"

Swinging his hammer, he sneered.

"They are nothing more than winter rabbits who have burrowed into the wrong den! Teach them that they entered the demons' lair of their own will, but they shall leave only in our grasp!"

The demon horde howled with laughter, slamming their weapons against the ground in excitement. Terror grinned—he knew his soldiers well. Unlike the noble-ranked demons who fought for honor, his horde thrived on bloodshed and mockery, drawing strength from their enemies' fear.

Hearing their jeers, Algota sensed her soldiers' morale wavering. But before she could even speak, giant winged demons launched themselves into the air and crashed into her troops, reaping ice elves like wheat with their massive war hammers and axes, like grim reapers harvesting souls.

Despite her 5-to-1 numerical advantage, the power gap was enormous. The demonic infantry surged forward, bombarding them with magic, while her banner-men struggled to maintain the defensive line. High-ranking commanders engaged the airborne demons in desperate combat.

The battlefield descended into chaos, blood splattering in every direction. Within ten minutes, the ice elf soldiers were wading ankle-deep in blood, and Algota found herself locked in combat with Terror alongside her noble warlords.

Each swing of Terror's hammer sent warlords flying, killing dozens of ice elves each time it struck the ground. Realizing the battle was slipping away and her forces were breaking, Algota unleashed her family's hereditary skill—a war cry infused with ancient magic.

Terror turned in shock as a wave of spectral energy erupted from her.

The "Noble Valkyrie's Cry" was no ordinary war shout—it not only empowered her forces but also summoned the spirits of fallen ice elves, who clawed their way from their corpses and tore into the demonic ranks.

Terror could hardly believe his eyes. His army, which had been dominating moments ago, was now being pushed back as the revived spirits fought alongside their living brethren.

Roaring in frustration, he swung his hammer at Algota, but ten warlords, now twice as strong, blocked his attack, giving Algota time to retreat. However, as she turned back, another mental attack struck her, making her cough up blood.

Then, she saw them—floating eyeballs with crimson pupils and bat-like wings, each three meters in diameter. More of them emerged, staring down her warriors, causing instant death upon locking eyes with them.

But just as Terror's victory seemed inevitable, Count Alexia gripped Algota's shoulder.

"Reinforcements have arrived!"

At first, she doubted him. No faction had responded to her calls due to the war in the South. But then, the entire western wall of the battlefield began to collapse, revealing a network of tunnels.

As dust and rubble settled, Algota sensed the approaching presence and, in disbelief yet relief, whispered:

"Dwarves!"