The Barbarian Invasion

The battlefield was a sea of chaos.

Standing at the rear of his forces, Pope Cass of the Radiant Church initially exuded confidence. With such a formidable army under his command, he had been certain of overwhelming the Doom Church and securing a decisive advantage. This battle was supposed to be a mere stepping stone in his grand strategy—establishing dominance before seizing the dimensional rift.

Yet, as he gazed upon the enemy ranks, his heart sank.

Fifteen thousand black-clad knights, their armor exuding an eerie aura. An equally vast legion of infantry, their gazes filled with murderous intent. And then there was their mystic order, standing in eerie formation, dark magic swirling around them.

A critical miscalculation.

Cass cursed himself inwardly. Why hadn't he called upon the other holy churches for reinforcements? If he had, the tides of war would have been far different.

There was no time for regret now.

The tension on the battlefield reached its peak—an oppressive silence blanketing the two opposing forces. And then, as if a divine signal had been given, the air trembled with the deafening blast of war horns.

The battle had begun.

The sound was like a death knell, igniting the warriors' bloodlust. The clerics of both factions immediately began chanting, calling upon the power of their gods.

From the Radiant Church, holy light burst forth from the mystics' staves, cascading over their forces. Shields of divine protection enveloped the knights, strengthening their resolve and bolstering their might. Every soldier felt their courage surge, their fear replaced by unshakable determination.

Meanwhile, from the Doom Church, a wave of corrupting darkness unfurled like an endless tide. Curses and forbidden sorcery seeped into their warriors, making them even more ferocious. Their eyes burned with malevolent crimson light, their strikes heavier, their bodies tougher.

Then— impact.

The two armies collided like tidal waves crashing against jagged cliffs.

The battlefield became a nightmarish blender of flashing steel, splintering shields, and piercing war cries. Knights impaled their foes with lances, the force of impact sending bodies flying. Infantrymen slashed and stabbed, their swords biting into flesh, their armor stained crimson.

The land itself was drenched in the blood of the fallen.

Hours passed. Morning light faded into dusk, yet the slaughter continued. The price of war was steep, but it was clear— the Radiant Church was losing.

Their forces had suffered severe casualties, and morale was crumbling. Pope Cass knew that continuing the battle would only lead to devastation. Gritting his teeth, he reluctantly ordered a retreat.

As the retreat signal echoed across the battlefield, the battered remnants of his army slowly withdrew. Many dragged wounded comrades across the blood-soaked earth, their faces hollow from exhaustion.

But the stench of death still lingered.

Meanwhile, on Another Front...

While the holy and dark churches waged war, the barbarian tribes finally made their move.

A vast, unstoppable horde emerged on the eastern front— a black tide of savagery and bloodlust.

The barbarians were monstrous warriors, towering in stature, wielding crude yet devastating weapons. Their eyes gleamed with primal hunger, eager to capitalize on the Radiant Church's divided forces.

Their strategy was simple:Strike fast. Seize the moment. Plunder everything.

But what they didn't expect—was resistance.

The Radiant Church had been prepared.

Anticipating this invasion, Cass had reinforced the eastern defenses. Not only had he stationed elite forces, but he had also secured the aid of the Elven Kingdom.

And when the barbarians charged, they were met with a rain of piercing arrows.

The elven archers, renowned for their unerring accuracy, let loose a storm of death. Arrows rained down like meteors, striking true, felling the vanguard in waves.

The holy knights, shielded by divine magic, held their lines. Their spears and shields formed an impenetrable wall, repelling the frenzied onslaught.

The barbarians had expected an easy victory—instead, they had walked into a trap.

For the first time, their unrelenting charge faltered.

But they were warriors, battle-hardened and fearless. Regaining their composure, they dug in their heels, preparing for a prolonged siege.

A War of Attrition Begins...

With two major battlefronts, the Radiant Church found itself in an increasingly dire position.

They needed reinforcements.

A summons was sent across the entire Holy Alliance—an urgent call for aid. The message was clear:

"This war will decide our survival. Every church must answer."

Despite initial hesitation— they did.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the allied churches rallied their forces, assembling legions of holy warriors to reinforce the war effort.

Among those who responded was Rowan, a key figure of the Lightborn Duchy.

After careful deliberation, he made a bold decision— to send nearly all of his available troops.

Ten thousand knights.Twenty thousand infantry.

An army vast enough to change the tides of war.

But what shocked everyone even more—was who accompanied them.

Among the reinforcements was Lilia, the Blessed Goddess.

Pregnant, yet unwavering, she had chosen to march into battle.

This war was no longer just a struggle for dominance.

It was a fight for the very future of the realm.