The War to End the War

The disastrous defeat at Throat-Cutting Gorge and the news that the Divine Son, Lorgar, had been gravely wounded spread like a plague through Earthly Heaven's territory.

Sorrow, fury, and a faint but unmistakable panic fermented in the air.

The camp had lost its usual clamor. Soldiers silently wiped down their weapons, fire suppressed in their eyes. Whenever they glanced toward the heavily guarded central tent, where the Divine Son was supposedly receiving emergency treatment, their gazes were filled with worry and resolve.

This was precisely the effect Zhou Beichen wanted.

He stood on a hastily erected platform, his body stained with dirt and dried blood. His face was pale, but his eyes held the madness of a man staking everything on one desperate gamble. Below him stood the six thousand remaining Faithguard Army troops still capable of mobile combat, their faces etched with grief and rage.

"Brothers!" Zhou Beichen's voice was hoarse, yet it carried clearly across the field. "You all know what happened! That vile old dog Vladimir! He didn't dare face us head-on, so he used schemes, used the filthy power of Chaos, to ambush the Divine Son!"

A muffled roar rose from the crowd.

"The Divine Son risked his life to cover your brothers, to protect the believers who placed their trust in us! Now, his fate hangs in the balance!" Zhou Beichen pounded his chest with a dull thud. "What do we do? Run like homeless dogs? Let those who trusted us become slaves? Let this land of order, which we built with such difficulty, be devoured once more by Chaos and tyranny?"

"No!!" A thunderous response surged into the sky, and the soldiers' eyes reddened.

"That's right! No!" Zhou Beichen roared himself hoarse. "We have no way back! The Divine Son has fallen, but I'm still here! You're still here! Earthly Heaven's backbone has not broken!"

He abruptly drew the laser pistol at his waist and pointed it north, toward Ice-Iron Fortress. "Does Vladimir think he's won? Does he think that without the Divine Son, we're lambs waiting for slaughter? Bullshit!"

"We'll show him that even if the Divine Son cannot lead us for now, every person in Earthly Heaven is a warrior who can bite down hard enough to knock out one of his teeth! We will wash away this humiliation with his blood! We will pray for the Divine Son amid the ruins of Ice-Iron Fortress!"

"In this battle, with me, we are invincible! Advance only, never retreat!" Zhou Beichen raised his laser pistol high. Its blazing white muzzle glinted dangerously beneath the pale daylight. "For the Divine Son! For Earthly Heaven!"

"For the Divine Son! For Earthly Heaven!!" The deafening roar nearly overturned the sky. The spirit of the grieving army was utterly ignited, and the force of six thousand resembled a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Zhou Beichen watched the impassioned soldiers below and calculated calmly.

The morale of an army driven by grief and rage had been raised to its limit. This was the maximum emotional value of an asset.

But he would never launch a suicidal charge. Every step he took was an "investment" that exchanged the smallest cost for the greatest return. These six thousand men were bait, high-risk, high-return assets meant to lure Vladimir's main force out. The true trump card was the two thousand most elite Torchbearer Camp soldiers and Faithguard Army veterans, who had long since vanished from everyone's sight under Lorgar's personal command.

He was betting that Vladimir could not refuse a victory that seemed within his grasp, as well as the contradiction deep within him—his fear of and desire for the power of Chaos.

"Move out!"

With a grim and resolute aura, the army of six thousand marched straight north toward Ice-Iron Fortress like moths rushing into flame. Zhou Beichen took the lead at the very front, demonstrating through action what it meant to lead from the front.

He knew that he, too, was an asset in this game. His presence was the key to keeping this grieving army's morale from collapsing.

Inside Vladimir's main hall at Ice-Iron Fortress.

The atmosphere was equally grave. Reports of the "victory" at Throat-Cutting Gorge had arrived. Lorgar was critically wounded and near death, while Zhou Beichen was leading the remnants in a desperate final stand.

The old bishop wore heavy ceremonial robes, his fingers lightly tapping against the cold metal armrest. Suspicion and greed flickered in his eyes.

"Has the information been confirmed? Is Lorgar really..." he asked in a low voice.

"It has been confirmed, my lord," a trusted officer answered respectfully. "The spies we planted saw Zhou Beichen personally carrying the unconscious Lorgar away in panic. His arm had turned a strange bluish-purple. Earthly Heaven is now filled with mourning. Zhou Beichen's actions look more like a frenzied counterattack born of despair."

Another adviser in a dark crimson robe, his presence cold and sinister, added softly, "And... according to secret intelligence from our friends over there, the strike Lorgar took seemed to carry... a certain aura. It is highly likely that the power of the true god we suspected was hidden in the shadows truly intervened."

Vladimir's heart jolted. The power of the true god... the power Bishop Lot had once displayed, only to lose control of in the end. He feared its unpredictability, yet craved the possibility it offered—the power to overturn everything.

"Zhou Beichen dares attack my Ice-Iron Fortress with only a few thousand remnants?" Vladimir sneered. "He's courting death! Pass the order: assemble the main force and meet them outside the city! Strike while he's weak and take his life! Wipe out these heretics in one blow!"

"My lord, beware of a trap..." a cautious general warned.

"A trap?" Vladimir rose to his feet, a vicious gleam appearing on his bloated face. "What use are schemes before absolute strength? Lorgar is already finished. With that fake shepherd Zhou Beichen, who only knows how to pull tricks, does he think he can face nearly ten thousand elite soldiers under my command? What could he possibly use to trap me?"

He swept his gaze across the hesitant generals and advisers present. His voice suddenly rose, carrying an almost crazed persuasion.

"Gentlemen! I know what you fear! You fear Bishop Lot's fate! But let me ask you—if Lot was right, then we must submit ourselves to the Father God's power now. If Lot was wrong, we have no choice either. We either let that so-called 'false Divine Son' cut off our heads, or we take a gamble! Gentlemen, make your choice!"

Those words were the final straw that tipped the scales of hesitation. Rather than wait helplessly for death, they might as well gamble! Perhaps Lord Vladimir could control that power better?

The heavy gates of Ice-Iron Fortress slowly opened. More than eight thousand elite soldiers of Vladimir's army poured out like a tide, swiftly forming up on the relatively open Iron Plain outside the fortress. Well-equipped and high in morale, they were ready to crush that army of fools who did not know their place.

On the Iron Plain, the two armies crashed together!

There was no prolonged probing. From the first moment, the battle entered its fiercest stage. The six thousand Faithguard Army soldiers led by Zhou Beichen fought with the resolve to die, unleashing astonishing combat strength. Their formations were tight, covering one another as they resisted wave after wave of Vladimir's attacks like an unyielding rock. Blazing white laser beams streaked through the crowd. Sparks flew from clashing swords. Roars, screams, and the wet sounds of blades entering flesh intertwined into a bloody symphony.

Zhou Beichen stood within the formation, using precise laser-pistol shots to pick off enemy officers and squad leaders attempting to breach the line. His face remained "pale," but his eyes were terrifyingly calm. He continuously issued orders and adjusted the formation like a meticulous trader conducting the most dangerous "risk hedge" amid a battlefield of blood and fire. He viewed every soldier and every squad as an asset unit to be deployed, calculating their losses and worth, striving to exchange the smallest sacrifice for the enemy's greatest casualties while avoiding any pointless suicidal devaluation.

The battle was exceptionally brutal. Though the Faithguard Army's morale was soaring, their numerical disadvantage and exhaustion from days of fighting gradually began to show. Their line slowly bent backward like a compressed spring, seeming ready to snap at any moment.

Vladimir watched from the rear, a victorious smile spreading across his face. He had even begun imagining the glorious future of capturing Zhou Beichen, inheriting Earthly Heaven's legacy, and using it as a foundation to truly command the power of the true god.

Yet just as he thought victory was within reach—

"Rumble—!"

Like muffled thunder rolling across the earth, violent tremors came from the flank and rear of Vladimir's army! A silent army, like a torrent of metal, burst without warning from rugged mountains that seemed impossible to traverse! At its head stood Loga Aurelian, clad in a white robe edged with gold, pure golden flames burning around him, his gaze as cold as ice that had endured ten thousand years!

Where was there even the slightest sign that he was critically wounded? His surging vitality and godlike majesty were even greater than before he had been wounded at Throat-Cutting Gorge!

"The Divine Son! It's the Divine Son!"

"The Divine Son is all right! The Divine Son has come to save us!"

The Faithguard Army, which had been desperately holding on, erupted in earth-shaking cheers. Strength that had nearly run dry instantly surged back through their bodies! Meanwhile, Vladimir's army fell into unprecedented panic and chaos!

Loga said nothing. Like a golden meteor, he crashed directly into the densest part of Vladimir's flank! The golden purifying fire in his hands transformed into a massive flaming greatsword. Every slash sent up clouds of ash and shrill screams! Wherever he passed, he cut through Vladimir's formation like a hot knife through butter, tearing open an enormous breach!

The two thousand elites behind him followed like a blade drawn from its sheath, viciously driving through the gap Loga had torn open and into the enemy's heart! They had rested and prepared for this moment, were superbly equipped, and burned with fighting spirit. In an instant, they threw Vladimir's already chaotic formation into utter turmoil!

Attacked from both front and rear! The situation reversed in an instant!

"No! Impossible!!" Vladimir's eyes bulged with fury as he watched Loga, unstoppable as a god upon the battlefield. Every scheme, every ambition, turned to smoke and the most extreme terror in that moment.

He knew he was finished. Ice-Iron Fortress was finished.

Despair gnawed at his sanity like a venomous serpent. He looked at the soldiers retreating around him, at the panicked faces of his generals, and a mad, dangerous thought rang through his mind like a whisper from hell.

He abruptly pulled a pitch-black talisman wrapped in human skin from his robes. It radiated a dense, blasphemous aura. He sliced open his wrist with his fingernail, smeared the talisman with blood, and let out a hysterical roar.

"No! I will not lose! True Father God! Grant me power! Crush these false believers!!"

With his roar and the sacrifice of blood, the air around him instantly became thick and cold! An ominous shadow appeared from nothing and rapidly expanded, as though it connected to some filthy dimension! A nauseating stench of decay spread through the air, accompanied by countless faint, frenzied whispers!

A massive, indistinct phantom formed of rotting flesh, dazzling blue light, and despairing wails struggled to descend from within that shadow!!

Everyone who witnessed it, whether Vladimir's soldiers or Earthly Heaven's warriors, felt revulsion and trembling rise from the depths of their souls!

"Still stubbornly clinging to delusion! You blasphemous thing, how dare you call yourself a god?!"

At that critical moment, Loga's cold, majestic voice rang across the entire battlefield!

He abandoned the enemies before him, his body turning into a streak of golden lightning as he charged toward the forming demonic phantom!

The golden purifying fire around him blazed with unprecedented intensity, its brilliance even overwhelming Colchis's pale daylight!

"Purification!"

Loga clasped his hands in the air, and immense golden purifying fire condensed into a golden spear made entirely of light and heat!

He hurled it with all his strength!

Like dawn piercing darkness, the golden spear shot precisely into the core of that thick shadow and struck the phantom of the Nurgle demon that had not yet fully descended!

"Screee—!!!"

There was no explosion, only an unbearably shrill screech! Like snow cast into the blazing sun, the shadow rapidly melted and evaporated! The nauseating whispers became cries of absolute despair before vanishing completely!

The black talisman in Vladimir's hand cracked apart. He collapsed limply to the ground, his eyes unfocused, nothing but meaningless rasps escaping his mouth.

The battlefield fell into dead silence.

Loga stood atop the demon's ashes, already burned away completely. Blackened embers traced twisted outlines around his feet, as though recounting the final shape of the filthy thing that had existed moments ago. The air was filled with the pungent smell of scorching.

His violet eyes were still as an ancient well, as deep and silent as though they contained the entire sea of stars. The devastating strike that had purified the demon seemed not to have stirred even the slightest ripple in his heart.

Yet when he slowly lifted his eyes and looked around—at those survivors gazing at him with awe and confusion—something indescribable rippled deep within his gaze like water.

It was not cold majesty, nor the pride of victory, but a kind of... compassion that looked down upon all living things, understood their suffering, struggle, and smallness, yet could not wholly abandon them.

This compassion was silent, yet heavier than mountains. It was clearly reflected in the depths of every soul that met his eyes.

The Faithguard Army soldiers felt an understanding and comfort that transcended the mortal world in that gaze, as if every sacrifice they had made and every hardship they had endured had been seen. The captured soldiers of Vladimir's army, who had worn terror on their faces moments ago, saw within it a sigh for lost souls and some... incomprehensible possibility of forgiveness. Even the spies of various factions and those with hidden agendas who had merely watched coldly from farther away felt an inexplicable palpitation and shame beneath that all-encompassing gaze that seemed to pierce directly into their hearts.

At that moment, when all was silent save for heartbeats and the wind passing over scorched earth, a single ray of pale sunlight happened to pierce through the smoke and dust of the battlefield. Like a spotlight upon a stage, it fell perfectly upon his shoulder.

A faint golden radiance flowed around him, making his white robe—its edges torn by fierce combat and stained with dust and dark red marks—seem innately sacred. Through the rips in his sleeves and the slightly open front of his robe, the flowing contours of muscles filled with explosive strength yet perfect beauty could be vaguely seen. Sweat and the lingering golden glimmer of psychic energy intertwined across his skin, as if coating him in a sacred glaze.

Sunlight, the damaged white robe, the glimpses of a flawless body, tranquil and compassionate eyes, and ashes beneath his feet that represented destruction and purification... These elements fused together in a strange way, stripping away every mundane label. He no longer appeared merely as a powerful leader or "Divine Son," but more like a true god who had stepped out of myth—an ancient deity who commanded war and purification while holding compassion in his heart.

That overwhelmingly striking sight shook everyone to their core.

No one knew where the first uncontrollable, trembling gasp came from, as though someone had finally remembered how to breathe.

Then—

"Thud!"

The dull sound of knees striking the ground shattered the frozen silence. A wounded Faithguard Army veteran nearest to Loga fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He did not kneel out of command or fear, but because of the irresistible shock and calling in the depths of his soul, like a lost lamb finally seeing the guiding light.

That first kneeling sound was like the first domino falling.

"Thud! Thud! Thud!"

One after another, more and more people fell to their knees. The Faithguard Army soldiers, whether gravely wounded or not, willingly lowered their heads and offered the highest respect and loyalty to their Divine Son, to the "miracle" manifested before them. After a brief hesitation and struggle, the captives from Vladimir's army were also swept along by that invisible tide. Some knelt out of fear, others from genuine remorse and awe. Farther away, some figures who had been hidden could not help revealing themselves beneath that atmosphere of indescribable majesty and compassion, adopting postures of submission.

The kneeling crowd spread outward from Loga like a tide. In the end, across the entire Iron Plain battlefield, no one remained standing except Loga, straight as a pine, and Zhou Beichen in the distance, silently watching it all with a complex smile at the corner of his lips.

Loga's gaze calmly swept across the "ocean" kneeling before him. The compassion in his eyes did not fade, yet neither did the submission of the masses cause even the slightest fluctuation within him. He slowly raised the hand that had just unleashed the flames of purification. A faint golden gleam seemed to linger around his fingertips as he gently pressed downward through the air.

No words were needed. A perfectly clear thought had already entered the minds of every kneeling person, carrying calm and strength that could not be questioned:

"Rise."

"The filth of the old days has been burned away."

"From this day onward,"

"your salvation,"

"must be earned with your own hands."

At that moment, no further words were necessary. Every survivor, whether a warrior of Earthly Heaven or a soldier of Vladimir's army who had cast down his weapon and knelt in surrender, understood one fact with absolute clarity:

Loga Aurelian was the only being on this land truly capable of resisting that unseen terror and bringing light and order!

Earthly Heaven was humanity's only hope and refuge in this land of despair.

Loga's gaze calmly swept across the battlefield, across those eyes filled with reverence, worship, and even fear, before finally meeting Zhou Beichen's gaze in the distance.

The corner of Zhou Beichen's mouth slowly lifted into a relieved smile.