The storm raged around them, howling like a living beast. Lumberling and his group moved like shadows within the chaos, striking fast, vanishing just as quickly, dragging down elite Vikings one after another.

Then, the sky seemed to split open. A surge of power rippled across the battlefield, and the wind turned wild and violent, tearing at the banners and ripping through the lines. Thunder crashed, and lightning tore across the sky.

Lumberling lifted his gaze toward the heart of the battlefield, where the tempest was thickest. The air there twisted violently, as though the heavens themselves were collapsing.

"Sigvar is beginning to move," he said. He could feel the surge of divine energy even from this distance. His eyes flicked toward Duke Hadric's position where the storm boiled fiercest.

The rain poured down in sheets, yet around Lumberling's group, the winds bent and parted unnaturally, forming a calm space amid the chaos. Vaenyra stood at the center, her long blue hair fluttering as faint runes of light shimmered across her skin. The storm listening to her, bending to her quiet command.

Lumberling glanced at her. "Should I ask Senior to help you?"

Vaenyra turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes. She didn't need to say a word, her determined gaze said everything.

"Ah, no," Lumberling quickly backtracked with a small chuckle, lifting his hands. "Alright then, my bad." He stepped closer, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smile before leaning in to give her a soft peck on the cheek.

Vaenyra blinked at him, unflustered. "What was that for?" she asked, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

"A good luck charm," he replied, returning her smile. "Be careful out there."

She nodded slowly, the stormlight reflecting in her eyes. Then, to his surprise, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek in return.

Lumberling blinked. "What was that for?" he asked, mirroring her tone.

Vaenyra's smile widened as the wind howled behind her. "A good luck charm," she said softly.

Without another word, she turned away. The storm seemed to obey her, bending and twisting around her form before lifting her into the air. Lightning flashed behind her as she soared through the chaos, heading straight for Duke Hadric at the heart of the raging tempest.

Lumberling couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head as he watched her vanish into the storm's heart. "She really is a competitive one," he said, amused.

Aurelya huffed beside him, crossing her arms and pouting. "Wipe that grin off your face," she said, shooting him a side-eye. "We still have work to do."

Lumberling smirked lightly and turned toward her and Liraeth. "Alright, alright," he said, tightening his grip on his spear. "Let's go."

The three exchanged quick glances of understanding. Then, together, they turned toward the louder part of the battlefield, where the ground quaked and the roars of elite warriors clashed.

…..

In the middle of that chaos, Knight Corven stood his ground. His gray armor was battered, dented, and smeared with mud and blood. In his right hand, he held a heavy mace, and in his left, a large iron shield that had blocked more than a few killing blows. The air around him rippled faintly with the pressure of his Knight Three Aura.

Across from him, two towering Vikings blocked his path. They weren't just ordinary warriors, they were Wyrdforged, infused with ancient powers that made them the equal of a Knight Three Stage warrior.

One of them stood bare-chested, his skin covered with glowing blue tattoos that pulsed like veins of lightning. He gripped a Spear-Glaive, its blade jagged and blackened, and behind him shimmered the ghostly outline of a massive wolf, its eyes burning with a wild, hungry light.

"Skjarr," called the other Viking, a burly man in light armor who swung a Bearded Axe lazily at his side. From his back, a huge boar spirit flared into view, snorting and pawing at the ground. "Finish him quick. My axe is getting impatient for blood."

Skjarr grinned, his teeth sharp, his voice low and rough. "Patience ain't your thing, Ruld. Let him suffer a bit." He tilted his head, his eyes glinting in the stormlight. "I'm done playin'. Kill him."

Then it began. The spirits behind them howled and surged forward, merging with their hosts in a burst of wild aura.

Skjarr's body twisted and stretched, his head reshaped into that of a snarling wolf, claws tearing through his fingertips as his muscles swelled. Ruld's skin darkened and bristled with thick hair, his form growing heavier and broader. The tattoos across their bodies blazed brighter, glowing like molten metal through flesh.

Knight Corven tightened his grip on his mace, his eyes narrowing behind the visor. "What kind of abominations are these rogues…" he muttered under his breath, bracing himself as the ground cracked beneath their first step forward.

…..

Not far from where Knight Corven fought, another fierce battle was underway.

Three elderly men in tattered robes stood their ground against three towering Vikings. Each elder's robes were soaked in rain and dirt, their sleeves torn, and blood streaked their faces. Yet despite their wounds, they held their positions with focus.

Qi flickered faintly around them. They were all in the Meridian Opening Realm, martial artists whose power could rival that of Knight Two Stage. The strongest among them, the one standing in the center, radiated a heavy black aura that seemed to turn his entire body into iron itself.

"Elder Shen, Elder Hanxu, hold the other two for me a little longer," the man in the middle called out, his voice calm despite the chaos. "I'll finish this one quickly and come to your aid."

Elder Shen gritted his teeth as he blocked a swing with his trembling arm. "Hurry, Grand Elder Tian! I can't hold them much longer!"

Beside him, Elder Hanxu stumbled back from a heavy strike. "Knight Corven is still facing those monsters alone. He won't last if we don't help soon!"

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