Elysia
Chapter 34: The First Blade – The Desert Strike

The night before the assault was cold and silent in the vast expanse of the Alabaster Desert. Inside the command tent, illuminated by the steady glow of magical crystals, the leaders of the first strike force gathered one last time. The air was thick with tension and the smell of leather and steel. At the center of the tent, a detailed map of the Sun-Eater Necropolis, their target, was laid out upon a campaign table.

Kenji, the Hero of the Sword, stood beside Commander Borin. He was no longer just a warrior; tonight, he was a general, shouldering the responsibility for five thousand elite soldiers.

“Our intelligence—which comes from the highest authority—is unequivocally clear,” Commander Borin said, his gravelly voice echoing in the tent. He tapped a finger on a structure at the center of the map. “The heart of this corruption is located in the central mausoleum. All of the blight’s energy in this region originates from that single point. Our mission is not a war of attrition; it is a surgical strike. Kenji, you and the Royal Knights will form the tip of the spear. Your duty is to pierce the enemy’s defenses and drive straight for that heart. The Elven Outrider cavalry will protect your flanks and engage the more mobile nomad warriors.”

The commander looked at Kenji, his gaze sharp and heavy with respect. “This is a great responsibility, son. You are not just a weapon out there; you are the leader of this assault. Your decisions on the battlefield will determine the life and death of our people.”

Kenji nodded, his throat dry. He felt the immense weight of those words. This was vastly different from his previous battles. There, they were a single, unified team. Here, they were divided, each hero commanding their own army on different corners of the continent. He glanced at his sword, Luminara, which was leaning against his chair. Its gentle, holy light seemed to give him strength. He remembered being just a regular high school student, and now he stood here, planning an assault that would decide the fate of the world. I have to succeed, he thought. For all of them.

“We are ready, Commander,” Kenji replied, his voice steadier than he felt. “We will destroy that anchor.”

As the first rays of dawn painted the dunes in hues of orange and rose, the war horn sounded. Its deep, resonant call was the only sound in the silent desert.

Then, the ground began to tremble.

It started as a low rumble, then grew into a deafening thunder as thousands of warhorses and armored cavalry began their charge. Kenji was at the very forefront, mounted on a gallant white warhorse. He raised Luminara high, and the sword ignited with a light so brilliant it became a beacon of hope amidst the sea of soldiers. Behind him, the banners of the Alliance snapped smartly in the desert wind.

On the plains before the necropolis, their enemy awaited. They were not arranged in neat ranks. Instead, they were a swirling vortex of dust and chaos—the corrupted nomads, mounted on giant scorpions and horned desert lizards. They did not shout or roar. They were just silent, their crimson eyes glowing from behind tattered black scarves, waiting with a predator’s patience.

As the Alliance army drew near, the nomads let out a unified, high-pitched shriek, a sound that tore at the ears and unsettled the soul. And then they charged, not in a solid line, but spreading out like a swarm of locusts, aiming to flank and harass the solid cavalry formation. A cloud of black-tipped arrows, dripping with a viscous, purple poison, rose into the air.

“Shields!” Kenji commanded.

The front ranks of the Royal Knights raised their tower shields. A wave of protective magic flared to life, and most of the poisoned arrows clattered harmlessly against the defense. The Alliance mages, riding in protected positions, answered with a volley of fireballs and ice lances, blasting craters in the enemy ranks.

Then, the two forces met in a deafening crash of holy steel against corrupted scimitars, of armored destriers against chitinous monstrosities. The battle for the Sun-Eater Necropolis had begun.

Kenji wasted no time. “Spearhead formation! Follow my lead!” he roared.

He became the center of a wedge formation designed to pierce directly through the enemy’s heart. Luminara became a storm of light and fire in his hands. Every swing unleashed an arc of holy energy that vaporized enemy riders, allowing the knights behind him to surge forward.

They pushed deeper, past crumbling stone tombs and ancient obelisks. The resistance grew fiercer. The nomad shamans, perched atop tall monuments, began their guttural chants. The sand beneath the Alliance soldiers came alive, forming grasping hands that tried to pull their horses down.

Suddenly, the ground before Kenji exploded upwards. A colossal sandworm, its body made of bone and corrupted sand, erupted from beneath the dunes, its cavernous maw wide open, ready to swallow an entire squadron.

“All units, break away!” Kenji yelled. He spurred his horse forward, facing the giant monster alone. “You will deal with me!”

He leaped from his charging steed, landing deftly on the sand. He thrust Luminara into the ground. [Consecrated Ground]!

A blinding circle of golden light spread out beneath the sandworm. The moment the creature’s corrupted form touched the holy energy, it began to smoke and hiss as if dunked in sacred acid. With a final, agonized roar that had no sound, its body disintegrated into clean, purified sand.

With the greatest threat neutralized, Kenji ran on, his eyes locked on his prize: a grand, foreboding mausoleum at the very center of the city of the dead.

Guarding its yawning entrance was a single figure. He stood eight feet tall, his body a horrifying fusion of the wiry muscle of a nomad, sharp crimson crystals, and swirling sand that seemed to be a part of his very skin. In his hand, he wielded a massive, curved scimitar that pulsed with a sickening purple light. He was the Chieftain of the Dust Devils, Malgorath’s lieutenant in this domain.

"Another little hero of light," the Chieftain growled, his voice like grinding stones. "The sands will drink your holy blood and grow stronger for it."

"This land has suffered enough from your master's poison," Kenji retorted, his breath heavy but his resolve like iron. "I am here to grant it peace."

The duel began. The Chieftain moved with the speed of a sandstorm, his body sometimes dissolving into a cloud of dust only to reform behind Kenji for a surprise attack. Kenji was forced onto the defensive, Luminara's constant, radiant light his only shield against the attacks that came from all angles.

After parrying another vicious strike, Kenji knew he couldn't win a prolonged battle this way. He had to end it now. When the Chieftain reformed directly in front of him for a massive overhead cleave, Kenji did not dodge. He met the blow head-on, the impact sending a jarring shock through his entire body, but he held his ground.

They were now face to face. Gritting his teeth, Kenji channeled all his power. “JUDGEMENT OF THE DAWN!”

He didn't unleash the attack from a distance. He pushed forward, releasing the full, unrestrained power of his Mythic-grade skill in a point-blank, concentrated explosion of pure sunfire. The light consumed the Chieftain utterly. There was no scream, only a blinding flash. When the light faded, all that remained was a peaceful whisper on the wind.

The path was clear. Kenji strode into the dark mausoleum. The air inside was cold and thick with corrupting energy. In the center of the chamber, upon an obsidian altar, pulsed the heart of all this darkness. It was the mummified heart of the first great Nomad King, now a grotesque artifact that pumped the Crimson Blight into the desert.

Kenji knew what he had to do. He walked to the altar, raising Luminara high, its pure light battling against the pulsating crimson darkness.

With a single shout filled with the resolve of the entire world, he swung his holy sword downwards.

The moment the holy steel of Luminara met the corrupted heart, a silent, spiritual detonation occurred. There was no fiery explosion, but a violent implosion of competing energies. A psychic scream of pure agony and despair, a soundless shriek from the tormented spirit of the long-dead Nomad King, echoed directly in the minds of every combatant on the battlefield. The corrupted nomads faltered, clutching their heads, while the Alliance soldiers cried out, staggering under the immense psychic backlash.

Inside the mausoleum, Kenji was at the epicenter. The wave of despair washed over him, but the holy light of Luminara, his own unwavering will, and the distant, calming echo of Yui's hymns formed a sanctuary around his mind. He gritted his teeth and pushed the blade deeper.

The brilliant white light of the sword did not just shatter the crimson heart; it devoured it. The sickly red glow was consumed, and the desiccated organ, a vessel of Malgorath’s power, did not break into pieces. It sublimated, turning into a fine grey dust that was instantly and utterly purified, leaving absolutely nothing behind on the cold, obsidian altar.

The psychic scream cut off abruptly.

Outside, the effect was immediate and absolute. The crimson glow in the eyes of the remaining nomads vanished. The frenzied, tactical rage that had animated them was extinguished like a snuffed candle, its connection to their dark master permanently severed. For a fleeting, horrifying moment, a glimmer of their former human consciousness returned—a look of profound confusion, of terror at their own twisted forms. Then, their unnatural bodies, no longer sustained by the corrupting magic, crumbled. Some collapsed into lifeless piles of sand and bone; others let out a final, human cry of despair before their forms dissolved into plumes of black smoke that were quickly scattered by the desert wind.

The battle was over. The silence that fell upon the necropolis was sudden, profound, and absolute.

Kenji emerged from the dark entrance of the mausoleum into the bright, cleansing light of the morning sun. He was met not by a roaring cheer, but by the weary, awestruck silence of his surviving soldiers. Thousands of them, human and elf alike, turned to look at him, their expressions a mixture of reverence, gratitude, and a deep, instinctual fear. They looked at him not just as a commander, but as a divine instrument, a mortal who had wielded the power of a god.

He surveyed the scene. The victory was total, but the cost was etched into the landscape. The sands were littered with the bodies of brave Alliance knights and their mounts, and the scorch marks of dark magic still marred the ancient stones. The Alliance healers were already moving among the fallen, their quiet hymns a sorrowful counterpoint to the victory.

Commander Borin approached, his heavy armor dented, his face grim but his eyes shining with a new respect. He no longer saw the boy he had briefed the night before.

“The battle is won, Lord Hero,” he said, his voice, for once, devoid of its usual gruffness. It was filled with a raw, humbled awe. “Your charge… that was a light that will be sung of for a thousand years.”

As if in response to his words, a golden notification, visible only to the highest echelons of the Alliance command across the continent, blazed into existence in their minds.

[Primary Anchor Point: The Sun-Eater Necropolis - DESTROYED]

[Malgorath's Influence in the Southern Desert region has been critically weakened. The 'Vein of Ruin' in this area has withered.]

The official confirmation sent a ripple of relief through the ranks, and finally, a ragged, triumphant cheer erupted from the exhausted soldiers. They had done it. They had struck a true blow against the encroaching darkness.

Kenji stood atop the steps of the mausoleum, looking out over the sea of his victorious, weary army. He felt the immense pride of a commander, but it was a feeling tempered by the heavy weight of the lives lost under his command. This was his first true taste of being a general, and it was far more bitter than any story had ever described.

His thoughts drifted. He remembered the “fortunate wind” that had cleared the sandstorms, the impossible gust that had come from the west. He knew, with absolute certainty, that this victory had not been his alone. He looked towards the distant horizon, towards the unseen World Tree, and felt a complex mixture of emotions. There was gratitude, profound and soul-deep. But there was also a humbling sense of his own place in the cosmos. They were fighting not just for their world, but perhaps also to prove to their silent, omnipotent benefactor that they were not entirely helpless, not a complete waste of her time. The desire not to be an "inefficient disturbance" had become a strange and powerful motivator.

His thoughts then turned to his friends, his comrades, his family.

Kaito… He pictured his friend, the unbreachable shield, descending into the crushing blackness of the abyss. Aiko, Yui… He saw them in his mind’s eye, facing the ethereal horrors on a frozen, lonely peak. His part was done, but the synchronous assault, the great gambit, was still raging on two other fronts.

With a final look at his cheering soldiers, Kenji raised Luminara high one last time. He drove the shining blade deep into the stone at the highest point of the mausoleum’s entrance. A brilliant, temporary beacon of pure, holy light erupted from the sword, a miniature sun that shone for miles across the desert.

It was a signal of victory. A symbol of hope. And a silent prayer for his friends still fighting in the darkness and the cold.