Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Chapter 44: A Long March

AS THE FIRST SNOWS FELL, Queen Giselle of House Imperia, Fae Monarch and Regent of the Nine Realms marched with a hundred and eighty thousand of her finest Gold Cloaks to the North. A month had passed since the Crusade of Rumbrun first began.

And although Rafel's plan to end their conquest before it ever left the north was foolproof, the necessary battle stratagems had to be approved by the Court of Druids which served Her Majesty's throne.

Every single day since the appearance of the rotting Stag, several more had entered the kingdom: bodies always decomposing and souls half crazy. The city's gates had been locked for the time being. Trade routes frozen. And more troops under Commanders dispatched to the farming villages near the coast who couldn't defend themselves.

Giselle moved to protect her Empire and its people, even as she rode off to war.

She would not hear the words of her bestfriend, Countess Cordelia Penderghast to remain at home and command the host from a safe distance away. No! Not Giselle. She loved battle and blood as much as the redhaired rogue Hellion currently riding out with her. The tundra lands had turned his mane a shade of brass.

Giselle looked to Rafel at her side.

His amber eyes were focused and bright in the hollows of his moon-white helmet. He had said nothing for fourteen days, and the nights they'd camped in ice forests and beside frozen lakes, not much could be deduced in his expression over a flickering fireplace. They had been on their march now for a fortnight.

Rafel knew Giselle was staring from the saddle of her silver Griffin. The large bird pranced in the deep snow, leaving great talonprints that were quickly covered by the biting wind. He didn't turn to look at her.

Winter was a sorry time to wage war.

Fingers grew stiff, and joints locked. It took a warrior's iron heart to swing his weapon over and over. Rafel knew the Nephilims would have this advantage over them. They had survived the arctic temperatures, adapted and colonized the deep North for centuries. So much that their skins turned blue. They wouldn't feel the cold.

But the Gold Cloaks were strong, sure-footed as a mountain goat, and they traversed the cold white plains steadfastly.

Rafel himself had summoned his armies of Rocasus. They had journeyed in from the west and joined the Queen's forces a week into the long march. It brought the entire host to nearly three hundred thousand infantry and a cavalry quarter the size. The footmen marched and didn't grow weak. Giselle had put a dent in her sizeable fortune in upgrading their armors, all of them to a [Hallowed] level.

The Eldorians actually had a chance against the blue Giants.

They had to. The Capitol and the free lands of thriving magic depended on the outcome of this battle.

Rafel rode on his black Pegasus. Giselle had offered a Griffin, but Rafel preferred to feel the bulk of muscles under his thighs, and march his prized winged steed to war. Rafel was adorned in his [Legendary] Wolf Pelt Armor. He opted against the [Epic] Sphinx since the winter wolf was more suited to the fields of battle.

The armor kept his temperatures optimal. It came in all pristine white, and had a fluffy silver hide topping his broad shoulders. His helmet was shaped in a metal wolf's head. His lips were prevented from drying out by the shut mouthpiece which could unlock to reveal sharp ivory teeth.

When need be, he could rip the jugular right off an adversary without needing to pull off his helm.

Yesterday, as the entire army cradled at night in circles around camp fires, the soldiers shuffling close under large army blankets to keep warm, one of the scouts returned. The only one out of the fifty sent out to scape the tundra. He'd galloped straight out of the freezing darkness to the largest tent, positioned dead center of the camp.

The Queen's tent.

The scout had fallen on his knees before her. Rafel easily remembered Aya Naamah had been behind him, combing out his red locks. Cora was chatting with Giselle, who was biting into a craven bird's fat thigh. A dozen Gold Cloaks surrounded their private domain stoically.

He also remembered Giselle's golden eyes going dim, and her dropping the fowl's roast to the dirt snows with a plop, when the scout delivered his message. Rafel knew the words by heart. Recitations of it didn't let him sleep at night. It went thus,

"Your Imperial Majesty, I–I bring sad tidings. Persepolis has fallen. Ashtapur also. And the Giant, Ekron leads the crusade. He is a Nephilim of ten feet and six digits of fingers and toes. It is he commands the horde of Rumbrun.

The others have been captured, Your Majesty. In the fright of the cold hills from whence I looked, I counted a devastating number. He also has a Dark Witch with him. A blood Sorceress. She resurrects his dead. And I think she also—"

Giselle interrupted the scout. "How many?" She asked. "How many?"

"Half a million at least by my count, Your Majesty."

"That's one of our men to three giants. Interesting!" said the Queen.

The scout was profoundly astonished. Worried even. The Queen was not afraid. She smiled her usual, picked up the fallen bird's leg and tossed it to her Griffin. The lean scout had stood up and left her presence with a tale on his lips to his band of brothers.

Rafel broke his thoughts to glance behind at the chariot following closely. On the open rolling wheels stood Aya Naamah and Corazón. Ravenna was absent—though she had vehemently insisted on coming along. Rafel had to threaten her with grounding her in the house.

"Keep the home, and we'll be back before you know it," he'd instructed.

Back then, Ravenna had made him promise. He did. She asked him to cross his heart. He didn't—in her presence.

He could see his breath form a cloud in the wintry air. Flakes danced in flutters down from a gray, sunless sky. The chariot of his women behind was white as his armor. So was the splendor of the three hundred thousand Eldorian military that flowed out behind them. They were in a single arranged file of three lines, all marching, stretching like smooth stones around a creek.

Rafel saw the end of the host peeking distantly out a glacier he had passed an hour ago.

Cora and Aya were engaged in conversation in the riding chariot. Cora spoke with her grip around the reins for the snow bears that pulled the buggy.

She said, "Do you think the Sorceress with the Nephilims would be able to resurrect their fallen?"

Aya thought for a second, her single fat braid of raven hair swishing out in the cold wind behind her own white helmet. Cora was equally donned in knightly mail. With his women, Rafel was taking no chances. Even the Queen had kept her bestfriend behind. Battle against giants were no joke.

Aya replied few moments later.

"No. The sorceress might be able to reanimate fallen soldiers, but I bet it's one at a time. And requires considerable effort and mana infusion. I don't think she'll be able to pull it off and prevent her head from getting hacked off."

"So, she'll be protected then?"

"Hmm, perhaps. But we won't let her be for long now, would we?"

Aya and Cora shared secret smiles, both of one mind to take out the Nephilim's sorceress on their own. As Rafel turned back to face forward again, their discussion lit a certain idea in his head.

Resurrection? Hmm?

RESURRECTION!

Instantly, he said, "System! Equip Divine Resurrection Amulet!"

His body immediately pulsed with warmth and a purple glow swarmed his wolf pelt armor, dousing him in eerie light for some seconds. A mystic aura remained over his chest area. When the halo dimmed, a Pentagon rune of Underworld magic was embedded in his breastplate, right over his sternum.

The Amulet of Lilith.

[Ding!]

[Divine Charm Equipped!]

[Resurrection Amulet! Gift from Rank S Hell Principality.

REACH: Calling to new life any creature, beast or mortal, in a thousand acre span.

PROWESS: Limitless.]

What a gift?

[? Rave In the Grave – AronChupa & Little Sis Nora.]

Rafel smiled under his silver helm.

The sorceress would not be able to resurrect corpses. But he will.

Thousands of slain, rising to fight again!

How utterly villainous?

As the Winter Demon, he charged to the front of the host and led the march onwards. Seeing such a mighty man of valor before them sparked fresh hope in the soldiers and they picked up their pace. Cora turned in her chariot, lifted up her hands behind to the moving troops, and uttered a simple spell that warmed their cold bodies and made their cheeks pink again.

Giselle picked up pace and sidled in next to his charge. Her Griffin brushed his horse again. This time, he turned to her, met her golden eyes and nodded amicably. Together, a Fey Queen, a Hell Lord, a Dark Witch, and a [Rank A] Succubus led the long march to the Battle against frosty blue Giants.

If they kept up the pace, they would be in Frostholm by nightfall. From there onwards, was enemy territory.

Rafel guessed they'd have to make their stand in the plains of Magvath—in Fey tongue, meaning the Goddess of Death. In reality, it was a valley of skulls, eternal mist, and subzero temperatures.