The Lich of Glory Knight Spirit: Moving towards Krimasha!

Sometimes, bad things turn out to be good things, and sometimes, good things aren't so good. If Barrel hadn't personally reinforced the structure to prevent a collapse, it might have broken open already. You could say Barrel's craftsmanship is simply too remarkable.

...

A surge of magic shot through the debris piled up at the tunnel entrance blasted apart by the dwarves, scattering the shards outward. It streaked through the ranks of dwarves waiting outside the tunnel, heading into the distance. Under the night sky, it resembled a shooting star.

A sparse cascade of stones fell, then silence. The tunnel entrance, now reduced to utter chaos, had been forcefully blasted open.

As the dust cleared, the silhouettes of Blood Clan members began to emerge.

Duke Clement stepped over the scattered rubble, slowly walking out from within, his cold gaze sweeping across the dwarves. Behind him, a large group of Blood Clan moved forward in single file.

The dwarves stared in terror, each with wide, unblinking eyes, frozen as they made eye contact with their adversaries.

Duke Clement raised a hand and flicked his fingers lightly, causing the chains restraining four bound Blood Clan members to snap instantly. Before the dwarves could process what was happening, they had already shifted into bat form, flying back to their comrades' ranks.

Barrel gripped his hammer tightly, letting out a helpless sigh: "Looks like these guys are tougher than we thought."

"Damn it, even the hostages are gone. What now?" Silverhammer muttered, sweating profusely.

"What else? Can you outrun the Blood Clan?"

"Nope."

"Then we'll just fight." Barrel grinned, a twisted smile stretching across his face.

All around them, the dwarves trembled slightly—every single one of them. It was a blend of emotions: fear, excitement, and madness.

Yes, madness. Despair drives people to lose their minds.

Everyone gripped their weapons tightly.

"Charge––! For freedom!" Someone shouted, and in an instant, the tense nerves of the dwarves snapped, propelling them to surge forward madly from all directions.

"A bunch of fools." Duke Clement sneered, raising his hand and uttering coldly: "Kill."

In a split second, several crossbows fired, sending poisoned bolts whizzing toward the dwarves. The six or seven dwarves leading the charge collapsed instantly. Yet, once a charge begins, there's no stopping it—especially when it's the dwarves.

Those behind stepped over their fallen comrades' bodies and continued to surge forward, weapons swinging, resembling raging bulls in their ferocity.

The Blood Clan unsheathed their longswords, charging head-on into battle.

The clash between the dwarves and the Blood Clan began.

Throughout history, have dwarves and the Blood Clan ever fought? Of course they have. Elite dwarf troops can match the Blood Clan in strength. With their superior defenses and immense strength, they are formidable.

However, these weren't elite troops—indeed, they weren't even soldiers. What sustained them was merely the belief in freedom, and the will to survive.

Silver moonlight spilled down.

Blood, sweat, and tears intermingled. The roars and clashes echoed in the mountains.

Barrel swung his hammer with all his might, sending a Deacon Council officer flying, but in the next moment, a longsword pierced through his shoulder from behind.

Silverhammer found himself besieged by two Blood Clan members. Their blades moved like a whirlwind around him, opening deep wounds one after another until blood spilled freely, staining the air. He hadn't even managed a single effective attack.

The battlefield was utter chaos. The dwarves swung their weapons in vain, shouting, roaring. They were giving all they had. The Blood Clan, however, were swift and unrestrained, moving as if they danced on the battlefield.

A dwarf, covered in wounds, raised his iron pickaxe and charged at Duke Clement, roaring.

Without even sparing a glance, Duke Clement raised one hand, and a surge of magic erupted from his palm. Five meters away, the charging dwarf was instantly blasted off his feet, flung backward. And Clement remained leisurely standing where he was.

Behind him, Count Messier, who had also yet to act, gave a helpless smile and wiped sweat from his brow as he turned to Count Dracula: "It's finally coming to an end. But where are your son and the Hydra?"

Just as he spoke, a muffled sound erupted from behind.

Turning abruptly, Count Messier saw the massive form of the Hydra tumbling down the mountainside! Yes, tumbling directly downward, accompanied by several enormous boulders. Behind it, Jones, in his bat form, chased closely.

Both Count Messier and Count Dracula were utterly stunned.

"Move––! Get out of the way!" Duke Clement shouted urgently.

But before the Deacon Council officers had time to react, the impact was upon them.

Enormous boulders rained down from the sky, instantly crushing four Blood Clan members who failed to evade.

You ask why no dwarves were crushed? Well, some were about to be, but the Hydra deflected the stones at the last critical moment. None of them were hit. After all, it was a Hydra—with nine heads, it could multitask.

Yes, multitask. So not only did it rescue the dwarves who should have been crushed, but it also bit six Deacon Council officers, slamming them violently to the ground!

The massive serpentine body landed, sending dust waves rolling around like surging tides. The blood clan scattered in all directions to avoid it.

"Roar––!"

Under the night sky, the Hydra raised all nine heads simultaneously, letting out a spine-chilling roar.

Jones transformed back into human form, landing at the Hydra's forefront. He picked up the fallen longsword, wiped the blood from it with his sleeve.

The wind brushed past him lightly, lifting the tattered remains of his black cloak.

From afar, his gaze locked with Count Dracula's.

This was a Jones Count Dracula had never seen before.

His body was battered, wounds still oozing blood, his clothes tattered beyond repair. But his gaze was resolute, strikingly reminiscent of a true warrior. No—he had always been a warrior, a knight, though his father had never realized, nor acknowledged it.

The dwarves rallied around Jones.

The Blood Clan gathered behind Duke Clement.

The whole world went silent as the cold of the night swiftly overtook the fiery heat of the battle.

Duke Clement's eyelids twitched violently, for he had realized that ten of his men had fallen. Some lay on the ground groaning, while others had lost consciousness entirely. Regardless, all had been rendered unable to fight.

Including Duke Clement, Count Dracula, and Count Messier, a total of thirty Deacon Council officers had accompanied them. In just moments, they had lost a third of their combat force. Though many dwarves had fallen as well, such losses were utterly unacceptable for Duke Clement.

The two sides faced each other in tense silence.

A few Deacon Council officers rushed forward to pull their wounded comrades out of harm's way.

One Blood Clan officer approached Duke Clement and whispered: "Your Grace, no one's dead, but several are gravely injured."

"Jones..."

Count Dracula was about to speak, but Duke Clement raised a hand to stop him: "Enough. This matter transcends your family drama now. I promise he won't die, but he must face consequences for his actions."

Count Dracula looked visibly unsettled, swiftly turning his head toward Duke Clement.

Jones shifted his gaze slowly onto Duke Clement.

Pausing, Duke Clement continued: "As for the specific punishment, that will depend on how willing he is to admit his mistakes."

"Admit my mistakes? Ha!" Jones let out a scornful laugh, panting heavily as he pointed his sword at Duke Clement: "Only my foster father can make me apologize. You? You're not worthy."

"Jones!" Count Dracula took a hurried step forward.

"Roar––!" Behind Jones, the Hydra instantly spread its nine gaping jaws wide, roaring in his defense, its nine massive forked tongues quivering in the wind.

Count Dracula stumbled backward in fear, sweat beading profusely on his forehead.

"Do you really think you can win?" Duke Clement stared icily at Jones.

At that moment, two voices rang out.

"With us, maybe we can!"

"Young Master!"

"Shut up!"

Looking up, Duke Clement suddenly saw Adelle leading a group of Blood Clan as they descended from the skies, transforming into human form to join Jones' side.

"Don't worry! This Hydra is on our side!" Breathless, Adelle threw an arm around Jones' shoulders, fixing his fiery gaze on Duke Clement. "Brother, I'm not late, am I?"

"You're just in time." Jones replied.