31. Day Twenty: The Final Battle of Antoran

"Salutations to the hero of Krokuun, Commander of the Hand of Argus, the model of Vindicators, and protector of the Eredar, Brigadier General Diacum Zastings!"

Amidst the resounding military band and the passionate proclamation of a Vindicator, Dick—clad in ceremonial armor and wearing a stoic expression—stepped onto the staircase leading to the Seat of the Triumvirate, passing through an "archway" formed by upright halberds draped in ribbons. He was followed by his five elite subordinates and the twins.

The surrounding crowd erupted in fanatical cheers, while enthusiastic maidens scattered flower petals upon them. As the bright red petals drifted in the wind, Dick looked up at the ribbons and banners fluttering from the architecture of the Seat of the Triumvirate. The scene triggered an intense sense of déjà vu.

Frankly, it felt quite ominous. If he had a magic sword in his hand right now, the old Velen awaiting him inside would be in for some serious trouble. Fortunately, the world of Argus possessed no such absurd legends of soul-devouring blades, nor was there a tradition of "fatherly love and filial piety" here. As for the welcome ceremony... well, it was merely a means to boost morale during these panic-stricken times.

Dick understood the role he was playing and the significance of his presence. Mac'Aree was currently packed with civilians from all corners of Argus. Even with Velen personally overseeing the capital, the security situation had deteriorated severely; one only had to look at the dark circles under the eyes of Thalgas, the head of the Assassin’s Court, to see that. Even the assassins had been mobilized to assist the Security Court in their daily duties, illustrating just how dire the situation in the capital had become.

Of course, most of the civilians gathered around had never heard the name Brigadier General Diacum. They only knew that this general had led the people of Krokuun to crush fierce demons in the distant frontier and had reportedly slain a powerful demonic demigod. In these turbulent times, this was news enough to soothe the hearts of the people.

As the sturdy veterans of the Hand of Argus carried Kazzak’s hideous head through the streets on a special rack, the civilians on either side of the road gasped in shock. They were clearly terrified by the massive, ugly head. But this was quickly followed by a chorus of angry curses and shouts, with the enraged crowd throwing rotten eggs and vegetable scraps at Kazzak’s remains.

Such venting was necessary. These dark emotions could not be kept bottled up forever. Had they not spent three days traveling thousands of miles just to deliver Kazzak’s head to Mac'Aree for this very purpose? The head would be placed in the plaza of Oronaar, where it would be subjected to the endless insults and assaults of civilians from all over the world.

But... that was as far as it went.

It had already been thirteen days since Velen and Kil'jaeden received the Dark Titan’s proclamation of doom. Only half a month remained until the final apocalypse in thirty days. The civilians did not know this dire news. They only felt that Argus was suffering an invasion, but they firmly believed that under the leadership of the two Triumvirs and the efforts of heroes like Brigadier General Dick, the Eredar would surely prevail.

Unfortunately, Dick could not tell them the cruel truth. Win? No. That option had never been on the table from the beginning. If they had seen Krokuun as he had—completely corrupted by fel energy—they would know that the demons had never offered them even a shred of hope for victory.

"Go to the Temple of K'ure and receive the blessing of the Light," Dick said to his five subordinates after the long, tedious victory parade concluded. "Rest while you can. After a brief regrouping, we must set out for the Antoran Wastes. Commander Kil'jaeden is holding the line at Antorus, but he needs reinforcements; there are a vast number of civilians there waiting to be evacuated."

"Are we still evacuating them to Mac'Aree?" the blunt-spoken Imira exclaimed. "Even the student dorms at the Academy of Mysteries have been turned into refugee camps. Is there really any room left for civilians here? I think there are at least millions of outsiders gathered in Mac'Aree already, aren't there?"

"Be bolder, senior," Allariel sighed. "I just received the exact figures from the Assassin’s Court. They counted three days ago: the crowd gathered throughout Mac'Aree has already exceeded ten million! That is a quarter of the total Eredar population. By the time the final transport from the Antoran Wastes is complete, the number will exceed thirteen million."

"There is no time left," Orosel said with a sorrowful tone. "Many civilians cannot be transported to Mac'Aree in time. Now, we can only hope those Naaru are reliable. If they have enough ships, perhaps they can land in areas outside Mac'Aree to pick up the civilians and take them away. If they don't... I’m afraid even those currently in Mac'Aree won't be sent safely into the star-sea. And this only accounts for the old, the weak, the women, and the children. The two Triumvirs have made their decision: all warriors and militia are to board in the final batch. This means... sigh..."

"Stop sighing. This is not one person's catastrophe, nor is it a crisis one person can reverse. Do not heap all the burden upon yourselves; that is not a responsibility you should bear. Go and rest," Dick said with a wave of his hand. "Do not spread this news around. If you have time, go back to the Academy of Mysteries to visit your former teachers and classmates. It is highly unlikely you will ever meet again."

"Hmm?" Farya asked in surprise. "Do you mean the Naaru will not send us to the same world?"

"It’s better if they don't." Sarrass took it upon herself to answer. As the twins who had been serving as Dick’s adjutants recently, they were well-versed in these matters. She whispered, "To avoid being wiped out by the demons in one fell swoop, and to leave enough seeds for the Eredar civilization, the Naaru will likely scatter our people to different worlds to form separate star-sea clans. The Naaru have roamed the stars for countless ages; they know where in the star-sea is safe. But the Brigadier General is right. If we are unlucky, we will hardly see each other again in our long lives. So, if there are promises to your kin that you haven't fulfilled yet, go do them now. Once you miss this chance, you won't get another."

This answer left the five subordinates in silence. Unlike Dick, who was a lone wolf, they all had families. After hearing this, they had no heart to linger and left in a hurry after bidding Dick farewell.

"The Artificer’s Court will forge your new weapon as soon as possible," Sarrass stepped forward to tell Dick. "Using Kazzak’s horns as raw material, though it is difficult to make the heavy weapons that Vindicators need out of this stuff."

"Make a staff," Dick thought for a moment and said. "As a Priest, I also need a staff that can channel the Light. It’s standard equipment for the profession."

"Oh, if that’s the case, the skull of the Primordial Wizard Ougure could actually come in handy," Orosel suggested. "If we ask the priests of the Naaru temple to Light-forge it, that skull would become a powerful holy artifact. It’s much better for you to use it than those vermin Arcanists. Those bastards who make us sisters lose face... more than half of the 'demon-defectors' who have appeared in Mac'Aree lately are Arcanists. It’s truly a disgrace to the ancient arcane tradition!"

"If the Primordial Wizard were here, he would absolutely rip off every one of their heads to make them into artifacts... no, into chamber pots!" Sarrass added with a venomous tone. Dick shook his head and said, "This is normal. Arcanists are smart people, and because they are smart, they are more aware of the current situation. Everyone has their own selfish interests. We can condemn them morally, but... forget it. Use that skull, you two. It’s an arcane relic; turning it into a holy artifact will damage its power. The skull of Archimonde, previously collected by the Reliquary, can also be crafted into a suitable combat artifact. Just right for the two of you."

"Ah? For us?"

Sarrass’s eyes flashed with a hint of greed, but she shook her head and whispered, "Our rank and reputation are too low. Those misers at the Reliquary won't give it to us."

"Go ask as the Chief Arcanists of the Hand of Argus! Go ask as heroes of the Krokuun war! Go ask as the bane of the Doomlord!" Dick said firmly. "Argus is about to perish! Why keep those treasures? To leave them for the demons to enjoy? If they don't give them to you, go take them! I’ll take the heat for it. Go."

"Wow, we were just waiting for those words!" Sarrass rubbed her hands, took her sister, and charged towards the Reliquary with their heads held high. The sisters had indeed been coveting the "Skull of Archimonde" for a long time. Now, with the skull of Ougure to share between them, there was nothing better.

However, Orosel was more cautious. After walking a few steps, she returned and secretly stuffed an old, dusty, grey Eredar magic-weave bag into Brigadier General Dick’s hand. She whispered, "This is a spatial container we found when we were collecting the remains of the Primordial Wizard. It should be Lord Ougure’s personal treasure. Uh... we kept it for ourselves, but now, following military orders, we are handing it over to you."

"Don't do this in the future," Dick said lightly, taking the empty bag and hanging it on his belt. This scene brought a strange smile to the twins' faces, and they left hand-in-hand using teleportation. Watching the two troublemakers leave, Dick reached out and placed his hand on the rustic bag at his waist. The item description popped up:

[Bag Name: Echo of the Primordial Wizard — Ougure’s Heirloom Chest]
[Bag Quality: Unranked Arcane Wonder]
[Bag Traits: Bottomless Bag, Constant Internal Time, Internal Space Expansion]
[Bag Special Effects: The interior contains a 25x25x25 (m) three-dimensional space, strictly allocated according to Eredar storage traditions. Different types of items are placed in different zones and, after soul-binding, can be extracted or stored through the user’s will.]
[Note! As a weapon chest, it cannot hold more than twelve weapons.]
[Note! As a food chest, it ensures food stays fresh and tasty for thirty days. Please do not store cooked food for more than thirty days.]
[Note! As a material chest, it minimizes the energy loss of magical materials, but do not store highly aggressive materials.]
[Note! This item can be used as a "temporary cage," but unless you have a blood feud with the person, do not put living people inside at will.]
[Note! This item was personally stitched by the Primordial Wizard Ougure and imbued with advanced Elemental Permanence, capable of resisting ordinary magical attacks and interference. However, do not use this bag as a shield; it cannot guarantee your safety in all situations.]
[Item Description: Actually, if there aren't enough Naaru ships, you could try tossing those weeping, weak civilians into this bag. If you stack them, you can fit a lot of people! If you only pack children, you can at least double that! As for the risks of trampling and respiratory failure... Pfft, Sargeras is here personally, don't demand so much. What I mean is, at least you can leave behind a complete corpse, right? So, consider it.]

"Ah, this... you really are as inhuman as ever! You bastard," Dick cursed.

But later, on his way to the Triumvirate Hall to meet Velen, Dick couldn't help but start contemplating this "wicked and smoke-belching" idea. The interior of Ougure’s chest was 25 cubic meters. Honestly, if you didn't care about comfort, you could fit dozens, maybe hundreds of people in there at the absolute limit. Well, "limit" meaning keeping them from being crushed to death...

Forget it, forget it. Stop thinking about it.

This idea was truly too wicked! He didn't know what kind of bastard had come up with it, but a single sentence had been enough to bewitch him into considering a problem that a Vindicator should never have to think about. This kind of "thought pollution" was terrifying; it was as if the other party had used a single sentence to force their way into his brain.

"Diacum, my valiant brother in faith, come here!"

As soon as Dick entered the Triumvirate Hall, he heard Velen’s call. He strode forward and saw that the Triumvir looked as if he had aged several hundred years in the past half-month; he was visibly exhausted and drained. This was entirely understandable. Under the current circumstances, the pressure Velen was under was definitely a hundred times greater than Dick’s. To put it in a formula, Dick only needed to think about how to beat demons on the front lines, but the old Velen had so much more to consider.

"The Vindicators in the Mac'Aree region have finished their training. Although most are recruits, the soldiers' morale is high. I want to appoint you as the commander of this army and lead them to the Antoran Wastes to assist Commander Kil'jaeden in fighting the demons," Velen said to Dick. "I know you are exhausted, and I have heard from Hadon about the tragic situation on the Krokuun battlefield, but..."

"I understand, Triumvir. You need not say more," Dick said softly. "The times are hard, and we should all work together to overcome these difficulties. I will lead the Vindicators out on time, but there is one problem: the current number of Hearts of Argus is completely insufficient to meet the needs of all the armies, so we can only select the most valiant warriors to receive such an honor. The changes in the Krokuun war situation have proven the greatness of the World-Soul, and I think Commander Kil'jaeden will have the confidence to hold out until the final day. However... is there still no word from the Naaru?"

"There is." This topic should not have been discussed with a war brigadier general like Dick, but considering Velen viewed Dick as the seventh "Chosen of the Light" among the Eredar, he made an exception. "His Grace K'ure has told me that currently, 172 Naaru have responded to our call, and they can bring at least 150 Naaru starships. Most of them are small starships like the 'Genedar' that His Grace K'ure and His Grace L'ura traveled on. According to calculations by the Artificer’s Court, those starships, when stripped of all armament and carrying only necessary supplies with their internal space expanded to the limit, can carry 80,000 to 100,000 people. The transport capacity of these ships alone is enough to evacuate all the civilians in the Mac'Aree region. And even better news: the legendary Mother of the Light, Lady Xe'ra, also sent me a message a few days ago through resonant prophecy. Lady Xe'ra has dispatched her largest starship, the 'Exodar', along with four smaller starships to Argus. She told me that fleet can transport at least three million people at once. This means our people on the continent across the Eredas Sea need not despair."

"But this still isn't enough," Dick sighed. "Even if fully loaded, the number of people we can transport is only half of our total population. This means we have to abandon the other half..."

Velen fell silent. In visible sorrow and resolve, he whispered, "You are military, so I can tell you the contents of the letter Commander Kil'jaeden sent last night. My brother has made up his mind: he will not board the starships to leave Argus! He will lead the bravest soldiers to stay here! On one hand, to buy time for the evacuation of civilians; on the other, he stubbornly believes that someone must be held responsible for the catastrophe on Argus. He said that at this moment of approaching doom, as a Triumvir, he must sacrifice his life for everything he has guarded and fulfill his oath. Currently, over seventeen generals have signed this letter of farewell. They and their soldiers will stand their ground until the very last moment. Dick... the people we are to send away are not as many as you think."

"You..." Dick looked at the determined Velen before him. He knew the Triumvir had already made his decision. Velen would never abandon Kil'jaeden to flee alone. History had already changed from the original timeline due to Dick’s intervention. If they followed Velen’s resolve, it meant both Triumvirs would eventually perish in the apocalypse of Argus.

"But do you think your fate will truly end on Argus? You are a Prophet!" Dick said in a deep voice. "A Prophet cannot defy the arrangements of fate. I think you have seen the future countless times..."

"You want me to abandon my brother? You want me to become a lone wolf and a coward?" Velen was uncharacteristically angry. With the triangular holy symbol behind him shining, he turned to glare at Dick and rebuked him, "Are you bewitching me?"

"Not at all," Dick sighed. "But if someone is willing to die for the world, then someone must shoulder the heavier mission to survive. Triumvir, you and Commander Kil'jaeden have both had an audience with the World-Soul. You know very well what responsibilities lie on every Eredar who leaves Argus. Without your leadership, can we truly hold out in the dark stars until the day we return to Argus? In the face of the current situation, death is only the weakest form of release. You know your duty clearly; you know what you should do. Please, do not let yourself become a coward seeking death! In fact, instead of dying on your homeland with your brother, why don't you think about how to save him and lead him away together? If you are truly determined to resist fate..."

The Brigadier General took a deep breath and said to Velen, "I am willing to be the sword in your hand that strikes against merciless fate when the moment of choice arrives! It is my honor. I will take your place to guard the Ata'mal Crystal on the final day and hold the last line of defense for the people! You only need to fulfill what you should and must do. Fate wants us to die, fate wants us to suffer, fate wants us to wail; it wants us to be puppets of pain on its stage so that the ruthless villain can laugh out loud. But a Prophet should resist fate when they see it, not submit to it. We must never let it have its way, right?"

"Ah, so you also have the potential to be a Prophet, Diacum," Velen sighed. "Did the World-Soul show you that?"

"Yes. Argus does not want to see its children wandering in the stars with tears in their eyes. It wants us to leave with hope and return draped in glory! The Light does not want to see the tragedy of the Eredar's demise, either." Dick clenched his fists and said, "I have resisted fate before, and fate slapped me hard, but I don't intend to stop challenging and beating it until I truly gain the upper hand. You are the greatest Prophet. This means when you are determined to resist, the heavy punch you can swing at fate will absolutely exceed that bitch's imagination. Sorry, I shouldn't have used such vulgar language in your presence."

Dick took a step back and said, "I am going to prepare. Triumvir, when we return from the Antoran Wastes, please, you must make up your mind!"

With that, he bowed and turned to leave. In the Triumvirate Hall, old Velen sat back in his seat, stroking the Naaru holy staff that emitted a light, melodic tune of the Light, and glanced at the empty seat beside him. He asked himself, in this coming moment of choice, what action should he take?

Perhaps... Dick’s advice was worth considering.

***

A few days later, on the front line of the Antoran Wastes, Dick, who had arrived by aircraft, wasted almost no time before taking a team of elite Vindicators to the headquarters where Commander Kil'jaeden was stationed.

This once most fertile plain on Argus had now become the most brutal battlefield. Even with the warriors holding the Hearts of Argus fighting daily, the war and death that had occurred here over the past fifteen days still exceeded the imagination and historical records of the Eredar. Just yesterday alone, the number of casualties across the entire front line had exceeded three thousand. For the Eredar, who struggled to reproduce, such casualties were already terrifying.

"Dick!"

Just as Dick was handing the last batch of Hearts of Argus to Commander Kil'jaeden’s quartermaster, he heard a familiar call. He turned his head to see Maldred, covered in blood, jumping down from a talbuk. Judging by his appearance, he had just led a team to complete a surprise rescue. Behind Maldred, exhausted priests were treating the unconscious rangers and casters.

"Why are you here?" Maldred threw his warhammer to his adjutant and walked over with a smile to embrace his brother. Dick didn't care about the terrible smell of someone who hadn't washed in at least ten days. He said, "Of course, it’s because you are all too tired, so I brought people to relieve you. Now you and your soldiers can get a good night's sleep for a few days."

"Ha, still love to joke, don't you?" Maldred shook his head, patted Dick on the shoulder, and said, "I heard about Krokuun. The merits you’ve achieved make me feel both proud and terrified. Compared to you, I’m just too lacking."

"Is that so? But why did I hear on my way here that a certain reckless Vindicator, holding a Heart of Argus, killed eleven Fel Lords and three Ereduin Doomguards single-handedly during a rearguard battle? I heard that when they found you, the demons dead at your feet were piled into a mountain. Even those cowardly hellhounds didn't dare approach you, exhausted as you were."

Dick smiled. While taking the staff he had crafted from Kazzak’s magic horn from Farya’s hand, he followed Maldred toward the weary wounded. He said, "You’ve proven that you are worthy of your merits, Maldred. You have also been blessed by the World-Soul. I went to see your children when I left Mac'Aree, and they said they feel proud of you."

"Hmph, you’re worthy of being a Vindicator who voluntarily became a Priest; you really know how to talk." The long battle had made Maldred less serious than before. He looked at the scratched Heart of Argus in his hand and sighed, "But I still can't save everyone. All we can do is keep fighting, keep fighting, until the final glory arrives."

"Hold on, there is always hope." Dick held high the spell-casting medium, which looked more like a "spear" than a staff. Skillful healing and restoration spells were cast by him onto the surrounding wounded one after another. At this moment, he looked very much like a kind-hearted priest in armor, but Maldred knew that in times of emergency, this "old commander" could also transform into an invincible slasher under the banner of the Light.

Well, stepping onto the battlefield with someone like this was quite reassuring.

"Woooo—"

The low sound of a horn suddenly rang out at this moment, interrupting the reunion of Maldred and Dick. The two looked back and saw that Commander Kil'jaeden’s battle banner had already left the headquarters. This caused Maldred’s face to change drastically. He said to Dick, "The demons have launched an attack! Quick! Take your men and follow me! We must defend the flank and hold out until the main battlefield achieves victory. Sorry, I was planning to treat you to some local specialties."

"Isn't the greatest specialty of the Antoran Wastes right now the endless swarms of demon spawn?" Dick raised the staff he had named "Kazzak’s Grudge" in the manner of wielding a war spear. He laughed aloud, "Thank you for your generous hospitality. I’ve come from afar and am hungry and thirsty, so I won't be polite about this upcoming war feast. Hmm, the day of feasting has arrived! And the best part is, I’ve also got a great appetite blessed by the Light!"