Chapter 406: The Second Battle Between Rulance and Orson

The wilderness plains at the end of April teemed with life, lush green grass stretching endlessly—a perfect pasture.

In past years, shepherds from both Wushan Town and Heimang City would come here to graze their flocks.

But now, war had changed everything. In the distance, rolling hills traced soft curves against the horizon, while nearby echoed the neighing of warhorses, the thunder of iron hooves, dust swirling into the air—no cattle or sheep in sight.

After noon, the forces of Wushan Fortress and Heimang City finally met upon this wild plain, lining up in a single row without any sophisticated formation.

High above, riding atop Karlos, Rowan saw everything below with crystal clarity.

In sheer numbers, Heimang held an overwhelming advantage.

Olsen’s knightly order, combined with his vassals’ troops and the countless transformed Wuhun soldiers, formed a dark sea of at least twenty or thirty thousand.

Wushan’s side, by contrast, mustered only around five thousand—its full complement of knightly orders, merchant-mages, various knight squads, and some militia.

Though outnumbered, Wushan’s force was of exceptional quality—abundant in top-tier fighters, no shortage of Level Four and Five supernaturals.

Rulans, clad in armor and mounted on his Thunderwind Beast, stood at the forefront. Behind him were Meilongnika, Boloer, Miloslav, and Dao’en—four mighty warriors.

“Olsen,” Rulans called, his voice rolling like waves across the battlefield, “I wish to know—how did your wounds heal?”

He had struck straight at the heart of everyone’s curiosity.

Two or three hundred meters away, Olsen sat calmly astride his horse.

“Haha, Rulans,” he replied, “you wounded me so treacherously—now that I’ve healed, does it disappoint you?”

“If you’d recovered through natural means, I wouldn’t care. But now, turning innocent people of Heimang into monstrous half-creatures—this is consorting with demons! No one will forgive such sins!”

Rulans roared, “Tell me—who created you and your Wuhun soldiers?”

Before Olsen could retort, Murphister’s gaze suddenly sharpened, locking onto Rulans.

Truth be told, when he first discovered that the Wuhun power within Olsen originated from Rulans, he’d wanted nothing more than to transform Rulans too—but time had not allowed it.

“How does he know of the Wuhun?”

Murphister frowned deeply, recalling every step since entering Odin Kingdom. He was certain—he’d never revealed the Wuhun to anyone.

“Could those others have come as well?”

“No… they couldn’t have crossed the Storm Sea.”

In a low voice, he commanded: “Olsen, kill Rulans!”

“As you command!”

Olsen bowed, then bellowed at Rulans: “I’ve endured your arrogance long enough! Today, you shall kneel before my power!”

He leapt from his steed—just one bound—and crossed over a hundred meters in an instant. A tidal wave of surging battle aura surged toward Rulans.

“I am no longer wounded. Such tricks won’t affect me.”

Rulans gently tugged the reins. The Thunderwind Beast opened its maw, firing a bolt of lightning that pierced straight through Olsen’s assault.

Then Rulans soared into the air, sword raised high, unleashing endless torrents of thunder.

Boloer’s pupils contracted sharply, shock flooding his heart: *Silver Moon Knight! After healing, Rulans has advanced so swiftly?*

The former Thunder Marquis hadn’t just returned—he’d ascended further!

“You old dog!” Miloslav laughed bitterly. “Now you’ve broken through, still want to challenge me? Determined to make me lose, are you?”

Though Olsen countered the lightning, he was immediately overwhelmed in close combat.

Unshackled, Rulans wielded his battle aura freely—fierce in offense, flawless in defense, mastering every detail of the fight.

Yet Olsen seemed strengthened somehow; otherwise, a man barely at Starflow rank, imprisoned for a year, could hardly withstand so many blows.

Their clash sent ripples of battle energy outward—lingering arcs of electricity alone could slice through the grass beneath.

Had soldiers stood near, they’d have been gravely injured.

Fortunately, neither side ordered a charge, silently agreeing to wait until this duel concluded.

*Clang!* Their swords met—then locked in a test of strength.

Suddenly, dark energy surged across Olsen’s body. He split apart—two figures now—one continuing the struggle, the other thrusting his blade toward Rulans’ throat.

“This is the Level Seven Dark Attribute technique—‘Shadow Pursuit Soul’! Die!”

The sudden shift tightened every heart. Meilongnika and Boloer prepared to rush forward—only to see Rulans erupt in a dazzling storm of lightning.

“Enough play.”

Rulans had merely been warming up.

With a sudden surge of force, he shoved Olsen back, parried the shadow’s strike, and under crackling thunder, reduced it to nothing.

“You always lamented never witnessing my secret techniques,” Rulans said coldly. “Today—I’ll grant your wish.”

To taunt a once-disabled warrior about his lost strength was to tear open old wounds.

“Behold—lightning and fire!”

Two energies blazed upon Rulans’ form, radiating such might that the surrounding grass withered, turned yellow, then burst into ash.

“Dance of Fire, Strike of Thunder!”

Rulans leapt skyward, slashing down—the self-created ultimate technique rushing forth like a breached dam, determined to crush his foe.

“I have secret techniques too!”

Olsen hadn’t idled these past days. Under Murphister’s teachings, he’d mastered a fusion of Wuhun energy and water-elemental battle aura.

“Tide of Dark Water!”

Sapphire-black energy surged, actually devouring part of Rulans’ attack.

But the phenomenon lasted but a breath. Then, Dance of Fire, Strike of Thunder shattered through Tide of Dark Water, slamming into Olsen.

“Ahh!!!”

A cry of agony tore from him—his body wrenched by immense force, every pore, every cell searing with pain from fire and lightning.

“Danger—go!”

Murphister shot a beam of dark energy at Olsen, stabilizing his crumbling form. At the same time, Heishang darted forward, moving so fast it generated a sonic boom, deepening the battlefield’s grim tension.

“Kill!”

Meilongnika’s voice rang in every ear. He himself dashed ahead, reaching Rulans’ side, intercepting Heishang.

“Let you all witness my Earth Bear once more!”

Miloslav cast his spell. The earth trembled—then rose, forming an eight-meter-tall colossal bear of stone and soil.

The Earth Bear charged, hurling men aside, crushing them beneath its feet.

Dao’en laughed aloud, summoning a five- to six-meter fire elemental—capable of melee combat or hurling fireballs, immensely powerful.

Meanwhile, mages unleashed their spells—flying stones, wind blades, ice arrows—flooding the field with magic.

Even the mana cannons brought by Rulans were deployed. Before infantry or cavalry could charge, a dazzling barrage of magical attacks lit the sky.

Boloer sighed softly: “It’s been ages since I fought alongside mages. These human artillery pieces—still devastating as ever.”

No longer content to remain a mere spectator, he drew his longsword, crying out, "Gryphon Knights, charge!"

High above, the gryphons let out a resounding screech and dove straight down.

Yet the dragon was faster, its momentum far fiercer.

Carlos swept behind the enemy lines, unleashing a baptism of both frost and flame.

Faced with such an onslaught, the magic cannons brought by Orson’s men and the spellcasting of his daughter-in-law, Danica Purple-Thunder, and her peers were utterly futile—completely and hopelessly inadequate.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Amidst the cascading roar of explosions, the soldiers of the Witch-Soul Clan were mowed down in massive swathes.

"It is a dragon!"

Mephistopheles fixed his gaze intently upon Carlos, muttering, "The very dragon Lord Salonas spoke of, the one that was supposed to be imprisoned!"

He had never anticipated encountering a dragon on this battlefield, much less that this Wing of Frostfire would be the exact beast he was searching for.

"Wuuu—"

Hesitating no longer, Mephistopheles pulled a horn from his breast and blew a sharp blast.

As the eerie melody rippled through the air, every member of the Witch-Soul Clan, including Orson and Black-Scar, was driven into a frenzy, and even Carlos, who was venting his fury by slaughtering the clan, felt a staggering impact.

Dense, intricate black lines materialized across the dragon's scales, tightening like a colossal web, constricting tighter and tighter.

Carlos stumbled mid-air, losing his footing, and began to plummet toward the earth.