11

Even before the four crossed into the Prontera premises, the city was already thrown into confusion. So much so that the entire streets were dotted with frantic residents, every household wanting to make a quick escape. Somehow this pandemonium inspired the notion that the battle would be lost even before it started.

After a moment longer, Prontera was empty and still except for the distant trudging of the Lord of Death's horse hooves, the residents seeking refuge at the open fields outside Prontera, some traveling to other neighboring cities like Izlude and Geffen. Some archers headed back to their hometown, Payon, to either seek temporary shelter or warn their fellow townsmen of the impending invasion of the capital city of Rune-Midgard.

The evening was soon turning into night, the sky transforming from fiery orange to dull maroon shades, something that made the oppressive feeling stronger. The orb of fire had retired beyond the mountain peaks, leaving the moon to relieve it's task.

Six figures suddenly materialized into the white stone streets of the Prontera square, all of them showing signs of nausea and giddiness after leaving the teleportation portal, some massaging their temples while some blinked repeatedly, trying to fight off the vertigo. The Avenger scanned around, realizing that the whole city had already made their escape. The only ones who remained behind were the Pronteran army, most of the departments systematically forming lines and formation. It only goes to show the determination and the tenacity of them to free this city from harm, their daily training and drills serving well now.

Cerberus was the slowest to recover, probably due to his heavy armor or probably traveled least through portals. After he felt his senses return to him, he jerked his head back at the sound of running footfalls. Recognizing a guard from the castle from the emblems on his armor and sleeve, he anticipated bad news from him since castle guards rarely leave the palace for news relaying tasks. The king must be really desperate, so he thought.

"Greetings, the respected guild of Avenger," the young guard bowed his head low. "The king requests your attendance as of this moment. Shall I lead the way?"

"Please do," the knight leader responded politely.

The baffled guild frowned, giving each other a questioning look. Putting their doubts aside for the moment, they tagged behind Cerberus, walking along the familiar route which led to the castle.

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"Might the king know of our misdeeds already?" Elemire asked, apparently just as perplexed as the Avenger as to why the king summoned them.

"Misdeeds? I'd prefer to use the word, retribution. Especially through the wrath of the four," Opium retorted.

Tien kept silent all the while, but tension had simply robbed him of his composure. He fingered with the buttons on his monk attire, earnestly hoping that the king would bring up nothing of the sort. But of course, better safe than sorry. Before this though, Tien had already prepared a lie. If the Avenger is indeed lying among the bloody, mutated corpse lying within the rubbles, how is he going to explain this if King Tristan brought it up?

Elemire strode up to her leader.

"Wipe that frown already, Tien. I'd wager my crossbow that nobody witnessed that except for the bunch of downgraded fools, who are pretty much resting in peace now."

The monk said nothing and continued following the guard who was leading the way. Maintaining his cool, he put aside all possible thoughts of being questioned as the guard pushed open the double doors and ushered them in.

The room was too posh even for political and battle discussions. Thick, exquisite carpet made out of Chimera's mane lay across the floor, covering every inch of it completely. Four mild torches hung at each corner of the wall, providing warm wafts of heat. Even the monk suddenly felt comfort surging through him abruptly, driving away the tension momentarily. The ambience and the light colors of the room somehow executed a soporiferous effect on visitors.

But Tien was not in the mood for indulging in the sheer comfort and the excellent hospitality. A long, oblong table that could easily seat about fifty people sat in the middle of the room. Glasses of wine were already prepared for the expected guests.

The Overlords plunked themselves onto the soft, cushion chair, while the Department Chiefs and the king looked at them uninterestingly. They looked like they were anticipating more guests…

"My lord," Tien greeted politely as possible. "May I inquire our purpose here? If possible, please say your piece quickly so we may take our leave. We have important matters to attend."

"I understand that the battle is fast approaching and you're eager for some kills, young man," the king said. "But we will not start just yet."

Tien brows furrowed.

"What? Do we come here –"

The double doors creaked open again, interrupting the monk's intension to leave. The Overlords stared in disbelieve when a familiar group of people entered. Opium spat his wine out at their sight.

"Greetings, my lord," Cerberus Twinedge spoke.

Smith elbowed Larzen in the ribs and turned to the king.

"My lord, it's about time we take leave for the battle. The horns hardly stop blaring after every sentence!"

King Tristan nodded his approval and the Chiefs quickly ran for their barracks. Apparently Smith was so excited about the battle that he knocked two glasses of wine over when he started his leave, muttering something like "here comes the hobbit!"

The Avenger took the seat opposite their nemesis. Sagi entered a moment later, passing surreptitious glances at his former guild, then took a seat beside Pay. Piffy cleared his throat rudely, expressing his disdain for the Overlords. That, however, did not sit well for the king. He had foreseen that an argument would break out eventually. It is obvious that this time the king must flex his authorities, especially at this point of time.

Opium slammed his palms on the table.

"What's your business here, lad? Here's no place to remedy that bad throat of yours!"

The king, sensing the argument heating up, immediately stood up and banged his fists on the table, his grey beard quivering.

"Enough! I brought both you guilds here for a reason, and it's definitely not to entertain myself by watching you all slit each other's throats!" The king regained his composure, resuming his seat. He heaved a sigh, stroking his beard. His eyes continued to pass menacing glares along the table, warning them to swallow whatever they were going to say. The king downed another glass of honey ale before proceeding.

"Now we start. I am asking you two," he looked at Tien and Cerberus. "I'm asking – No, I'm demanding you two to bury whatever hatchet you have, and join up against the four evil. I have no clue on how and why the four emerged out of sudden, and the final round of guild war of all times!"

Galor, draining his fifth glass of wine, waved his hand.

"Pardon me, my lord. How can we ensure that we don't get backstabbed during the fight?"

Even before the king could speak, menacing growls and crude retorts from the Avenger beat him to it. Piffy almost snapped, but was immediately held back by Cerberus in one reflexive pull. The crusader watched in amusement, especially Skull, who was glaring at him with such intense rage that his whites literally turned blood red.

King Tristan snatched a spear from a guard behind him and brought it down onto the table, the loud 'thud' demanding silence and attention from the two.

"The foul four are drawing nearer, and I'm afraid it had crossed into our city," he spoke softly, but dangerously. "There's already a war outside, that's enough to keep us panicky and busy. I don't wish to witness another war in here, between you two god-damned guilds! I have no choice, but to implement this rule."

A thunderous crash suddenly sounded, signaling the arrival of the four. But the king continued, as if it did not bother him.

"If any of you were to attack each other and exact your own little revenge plot, then I fear you'll face the death sentence. Unless you all co-operate and defend against the four, I'll arrange for these two major guilds to be expelled from Prontera, and never to return again."

Even the impulsive ones knew better than to protest, for the king was dead serious. The two leaders of the guild stood up, staring at each other without any hints of emotion. The cold marble expression showed nothing but grudge and resentment. They saluted each other reluctantly, then proceeded to salute the king, who nodded at the two promising guilds. Yet, Skull crossed his arms and looked away, his head telling him otherwise.

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The four demonic knights marched into the Prontera territory, leaving destruction and death in their wake. A couple of guilds, outraged at the collapse of their guild base, confronted the four fruitlessly. Their suicidal attempt brought them at the end of the four's blade tip.

The Lord of Death rode at the front, the rest trudging along with similar intension: to kill.

Poles and pillars fell at the swipes of the four's swords, the capital city now washed with debris and rubble. Their nefarious doings tainted the pure city with a dark aura, the followers of the church hurling imprecations at them, some genuflected before the church, praying for God to bless them and grant them a victory.

The Chiefs returned to their respective forces, yelling commands and plans for the final time. The tension augmented following another series of minor explosions and damaging of more properties. The armies were eager to charge forward and stop the carnage, but the horns for attack had not sounded just yet. They could only watch in misery as more buildings fell, each vowing that they would defend with all their might even though it meant death.

The two warlords stood at the foremost, surveying the Prontera forces, shouting for the Chiefs to rally them, for the charge would begin soon. Smith watched in anticipation as the four were nearing the fountain of Odin from the north, his fingers wrapped and unwrapped around his hammer and axe casually. Larzen pulled his trusted Zweihandler off his back where it was strapped. He held it up before him in a unique fighting stance; for he knew the horns were going to sound any moment.

The blaring of a horn split the air, inciting the war cries of the Prontera army. The mounted knights charged head-on towards the four, the foot soldiers and monks behind them provided backup. The first line of cavalries crashed into the four and fell almost instantly, for the four monstrosities were far too strong as compared even to trained Pecopecos.

However, the mounted knights did not give up just yet. They quickly hurled themselves up their mounts again, hoping to overwhelm the four. The foot soldiers followed soon after, waving their swords and bringing up their shield whenever necessary. Monks who were assigned for supporting purposes cast healing spells on felled knights, at the same time boosting their agility and reflexive capabilities.

More support and spell casting followed at the rear of the army. Groups of acolytes and priests shielded the army against attacks with their magical shell which encompassed them. Acolytes desperately murmured prayers to God, then placed their hands on the injured to heal them of their sufferings.

The clashing of steel against steel rang sharply, biting deep into the eardrums. Lines of army fell at their charge, apparently the magical shield was insufficient to hold off the four's retaliations. Combat monks leaped, smashing their fist into the large demons. The demons merely smote them with their shields and forearms, flinging them back several feet even before their knuckles touched them.

The phantom swordsman, Doppelganger, was one of the main four debilitating the army. What the defenders hit became air, for he was moving at ghostly speed. Their attacks only hit what appeared to be his shadows after his every step. No soldier managed to steal a hit on him. When the swordsman dashed, he practically became a blur with a trail of grayish shadows. One swift slash of his blade felled at least four soldiers, that posing as a major problem for the rapidly-diminishing army. Despite the priests' hasty heals, they could not match up to Doppelganger's speed of massacre.

The Lord of Death reined his steed, pushing him forward. His massive, silver mount trampled on cavalries who regrouped, ultimately stomping both knight and mount to death. His great, silver sword swung ominously over the heads of the receding forces, threatening to sever their heads off their neck. Unfortunately for knights who were unaware, they became hapless victims of the great sword.

Barrage after barrage of arrows rained onto then four, some etched deep into their armor. But most bounced off the hardy armor harmlessly, barely scratching them. Atop the walls hunters squatted in their vantage points, hoping to hinder their siege with their endless shower of arrows.

Occassionally blood splashed onto the armies, not from the hunters from the walls, but from the falcons which clawed the four from overhead. His steed proved to be an advantage in height, as skillful slashes from the Lord of Death brought many down. Deafening screeches escaped from the falcons when they met the massive silver blade.

Smith Hammertop looked behind him after he was flung back when his attack was repelled. He saw the army's morale dropping, the ground piled with more corpse than those who were alive. Fear suddenly gripped him tightly, more for the safety of this city rather than his oncoming death. The warlord had served Prontera for thirty years, and had witnessed victories after victories, surviving every evil that threatened the city. The pessimistic side of him told him that this would be the last time he would see this city, or will he?

The Abyss Knight swung his sword at the warlord's neck, and it swooshed past him when he ducked. Shouting a battle cry, he thrust his hammer towards the ebony knight's chest and smashed his left arm with the axe. The Abyss Knight staggered backwards, his red, fiery eyes gleaming brighter. He leapt onto the warlord, his black sword hanging over his head. Smith sidestepped the downward slash, thrusting his hammer to the knight's chest again, but failed.

The knight smacked the flat side of the blade against his wrist, and the hammer fell from his hands. In one nimble move, he backhanded the stout warlord in the face with an armored fist. Smith sight blurred, the ground suddenly swaying beneath him. Blood poured out from his nose, his white hair strewn in a bloody mess.

He heard the knight approach him, tapping his sword against his thigh with rhythm. Opening his good eye, he saw a blurred image of the ebony knight sheathing his sword, drawing out a black dagger from his belt. Smith felt a hand grabbed him and pulled him nearer to the knight.

"You're finished."

The black dagger was on its way towards the heart of the warlord, then stopped midway. The knight suddenly howled in pain, dropping the dagger. Larzen pulled his Zweihandler off the kidneys of the knight, kicking him aside.

"Men! Retreat to the church!"

Larzen fended off an attack by an approaching Stormy Knight, and screamed his command for the second time. He pulled the unconscious Smith over his shoulders, and ran for the church.

The blacksmiths withdrew pouches of zeny and hurled it at the four evil, exploding into a bright flash of golden light upon contact. The brief distraction allowed the remaining forces to run for the church, even though the Lord of Death was unaffected by the mammonite, since he himself was a large shining apparition.

A handful of blacksmiths aimed their axes and threw it in the silver demon's head, hoping to buy more time for their escape. Their efforts were futile, however, when all their axes were shattered by the blow of the great, silver sword. The blacksmiths who threw axes did not even bother to see the damage. They turned and ran after the rest had made their way safely to the church.

The enraged Lord of Death ordered the chase after the bright golden light receded. The silver steed galloped madly, at a speed no Pecopeco could catch up. The heavy metal hooves thudded against the white marble ground, causing a slight tremor after each landing of the hooves.

Targetting a blacksmith in range, he raised his massive sword for the kill, then stopped abruptly. The other three approached him, just as perplexed as the silver knight was. He tried wielding his sword again, but something held him back. A strong spiritual being or some sort of power was preventing them from further attacks.

"God had answered our prayers!" a few acolytes shouted in exhilaration.

"Indeed! The holiness of the church is holding them back!"

Then it dawned on the four on what was weakening them, immobilizing them. For hundreds of years Prontera had been the city where priests and acolytes carried out tasks and duties in the name of God, and preserving the grand church, the main feature of the city. Prontera had since been the bastion of holiness, where many sought blessings from God.

And because of the hundred years of preserving the church and daily worshipping of God, a purifying, yet strong aura of sacred powers protected the city from countless hazards. Not excluding the four, no matter how formidable they were.

The sacred aura drove the four back, eventually causing the Stormy knight to double over. The Abyss knight fell to the floor on one knee, his hands clutching his head in agony. Apparently, the aura intensified. The blue, storm blade fell from the Stormy knight's hands, clattering onto the floor with sparks flying in all directions. He then fell backwards, letting out a howl that made the heavily battered forces shrank.

"Let's go," Lord of Death managed a growl.

The silver knight waved his blade, and a warp portal formed. The four leaped into the portal quickly, to evade the growing powers emanating from the grand church. However, the army had no time to celebrate. After the portal closed, mobs of the four's spawns materialized and started their attack without delay.