The soldiers surged through the gates, their war cries echoing as they rode out on beasts that left Malik staring in wonder.
These creatures looked as though they had been forged from pure bullion and poured into the mold of a horse, but they were not the equines Malik knew. They were creatures birthed from myth. The thick hair covering their bodies shimmered with a brilliant, blinding gold, as if the sun itself had clothed them in its rays. Their manes and tails were not made of hair, but rather intertwined strands of gold leaf and vibrant, young wildflowers that danced in the breeze like a poem written in light. With every step their golden hooves took upon the sand, halos of soft illumination radiated outward, as if the earth itself were sanctifying their path.
Their faces resembled those of stags, adorned with two long, curved horns. The soldiers gripped these horns instead of reins, using them to steer the beasts left or right, and pulling them back to halt.
Two hundred of the three hundred men charged forward, roaring:
"For Nebras!"
They leveled their spears at the Sand Soldiers. Within a minute, the two lines clashed—flesh and gold meeting sandstone, scimitars, and rock-hewn shields.
Chaos erupted. Dust plumed into the air. Men fell from their golden stags, and the beasts themselves stumbled, struggling to push through the dense, heavy line of the enemy constructs.
Malik watched intently. He noticed a stark division: the soldiers who managed to pierce the Sand Army's ranks were those whose weapons glowed with that strange, radiant energy. The rest, fighting with mundane steel, were bogging down, their strikes glancing off the compressed sand armor. Kaser, meanwhile, was a force of nature, advancing deep into the enemy lines, his twin axes spinning fiercely, reducing dozens of Sand Soldiers to shattered chunks and blowing dust.
Malik stepped back from the broken doorway, retreating into the upper chamber. He looked down the ladder at the Princess and the Vizier.
"Can you two fight?" he asked, his tone brisk.
The Princess stepped forward, her chin raised with confidence. "We are the strongest here, Lord Nebras."
"And what are your capabilities, Princess?" Malik asked as he began his descent down the ladder.
Yasmin cleared her throat, standing a little taller. "I follow the Path of the Sun. It is a Path that allows me to refine several abilities, such as manipulating Light and Flame. It also allows me to grant the power of 'Coating' to others for a brief period if their own reserves are depleted. I am like the sun, and those around me are the planets. I grant them light and strength to endure."
Malik understood absolutely nothing about this world's magic system, but he was certain it was agonizingly complex and would likely give him a headache before he mastered it. But there was no time for a full lecture now. She had Flame, and that was exactly what he needed for his plan. Furthermore, she could lend him power until he figured out how to unlock his own. This was far better than he had hoped.
He reached the bottom of the ladder, wiped the sweat and dust from his forehead with his sleeve, and turned to her.
"How many soldiers can you empower with your Coating?"
Yasmin placed an index finger to her lips, calculating. "Ten. No more. I am still learning and refining my power every day."
Malik nodded. He then shifted his gaze to the Vizier, a sneer playing on his lips.
"And you... what is your power?"
The Vizier visibly struggled to keep from rolling his eye at the blatant disrespect. He answered stiffly.
"I am at the Second Stage of the Brown Dwarf Hero Path. The Coating color for this Path is brown."
Malik barked a laugh. "The name suits you perfectly. And how many stages does this Hero Path have?"
The Vizier's face flushed red with anger, his hand drifting instinctively toward his sword hilt. The Princess intervened swiftly, stepping between them.
"There are nine stages to the Hero Path, corresponding to the Stars," Yasmin explained quickly. "But they are in their weakest state right now. The alignment of the World tilts toward Evil—the Black color. The Hero Path requires the World to tilt toward Good—the White color. Conversely, the Tyrant's Path is currently the absolute strongest. Anyone who walks it can advance rapidly and refine their Stellar Core much faster than someone on the Hero Path, which currently clashes with the very nature of the World."
She paused, taking a breath before diving into the mechanics. "The power of the Tyrant synchronizes with the proliferation of Dao particles. These particles originate from the spread of Evil and are generated by the suffering of humans, trees, stones, animals, birds, fish—any entity in this world. The more they suffer, the more Dao particles saturate the air. A follower of the Tyrant's Path absorbs these to refine their power, advancing to the Second Stage, then the Third, all the way to the Ninth, just like the Hero Path."
"The Hero Path," she continued, "utilizes Dai particles. These stem from states of tranquility, calmness, peace, and comfort experienced by creation. A Hero absorbs Dai to refine their strength and ascend the Stellar Stages."
Malik rubbed his chin, looking down as he tried to digest this dense drop of lore. Dao for suffering, Dai for peace. Nine stages. It's a game of scales.
"And the Path of the Sun?" Malik asked, looking back up. "What rank is that within the Hero Path?"
"It is a derivative Path," Yasmin clarified. "The primary Hero and Tyrant Paths branch out into many specialized sub-paths. For example, the Path of the Mage is derived from the Tyrant's Path. That is why Mages are considered one of the vilest disciplines. No one specializes in Magecraft unless they harbor evil intent."
Malik remembered the towering pillars of fire that had erupted from the ground and incinerated Nebras's soldiers a century ago.
"But the Mages in the battle a hundred years ago used Flame," Malik pointed out. "And you use Flame. What is the difference?"
The Vizier spoke up, his voice tight, words grinding through his teeth. "The Flame of the Sun differs fundamentally from the Flame of the Earth. Flame Mages draw their fire from the subterranean depths of the world, fueled by magma and destruction. She draws hers from the celestial sun. However... all of this is common knowledge. If you were truly the Hero as you claim, you would already know this. Yet, I observe that you understand nothing."
Malik's head snapped toward the Vizier. His relaxed features hardened instantly, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare.
The Princess quickly threw her hands up in a placating gesture. "He does not mean what he says, Lord Hero! We know your memory is clouded. A hundred years is an eternity. There is no doubt your memories will return in time."
Malik forced his anger down, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly until his knuckles turned white.
"Come," Malik commanded abruptly. "The battle will not wait for a history lesson. I need you to conserve your energy, Princess, because I will need your Flame. And I need you to grant me your Coating. My own channels of power have not yet opened. I still need time."
The Princess nodded vigorously, her face lighting up with joy. She was going to support the Great Hero. He needed her. This was a dream realized after a century-long nightmare.
Within minutes, the three of them were mounted on the golden, stag-like beasts, tearing through the dust and chaos of the battlefield. Malik rode at the front, his azure sword held high. It now glowed with a brown light—borrowed from the Princess—far dimmer than the brilliant gold he had seen a hundred years ago, but for his current plan, it would have to be enough.