A torrent of glacial energy surged forth, upheaving the ground, freezing, shattering, and annihilating it. Even the surrounding blizzard was dragged helplessly into the maelstrom by that eerie, magnetic pull.

Far ahead, where the frigid surge of energy had struck, a small hill lay obliterated. Enormous slabs of rock hurled skyward were now suspended in place, flash-frozen in mid-air by the seeping cold.

The frost behemoth's destructive might was on full display. But even through that cataclysmic assault, one unit pressed forward, charging unflinchingly into the heart of the storm, braving the baptism of ice and annihilation as it thundered toward the creature's skull.

The Lionheart Legion, now in phantasmal form, moved without falter or fear. In their eyes, the world had turned to shades of black and white; nothing remained but the straight, narrow road beneath their hooves.

Everything else—the obstacles pierced by that road, the foes striking at their shadows—were no more than illusions, unable to touch or hinder them. Their sole purpose was to run, unceasingly, along that indomitable path until they reached their mark.

In a blur of speed, the Lionheart Legion reached the base of the frost behemoth's gaping maw, from which endless torrents of killing frost spewed. In that instant, color flooded back into their vision. The world regained form. The invincible road beneath them turned once more into snowbound earth.

"Holy Barrier!"

Edward's voice rang out as the behemoth's breath surged around them. The blizzard drew them in like a vortex, threatening to swallow riders and mounts alike, but Edward had already gathered his strength.

At that precise moment, he unleashed the combined might of his fighting spirit and the divine power of the God of Light.A colossal wall forged of both energies erupted upward with a resounding crash, slamming beneath the monster's chin and forcing its gaping jaws shut mid-breath.

The creature had never conceived that anything could charge straight through its own frost breath, ascend to its head, and strike at it from below. The Holy Barrier caught it utterly off guard, snapping its jaws closed and sealing its own unleashed energy inside.

Denied an outlet, the energy surged downward through its throat. With a thunderous rupture, the junction between its neck and body split apart. Shards of glacial armor exploded outward, along with a spray of frost and frigid vapor.

Though the frost behemoth was not flesh and blood, its agonized, furious roar was a clear sign that it had taken damage. Its turtle-like limbs clawed backward, scraping across the ice as it tried to retreat—to bring the attackers beneath its gaze, into its range of destruction.

Below, the Lionheart Legion did not move to pursue it. At their center stood Leon Leonardo, the Grand Duke of Lionheart himself, gripping his weapon with both hands. It was a legendary sword, though plain in design: the Valorous Longsword.

It had neither ornamentation nor strange enchantments, only a purity of form and unmatched strength. Its simplicity was its perfection: its fighting spirit amplification and its impossible sharpness and resilience were more than enough to elevate it beyond any mortal blade.

All around him, the knights of the Lionheart Legion channeled their fighting spirit outward, sending it streaming into Leon's body.

He accepted their power in full, guiding it through himself and into the Valorous Longsword. Upon its edge, a titanic aura-blade began to take shape, swelling ever larger, brighter, deadlier.

Such an open, deliberate charge of energy left the entire formation momentarily defenseless—but against a legendary frost behemoth of that magnitude, there was no other way.

The frost behemoth, staggering backward, was struck from the flank before it could stabilize. A massive figure had surged forward at blinding speed, pouring all his strength into his plated shoulder before slamming it into the creature's skull.

The collision was cataclysmic. Legendary fighting spirit, amplified by a frightening quantity of momentum, smashed through ice and hide alike. The creature's massive head jerked violently to the side. It wasn't mortal flesh—there was no brain to pierce, no vital point to crush—but the blow was enough to break its stance and freeze its movements.

Above the creature, a black sun had risen. Its cold and devouring light poured down upon the frost behemoth, sapping its power, and channeling the stolen strength into the Lionheart Knights below. It was the work of another legend, lending his might from afar.

Two legendary potentials, the Path to Glory and the Black Sun, converged to drive the knights' strength to its peak. Their energy surged faster and faster; in only moments, the aura-blade on Leon's sword had grown past five meters in length. And it continued to expand, its brilliance unrestrained.

Uller had long noticed these two legendary knights. Neither had concealed their presence. Just as they'd promised, if Aleisterre ever struck at this strange, ancient ruin, they would meet again. And so they had. The two former legends of Selwyn were keeping their word.

The blow had shattered one side of the frost behemoth's skull, enraging the colossal creature beyond reason. Its massive head reared back. From deep within its core, tides of freezing power burst outward in every direction—an indiscriminate wave of annihilation meant to dislodge the armored knight clinging to its head.

"Quit struggling already," growled a voice amid the storm. "Just die. Rod, help me cripple this thing once and for all."

Perched upon the frost behemoth's skull, Gallier roared, his beastlike claws gouging deep into the ice as he unleashed waves of fighting spirit to counter the surging tides of frost that battered him. These colossal beasts, whatever else they lacked, possessed reservoirs of energy far beyond what any human legend could hope to contain.

"Coming through!"

Roderick sprinted across the creature's massive spine, his every stride shattering ice. Near the head, he leapt high into the air, fighting spirit surging from every pore. His warhammer was raised overhead, its head wreathed in a storm of energy. With a shout, he brought it crashing down upon the behemoth's skull.

Twin detonations overlapped—one from Rod's blow, the other from Gallier's strike. Gallier drove his knee into the beast's head, the counterforce hurling him backward through the air.

Rod's hammer struck true, erupting into a violent blast that shattered both weapon and ice as fragments scattered in all directions.

The combined assault of two legendary knights tore the blizzard apart. The frost behemoth reeled, its head lolling, mind slipping into confusion. For a brief, critical instant, it forgot why it raged.

But its flesh—if it could be called flesh at all—was thick and unyielding. It shook its battered head, its ice-plated skull dented but not broken, and began to lurch forward again, preparing to strike back at the Lionheart Knights below.

By then, however, Duke Leon's attack was ready. The longsword trembled in his hands, pushed to its absolute limit. The aura-blade sheathing it now stretched more than thirty meters long, vibrating at a frequency that made the air itself scream. The Lionheart Duke's forearms bulged with strain, veins standing out against his skin. Even for a legendary knight, wielding such raw, explosive power was no simple feat.

Gathering every ounce of his strength, Leon stepped forward. His armored boot struck the ground with such force that the snowburst rippled outward in a white explosion. Then, twisting his wrists, he leveled the massive sword toward the ruptured wound at the creature's neck, its one vulnerable point, and thrust forward.

The earth beneath him shattered. The recoil alone fractured the frozen plain. The colossal aura-blade pierced the storm, space itself seeming to ripple as it drove mercilessly through the gap and deep into the frost behemoth's body.

Upon impact, the energy blade detonated from within, releasing the full, terrifying force stored in its core. The blast ripped through the creature's torso, the beam of force tearing a path longer than the sword itself. And on the blade's surface, the rampant power of disintegration shredded the behemoth's body of living ice to ruin.

As the light finally faded, the frost behemoth's enormous shell, the turtlelike carapace that had once protected it, was split and mangled beyond recognition. Its massive frame collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.

Uller stepped forward, drew his bladed whip, and drove it deep into the creature's skull. With a savage pull, he tore it apart, cleaving the frozen head in two. The flow of its elemental core within flickered out completely. The beast was dead.

"The blizzard... it's weakening?"

Edward glanced around. The eternal snowstorm that had howled across the plains was fading. The air, once thick with ice mana, grew still; the sun above was breaking through, pale and clear. The frost behemoth's death had stilled the tempest.

Uller closed his eyes briefly, communing with his senses. "You're right," he said. "The enemy's forces have withdrawn into the ruin. They must've recognized our strength. They're no longer advancing. They've raised a barrier around the site, choosing to fortify their position rather than fight."

Leon looked toward the distant St. Anna Peaks, where an icy-blue wall of magic now encircled the entire mountain. The ruins' defenders had turtled up.

"Cowards," he muttered. "Bring the Winterhold magicians here. Whether we intend to storm it or not, we'll see if that barrier can be broken."

Now that the storm had subsided, the magicians from Winterhold arrived under knightly escort within the hour. They began their inspection of the icy bastion shielding the ruin.

"The mana flow is strong," one murmured, tracing the sigils glowing faintly within the ice. "There are abundant energy reserves. But the array's structure and nodal alignment—"

"—you see it too?" another interrupted. "This formation's archaic. Its construction methods are ancient."

A third gave a dry chuckle. "Ancient? More like obsolete. This thing's so outdated, it belongs in a museum."

The magicians exchanged uneasy looks, all reaching the same conclusion: the barrier encircling the old ruin, though mighty in power, was a relic of lost centuries, a formation built on magical theory several eras out of date.