His target was the open gate of Gundrak!
A golden-red halo circulated around him, forming a protective barrier; enemy swords and blades striking it were either repelled or slowed!
His steps were firm and swift, and each swing of the warhammer in his hand carried immense force, smashing shields and sending enemies flying!
He was no longer just one person, but an unmoving banner, a light tearing through the darkness!
"Lord Toka!"
"It's a miracle! The Dragon God's blessing!"
"Follow him! Charge in!"
The allied soldiers, who had been on the verge of collapse under the Frost Howl slaughter, witnessed this incredible scene!
Toka, like a reborn God of War, charged towards the gate with an unstoppable momentum!
Despair was instantly ignited into a fervent fighting spirit!
The surviving soldiers let out thunderous roars, finding their backbone once more, and, heedless of everything, followed the figure shining with divine light, launching a desperate counter-charge!
As they approached Toka, that sacred radiance also gathered upon them, transforming into their strength!
Toka charged at the very front, his warhammer smashing fiercely into the Frost Howl soldiers, seizing control of the mechanism to close the gate.
He single-handedly held back all the Frost Howl soldiers who surrounded him, attempting to close the gate, until the allied forces arrived and occupied the gate.
Gundrak's southeast gate was, at this point, declared breached!
—A dividing line—Two hours after the gate was breached.
Bodies were piled in layers along the roadside, almost blocking the entire gate, including allied soldiers and, more numerous, Frost Howl soldiers and the previously driven-out Loa guards.
The surviving allied warriors leaned on their weapons, gasping for breath, many wounded, fatigue replacing the fervor of the charge.
The battle was not over; it had merely opened the door to even bloodier street fighting.
Toka leaned against the cold stone wall of the gate, slumping to the ground to rest.
The light from the divine emblem on his chest had already dimmed.
The seemingly infinite power that had sustained him through the charge and battle was quietly receding.
What remained was bone-deep exhaustion and intense soreness.
The backlash from over-activating the divine grace caused his vision to blacken in waves, and every breath was accompanied by pain.
The warhammer, which he had wielded effortlessly moments ago, now felt impossibly heavy, almost impossible to lift.
"Lord Toka!" His deputy, a warrior from the Lukare tribe, rushed to his side and crouched down, his face a mixture of awe and concern.
He quickly reported: "The scouts have already gone out! The message will soon reach Governor Skala!"
He paused, lowering his voice slightly, with a hint of complexity, "Also, those captives, the Loa guards who were driven out earlier…"
"They are willing to surrender. They only ask that we don't drive them back, don't make them face the Frost Howl overseers again—"
Toka laboriously lifted his eyelids, looking in the direction his deputy indicated.
In a corner, dozens of former Loa guard soldiers, their eyes still showing numbness and fear, were being watched by allied soldiers, huddled together.
They had dropped their weapons, their armor was tattered, like a group of trapped beasts who had lost their den and could only shiver in the wild.
Looking at their empty yet humbly pleading eyes, Toka's heart sank.
Just moments ago, it was this numb despair that had caused him to hesitate, leading to heavy casualties for the allied forces.
And now… he looked down at his blood-stained hands.
The warmth of the divine emblem still lingered, and the faint sacred power within him, like a candle flame in the darkness, was both clear and warm.
He suddenly understood Siye's words from back then, and he also understood the deeper meaning of the Dragon God bestowing this power upon him.
This power was not merely a weapon to defeat enemies, but also a spark to dispel despair and ignite hope.
It could slay enemies, and it could also warm those souls lost in the cold darkness.
A new kind of strength, not from divine grace but from an inner sense of responsibility, supported Toka as he shakily stood up.
He refused his deputy's help, took a deep breath, and walked, step by step, slowly yet firmly, towards the group of captives.
The captives saw him approaching, and their fear intensified, instinctively shrinking their bodies.
Toka stopped in front of them, without drawing a weapon.
He raised his hand, not to attack, but to take out his divine emblem.
"In the name of the Emberglow Dragon, Flame Keeper Obsidian—" Toka's voice was hoarse and weary, "—may his flame dispel the cold and chains from your hearts."
—A dividing line—Deep within Gundrak, in Quetzlun's divine cave.
The air was thick, permeated with a strong smell of blood and snake musk.
The snow leopard Loa, Naokya, lay on the cold black stone floor, her divine power being frantically drained by a greedy vortex.
On her other side lay the skeleton of the wind serpent, Saron High.
The wind serpent Loa Quetzlun was coiled behind Moragon, her slender tongue flicking out, emitting a satisfied hiss.
Her body seemed to have solidified and grown larger by another circle, her scales gleaming with an even darker, more sinister light.
Moragon's battle-axe was still dripping with golden divine blood. Through some unknown method, he had now returned to his troll form; the mutations caused by previously absorbing divine power seemed to have been completely eliminated.
Moragon stuck out his tongue, licking a drop of cold divine blood that had splattered on the corner of his mouth, a grim and sinister smile spreading across his face.
He felt the power within him, constantly growing from absorbing Naokya's essence, a power that filled and burned his blood, bringing supreme pleasure.
He slowly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes looking at the abstract wind serpent painting on the wall.
In the depths of that gaze, the wariness and exploitation he once held for his "ally" were now quietly changing.
The flames of greed burned fiercely, almost overflowing from his eyes.
Quetzlun's tongue-flicking motion paused slightly, as if sensing something, and her cold vertical pupils turned towards Moragon below her—
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