The battlefield had been drowning in blood. Now, it was drowned in light.
Gaius felt the shift in the air before he even saw them—the crackling hum of refined Qi, the weight of absolute authority pressing down on the battlefield like an executioner's blade. His exhausted body instinctively reacted to the presence, his muscles tightening, his mind screaming at him to kneel.
Not out of fear. Not out of reverence.
But because that was the natural order of things.
The Imperial Nobility had arrived.
A dozen figures stood atop the broken trench lines, their armor gleaming despite the filth and carnage, their postures relaxed, almost indifferent, as if war was something beneath them. They did not fumble in the mud, did not tremble beneath the weight of exhaustion. Where the common soldiers bled, the Scions of the Great Houses stood untouched.
They had not fought for survival.
They had come to deliver judgment.
The woman at their head exuded a presence unlike the others. Even among the nobles, she stood apart. Her features were carved with the sharp elegance of a blade, her black-and-gold armor polished to perfection, her long platinum hair braided with thin strands of silver. A crest of laurels, infused with divine Qi, sat upon her brow like a crown.
Her sword was already drawn, yet she stood perfectly still, watching. Studying.
Judging.
The Blood Titan rose from the wreckage, his massive body covered in scorched flesh, his Qi sputtering but unbroken. His bestial eyes locked onto her, and something like warped amusement flashed through his gaze. He was a monster of war, a living relic of Bellum's brutal warrior creed, but even he could recognize what stood before him.
A true noble of the Imperium.
"One of the golden ones," the Blood Titan rumbled, rolling his massive shoulders. Ash and embers fell from his burned skin, but his wounds had already begun to heal. The resilience of a Warfather's bloodline. "You arrived too late, little princess. Your mongrel soldiers are already dead."
The noble woman tilted her head, as if considering his words. Then, with an elegant flick of her wrist, she shook the blood from her blade, the motion casual, effortless. Her golden eyes, devoid of emotion, met the warlord's.
"You have already lost," she said simply.
The Blood Titan sneered, hefting his war axe. "Your kind hides behind bloodline gifts. You don't know war, noble girl. You don't know what it is to fight, to kill with your own hands, to carve your name into history with your own blood and steel."
The noble exhaled softly, almost in disappointment. "That is where you are mistaken."
And then she moved.
It wasn't a step. It wasn't even a dash. It was something beyond speed.
One moment, she was standing atop the trench. The next, she was beneath the Blood Titan's guard, her blade flashing in a perfect arc.
The warlord barely managed to bring his axe down—too late.
The golden sword passed through him like a whisper.
A single heartbeat later, his left arm fell from his body.
A heavy silence followed.
The Blood Titan stared at the stump where his arm had been, as if his mind was still trying to process what had happened. His axe, still held in his severed hand, dropped into the dirt with a dull thud.
A beat passed. Then—
He roared.
The battlefield trembled beneath the force of his rage, Qi exploding outward in a violent storm. His remaining hand clenched into a fist, his body swelling with unholy strength as he called upon the last dregs of his bloodline power.
The noble didn't even flinch.
She merely lifted a single finger.
"Be silent."
A golden pressure slammed into the warlord, crushing his knees into the dirt. He howled, fighting against it, his muscles bulging, his bones creaking under the strain—but it was futile. The noble's Qi pressed down on him like the weight of an entire world.
He struggled for three full seconds.
Then his body collapsed.
A Warchief of Bellum, an immortal warrior who had slaughtered entire cities, lay prostrated in the dirt like an insect before a god.
Gaius watched in silence, a cold weight settling in his gut.
He had fought tooth and nail for every breath on this battlefield. He had struggled, bled, nearly died countless times. And yet, this woman had undone the Blood Titan with a single movement.
The divide between the common soldiers and the true nobility was absolute.
The warlord let out a final, ragged breath. His body twitched once. Then he stilled.
Dead.
The noble barely spared him another glance before turning her gaze toward the remnants of the battlefield.
Toward them.
Her golden eyes swept over the surviving soldiers of the Imperium, taking in the filth-streaked faces, the battered armor, the blood-caked hands. Her expression remained unchanged.
Dispassionate. Unmoved.
These were not her people.
They were not her soldiers.
They were expendable.
Aulus, still clutching his injured ribs, stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral. "My lady," he said, voice even. "You arrived just in time. We were nearly overrun."
The noble tilted her head slightly, regarding him as if she had just now noticed his existence.
"Yes," she said. "I suppose you were."
Aulus' jaw clenched, but he did not rise to the bait. Instead, he inclined his head. "Legatus Aulus Kor, 3rd Battalion. And this is—"
"I did not ask for introductions."
Her voice was not unkind. But it was cold, disinterested, as if speaking to a servant rather than a fellow soldier.
Aulus held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded stiffly.
Gaius, watching from a few paces behind, said nothing.
He had seen men fight and die like animals today. He had killed men today—dozens of them, each life snuffed out in the chaos of war, each death necessary for survival.
And yet, in this noble's presence, it felt as though none of it had mattered.
This was the weight of the nobility. Not just their power, but their utter detachment from those beneath them.
"You are dismissed," the noble continued, already turning away. "Return to your camp. The noble houses will take it from here."
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, slowly, one by one, the surviving soldiers lowered their weapons.
The battle was over