Her Graceful War Song novel Chapter 1461

The battle raged on with a ferocity that turned the sky to dusk and the earth to mud.

Blood, corpses, severed limbs, and agonized cries filled the air, suffocating Mount Whitemist in their wake.

Death came with the daylight, and the mountain was bathed in a thin, warm golden hue.

Rafael rode in, shouting for them to surrender and hand over Victor.

Victor shouted equally loudly, retorting that the people of Starhaven were treacherous. Once they laid down their weapons, only death awaited them. But if they fought on, there was still a slim chance of survival.

Yet, how could they hope to fight? The Starhaven forces were armed to the teeth, with six-barreled matchlocks capable of picking them off from afar.

It was a battle they could never win.

One by one, Victor's men fell, lifeless in the blood-soaked earth.

Victor raised his sword, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions: failure, death, despair.

Once, he had stood tall on the Southern Frontier—a hero among his people, his family's name soaring to new heights thanks to his victories. He was the pride of Sandoria, cherished and celebrated.

Now, everything he had gained from that land was slipping away, lost to the very land he had conquered.

He looked at Rafael, but the hand holding his blade had no strength left. Trembling, he could only point it weakly at his old enemy—there was too much unwillingness to accept reality in his heart.

In the end, Victor turned the blade on himself. Even with swords from all sides pressed against his neck, his blade reached his chin, cutting a thin line of blood.

Victor raised his head, locking eyes with Rafael, a cold fire burning in his gaze. "You cannot kill me. I will die by my own hand."

With those final words, he tilted his head back, the blade cutting deep into his throat. Blood poured out in a torrent.

Louis was the first to withdraw his blade. "You may choose to die by your own hand. It matters not to us. We only seek your head."

Above them, black crows and eagles circled, their wings blotting out the sky. Their cries were a funeral bell, foretelling the end.

As Victor's life slipped away, the last thing he saw was the darkness before him, filled with the sound of death.

Victor's head was severed with a brutal swiftness. The flow of blood had slowed, and the vast gaping hole in his neck no longer caused anger among the Sandoria soldiers. Instead, it was fear that gripped them.

With no leader, struggling any further meant death—perhaps an even worse one.