Lich for Hire

The Silvermoon Knight was destined to die in the orcish mountains, not in the desert.

Known fate could not be changed. That was an absolute law. No matter what Ambrose did, it would be impossible for him to kill the Silvermoon Knight here.

That was why, at first, Ambrose had been so terrified his soul had nearly fled his body. If he were facing an old monster who was fated not to die here, any struggle on his part would be meaningless.

But he quickly realized something: since the Silvermoon Knight was not meant to die here, then the Goddess of Fate's trial could not be about killing him.

The moment he realized that, Ambrose calmed down. Then, he noticed the key detail he had initially overlooked.

The Silvermoon Knight had only swung his sword once and had not continued attacking thereafter.

There were around a dozen figures fighting in the sky. Six of them were bathed in holy light, and were clearly legendary paladins of the Lyon Empire. The remaining fighters were legendary figures from the Dwarven Kingdom. Ambrose didn't recognize them individually, but he could tell that the two sides had initially been evenly matched—until that one strike. After the Silvermoon Knight's attack, the dwarven side had lost nearly a third of their forces.

That absurd old monster had slain four or five legends in a single blow. It was utterly ridiculous.

The other legendary paladins of Lyon were no weaklings either. They were relentlessly hammering the remaining dwarven legends, driving them into complete disarray.