The residual power of the "Star-Flame Descent" temporarily halted the monster offensive, leaving all survivors staring in shaken shock at the dwarf standing in the center of the fire ring.

  And this was only the beginning.

  Yggdrasil raised his hands once more. A vast, tidal mana swept across the surroundings, pressing the night sky into a deathly silence.

  "What... what else is he going to do?" A young guard swallowed hard, his voice trembling with reverence.

  In the next instant, a blinding golden light rose from beneath Yggdrasil’s feet.

  His stout, burly frame slowly lifted off the ground. His rounded, firm belly shone within the holy light, displaying a heavy and solemn curve. His long brown hair whipped about in the radiance, and his silver-white beard reached down to his waist, its metal ornaments reflecting a fierce brilliance.

  He was still that same solid dwarf—he had not changed—yet, crowned by divine light, he appeared as immovable as a mountain range.

  As he slowly ascended, six halos unfurled one by one behind him, emitting a low, resonating hum.

  The first pair of pure white wings stretched from his back, as clean and flawless as the first light of dawn. The second pair opened from between his shoulder blades, like thunder tearing through the night curtain. The final pair unfurled from his waist, carrying a weight of heavy glory and majesty.

  Three pairs of wings—six wings in total, fully spread.

  Under the night sky, he was like a proxy of the gods, transcending the mortal world.

  The entire city of Khagurem fell into an instantaneous silence. The wind died, the fires dimmed, and only the six-winged dwarf remained suspended in the heavens.

  "...Six wings..." "No, that is no angel... that is... the Proxy of God!"

  Shock and reverence nearly consumed the souls of everyone present. Even the most steadfast dwarven warriors could not help but lower their weapons and sink to one knee.

  Then, the sky vibrated. The space behind Yggdrasil rippled like the surface of water, and a massive, circular golden magic circle manifested. Around its edges coiled countless ancient inscriptions—the "Creation Script," predating both race and history.

  The symbols flickered as if recounting the mysteries of the world’s birth, every pulse vibrating through the soul.

  From the center of the circle, a pillar of light erupted, piercing straight through the firmament, as if opening a gateway between the gods and the world of men.

  "What... is that..." On the northwestern defense line, Lord Eric nearly lost his voice, his words breaking with tremors. Even though he had seen countless battlefields, he had never witnessed such a holy manifestation.

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  That Heavenly Gate slowly opened in the sky. Reliefs and golden rings adorned the sides of the portal, and tides of light surged from within. Then, winged silhouettes stepped out from the gate—

  Angels.

  First came two Archangels with four wings each. They flew to Yggdrasil’s left and right, hovering motionless like sentinels. Subsequently, dozens—nearly a hundred—angels with one or two wings formed a disciplined array. Holding holy spears and blades of light, their armor reflecting the sacred radiance, their countenances were solemn and majestic.

  This was the Legion of God.

  The crowds within the city had already prostrated themselves; countless people prayed with trembling voices, tears flowing from the intensity of the moment and the feeling of purification.

  Balin stood upon the wall, looking up at that stout, six-winged silhouette. That familiar rounded belly, that silver beard and brown hair. Even swallowed by divine light, he recognized him. That was Yggdrasil—the man he loved.

  "...Yggda... you..." His voice was hoarse, tears rolling down, filled with pride and love.

  On the other side, amidst the ruins of the central front, Hag Ironmane stood dazed, looking up. The mountains and forges he believed in seemed insignificant in this moment. This sight completely overturned his entire understanding of "power."

  At this moment of universal focus, Yggdrasil opened his eyes. Golden light flashed deep within his pupils. He raised his hand, pointing toward the monster tide surging once more in the darkness.

  Right then, the monsters finally reacted. The low-level undead, who were just a moment ago roaring in their charge, suddenly let out a collective low wail—a sharp, piercing sound, as if their souls were being scorched by white-hot fire. Many skeletons and ghouls shattered the moment the light touched them, their dark mist evaporating like smoke.

  The larger ghouls and aberrant monsters roared in struggle, yet they could not advance another inch—as if invisible chains bound their entire bodies. Every breath forced a pained howl out of them under the pressure of the holy light.

  Farther away, even the Lich could no longer maintain its composure. The ice-crystal scepter it held vibrated violently, and the barrier runes began to twist and peel away under the pillar of light.

  "Impossible... this power... it does not belong to this world!" The Lich’s voice trembled, turning from cold indifference to sheer panic for the first time.

  Across the entire battlefield, the dark tide finally stagnated for the first time. All things held their breath, awaiting judgment.

  Yggdrasil spoke. His voice was not loud, yet it fell into everyone’s heart like the tolling of a great bell:

  "In the name of Zareon—I grant you judgment."

  The moment the words fell, the sound of the wind vanished. The flickering of the flames was suppressed, as if fearing the presence of that light pillar. Even the most desperate cries broke mid-air, turning into a silence suppressed to the extreme.

  In that silence, soldiers knelt one by one. The clatter of armor hitting the ground joined together, yet no one found it noisy. Someone clutched a shield covered in cracks, tears dripping uncontrollably; someone threw a broken weapon to the ground, hands clasped and trembling, lips moving but unable to speak. A veteran sobbed quietly, murmuring a sentence almost too faint to hear: "He... He truly sees us..."

  The crying of children deep within the ruins gradually ceased. They looked up, eyes reflecting the gate slowly opening in the night sky. There was no fear on their faces, only a peace that came from nowhere. Mothers pulled their children into their arms, yet could not help but look up as well, as if to confirm they were not in a dream.

  No one doubted. This was not magic, nor was it an illusion. the tremor brought by that light and fire was more ancient and irresistible than any incantation.

  It was an echo—a resonance from a much higher, farther place. It was not the people calling out to Him; it was that He had finally looked back at the people.

  In that moment, everyone understood. They had not been abandoned. All this blood and fire was not a struggle in isolation.

  The judgment had begun. And this time, heaven and earth truly answered them.

  The true identity of Zareon is revealed. In the darkest hour of Khagurem, the Proxy of God has descended with a celestial legion. This isn't just a turning point in the war; it's a moment that redefines everything the dwarves knew about their world.

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