Lu Mingfei, become the King of Elden!

How to prove it in Chapter 137?

Edgar sat on the bench at the highest point of the city gate tower, like a cracked stone statue. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and his body was so heavy that he couldn't lift a single finger.

The armor he wore, once a symbol of glory for the knights of the lost homeland, was now covered with marks from swords and axes, and blood and dust had obscured its original silver luster.

The helmet was nowhere to be found, lying in a pool of blood, and all the supplies had been used up.

Both people and things had reached their limits; the only thing that remained intact was the lost knight's halberd left behind by his father.

This halberd accompanied his father in battle for many years and underwent reinforcement by various blacksmiths. It was thanks to it that Edgar was able to survive until now.

Thinking of this, Edgar couldn't help but smile bitterly.

It's just a matter of prolonging its existence.

The soldiers who fought alongside him fell one by one, their corpses perhaps lying in some corner below, already sacrifices for the hybrids' revelry. He himself was relentlessly pursued by those crazed creatures, and in the end, he could only hide in this lonely tower.

In the vast city of Moen, apart from his last faint breath, there was probably... no one left alive.

Lord Grek, I did my best...

Edgar closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the stench of blood in the air stung his lungs.

He sighed deeply.

After the war of shattering began, Lord Grek started to continuously draw troops from all over his fiefdom, and Moen City was no exception.

As the outermost castle of Nymgford, Moen's military defenses were already weak, and now they are even worse off.

However, as the outermost castle of Nymgford, Moen was easy to defend and difficult to attack. Due to its special historical background, it possessed powerful and abundant defensive weapons. With its terrain that was like an insurmountable barrier, Edgar firmly believed that even if he only had a few dozen veterans left, he would be able to hold off any enemy under the city walls until the banners of reinforcements appeared on the horizon.

However, the enemy did not come from outside at all.

The mixed-race rebellion erupted like a plague without warning. Those "blasphemers" who usually hunched over and endured whippings transformed into the most ferocious beasts. They smashed their shackles, hacking and slashing at the overseers who enslaved them with machetes and pickaxes, and then turned their blades on the unarmed civilians.

Screams and bloodshed instantly engulfed the entire city of Moen.

The events unfolded so suddenly that Edgar didn't even have time to issue a complete military order. Chaos, like a burst dam, completely overwhelmed the defenses. The central square fell, the castle was lost, and even the Tomb of Mourning, dedicated to the spirits of the ancestors, was not spared... Finally, even the "Greatsword of the Skull," passed down through countless generations and considered a spiritual symbol, was taken away.

That suddenly appearing, powerful hybrid like a lion... his strength left Edgar feeling hopelessly powerless.

Now, only a faint hope sustains Edgar's broken body: Daughter... Elena... you must be safe and sound...

Even in the early stages of the rebellion, he keenly realized that the event had exceeded his expectations, and he gathered his last bit of strength and did everything in his power to send his daughter out of the city.

He is the lord of Moen City and the master of this land.

Gathering the remaining troops, organizing resistance, sending out messenger hawks to call for help... these were his responsibilities, an inescapable burden for the land beneath his feet, for his fallen subjects, and for Lord Grek.

Even if this burden is enough to crush him, even if the situation in Moen City is beyond repair, at least he must take back that sword.

Just as Edgar was thinking this, preparing to rest and regroup before charging into the city again...
Click, click.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Edgar suddenly stood up and, based on his extensive experience, instantly recognized the sound as the sound of knight's armor boots.

The newcomer was not a hybrid, but a human.

Humanity?

Edgar was stunned. Were there still any living people left in Moen City?

No, that's not right.

He gripped the halberd of the lost knight tightly in his hand.

They couldn't have been soldiers from inside the city.

Such footsteps belong to elite knights.

Are they Lord Grek's reinforcements?

A glimmer of hope suddenly rose in Edgar's utterly despairing heart, but he still did not let his guard down.

Besides reinforcements, the newcomers are very likely enemies, perhaps even the masterminds of the mixed-race rebellion.
Click, click.

The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs, the shadows shifted, and a figure slowly appeared in Edgar's line of sight.

The man was covered in blood, as if he had crawled out of a pool of blood. His armor was worn and scratched, clearly showing he had been through a fierce battle, emerging from blood and fire. And although the armor was obscured by the grime, Edgar had no doubt that it was a set of silver Lost Knight Armor!
In an instant, countless thoughts exploded in his chaotic mind: Was it a knight from Stoneville under Lord Grek's command? Or a minion of another demigod? Or perhaps just a ranger who had come from afar to respond to the war, a former comrade of his father?

His mind was filled with questions, stuck in his throat, but he dared not utter a sound. He was in poor condition and had no chance of winning if he took action.

silence.

Amidst the nauseating smell of burning and blood, two sets of dilapidated, broken-down knight armors stand silently facing each other atop a tower at the pinnacle of despair.

"who are you?"

Edgar finally spoke, his voice hoarse from prolonged dehydration and exposure to smoke, but his chest remained as upright as ever.

The visitor did not answer his question, but instead looked him up and down.

After a long while, an unusually young voice came from inside the helmet, sounding somewhat muffled:

"Edgar? Lord Moen?"

Edgar was slightly taken aback. He didn't recognize the owner of the voice, but he still nodded subconsciously.

"I'm."

The young, lost knight did not readily believe him, but continued to ask:

"how to prove?"

Edgar wasn't annoyed by the blunt, almost rude, question; instead, he felt a bittersweet sense of agreement.

In this place littered with corpses, any trust can be fatal; only caution can save one's life.

He didn't speak, but reached his hand into the lining of the tattered breastplate, groping around until his fingertips touched the edge of an object, which he carefully pulled out.

It was a small metal insignia, derived from the sacred golden tree, which allowed him to release some simple prayers.

This mark is enough to prove his identity.

Edgar nervously displayed the insignia. He was not afraid, but his physical strength had reached its limit. He had heard that every Knight of the Lost Land was a skilled warrior, and if a battle were to break out, he had no confidence whatsoever.

He remained in that position, awaiting the other party's verdict. Was it assistance? Or the end?
(End of this chapter)