Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 221: My Consuming Fire

Mikael sat tall in the saddle, his steel-plated armor glinting underneath the dull morning sun. Behind him, his bright red cloak fluttered like a herald's banner.

Around and behind him, five hundred elite soldiers rode, clad in blackened armor adorned with the silver lion of the royal house.

The silent pounding of hooves across the plains mirrored the heartbeat in Mikael's chest. This was not some kind of military parade. It would have been a much happier event if it had been that. No. This was a funeral march. For the death of the old world.

As they crested the final ridge overlooking the shattered remains of Rainhold, Mikael raised a gauntleted hand. His horse slowed to a canter, then stopped. The men behind him did the same, silence filling the air around him.

Below them, Rainhold was a ruin. A cratered skeleton of its former self. Smoke still rose from some places, but the air was generally clearer than it had been when the city had faced destruction.

Rubble filled the space of what had been Rainhold, with the only structures taller than a man being what was left of the walls around the city. But what stood out most were the tents.

Hundreds of them.

They formed a crescent around the hollowed center of the city. Just like he'd wanted.

Mikael allowed himself a small smile. He'd given the order in secret, directing his generals to split their arriving forces into scattered units that entered the ruins from different roads.

He didn't want the Church sniffing out what he was doing until it was too late.

"Come." He spurred his horse forward, and the soldiers behind him followed, riding into the ruins of Rainhold.

News of his presence immediately spread and the soldiers went down on a knee as he rode through.

When he got to the center of the ruins, he dismounted, his generals coming forward to kneel.

He waved a hand for them to be at ease and they fell into position behind him as he walked.

"Report." He commanded, once he reached the base of what had once been Rainhold's cathedral steps.

The two generals stepped forward. The first general, a grizzled veteran with iron-gray hair, saluted with a fist to chest. "All squadrons accounted for. Casualties from the infected are non-existent. No signs of them. There are also minimal signs of rogue banditry."

The second general, younger but no less sharp, followed. "Supply lines remain active. With your approval, we'll initiate Phase Two by dusk."

Mikael nodded. "You have it."

He turned, eyes sweeping the devastation. His gaze fell on the ruins of the church, flattened, scorched, and caved in. But within the wreckage was something that had not crumbled. A single piece of defiance.

The Shivering Tree.

Like a ghost of divinity, it stood untouched in a field of ash. Its silver-white leaves rustled faintly despite the fact that there was no breeze. There wasn't a trace of dust or soot on it. As if the world dared not stain it.

Mikael led the way through the rubble, climbing over splintered pews and cracked altars until he stood before it.

A hundred Chosen, their white cloaks proud around their shoulders, stood in a ring around the Tree, guarding it in the name of the Creator and by the order of the Church. But they did not move to block his path.

They were his.

Each one had sworn loyalty to Mikael over the past two decades. Some with the promise of reform, others with the quiet understanding of necessity. These were not Pope-bred zealots. They were Elnoria's future.

As Mikael stepped before the tree, a flicker of resonance stirred in the air. His own loop responded instinctively. He raised a hand and placed it on the bark.

The response was immediate. A hum like a thousand whispered songs filled his bones. The Tree knew him. It always had. His father had made sure of it.

His father, a great man, had revealed the truth to his son before his death. The truth of the Church's greed, its manipulations, its silent and deadly rewriting of what was divine and what was doctrine.

The Church had claimed to be the voice of the Creator, but it had silenced every other voice.

And so, his father had done what no other Monarch had been able to do. His father had used all means to get him before a Shivering Tree, creating the only king with Resonance Magic, since the time of the very first king.

And now, with this power, he'll change what Elnoria had become.

"No more." Mikael muttered, placing both hands on the bark.

Power surged through him. His hidden resonance loop, which he had suppressed for so long, awakened.

He turned to his Chosen. "Begin the trials." He commanded.

The captain stepped forward. "Shall we pair them, as discussed?"

"Yes. One of metal, one of corrosion. Forged together, they'll grow strong in the coming days." Mikael's eyes glinted. "They won't just fight like knights. They'll consume like the hand of death itself."

And this army, this force of trained soldiers wielding Resonance magic under no Pope, would be the blade that severs the rot of this kingdom. They would be his and his alone.

"My consuming fire." He whispered to himself.

With a grunt, he turned and walked towards a rise that overlooked the army camps.

Thousands of tents dotted the crumbled city. Fires burned in neat lines. Training arenas had already begun taking shape. His soldiers, his people, had not given up hope. They had waited.

And now, he would give them something to believe in.

"They called us heretics." Mikael said softly, addressing his generals. "They said we blasphemed by questioning the Church. But I'll tell you this. We see the truth of them. And divinity does not belong to liars."

He turned his eyes back to the Shivering Tree, which shuddered noticeably, as if acknowledging his attention.

"You've waited long enough, Father." He whispered with a smile. "I'll finish what you started."