"Prepare to fire!"
Several players excitedly hauled out a massive catapult, but their ammunition wasn't stone—it was a living, breathing person.
And a completely naked one at that: Wings of Liberty, reverently known by the player base as "Holy Light Bro."
A spectating player chimed in with doubt:
"Is this really okay? Won't he just splatter on impact?"
"Of course not!"
"We had an expert from the Machine Cult look over it. It's totally fine."
"Relax, we ran the numbers ages ago. Once Holy Light Bro shifts into a bear, his hide is crazy thick. At most, he'll be on critical HP."
The players operating the catapult puffed out their chests with total confidence, talking big.
"Launch!"
They threw their weight into cranking the catapult's winch, straining the ropes until the throwing arm held maximum tension.
The long arm tilted downward while the counterweight rose high, poised like a beast coiled to pounce.
Holy Light Bro curled his bare buttocks inside the bowl-shaped basket and muttered in a low voice:
"For freedom."
"For freedom!"
The players manning the siege engine and the crowd of bystanders—always eager for chaos—roared in unison.
In the background, the BGM "aLIEz" crested into its soaring, impassioned climax.
Amidst the chorus of roars, the players released the catch. The counterweight plummeted under the pull of gravity, and the long arm swept upward at blinding speed, carrying Holy Light Bro with it.
Upon reaching the apex, he was flung forward with tremendous velocity.
He had been launched!
Holy Light Bro traced an elegant arc across the sky, hurtling straight toward the castle.
The players looked up in unison, watching the holy light that censored his vitals leave a dazzling streak across the azure heavens.
"Honey, come out and see God!"
"Look, a rainbow!"
"Holy crap, what a glorious holy light meteor!"
"Roaaar!"
Holy Light Bro let out an uninhibited, venting roar. At the peak of his trajectory, he transformed into a massive, burly owlbear.
"Look! What is that?"
"By the gods—don't tell me that's a flying owlbear?!"
"Damn it, what kind of sick joke is this?!"
"It—it's falling!"
The soldiers on the castle's arrow towers looked up, sheer terror etched across their faces as the shadow fell over them.
Yet it was already too late. They could only watch helplessly as the owlbear plunged from the sky, its silhouette expanding rapidly until it smashed straight into them.
*Boom!*
The entirety of Belon Castle trembled.
Dust billowed into the air, and shattered stones rained in all directions.
The tower collapsed with a thunderous crash, flattening over a dozen soldiers who failed to dodge in time and burying even more under piles of rubble.
"Roaaar!"
A dark silhouette charged out from the smoke and dust—none other than Holy Light Bro in his owlbear form.
The colossal beast rampaged along the battlement, grinding garrison soldiers to paste. Driven by raw, feral might, a single swipe of his claws sent several men flying.
With just Holy Light Bro and Dawei Tianlong, Belon Castle's defenses were thrown into absolute turmoil.
Multiple gatehouses and arrow towers were destroyed in quick succession, racking up over a hundred casualties.
Yet this was only the beginning. Dozens of players charged in wave after wave, unleashing all manner of spells and even lobbing bombs into the courtyard, tormenting the garrison without mercy.
They had never faced an enemy that fought with such total disregard for convention.
"Look up!"
"Get down!"
Squire Jan Bender was sharp enough to spot the airborne threat and shouted at the top of his lungs.
*Whoosh—*
Immediately after, accompanied by the whistling wind, several wyverns swept overhead and breathed torrents of searing flame, engulfing a whole stretch of soldiers on the wall.
"Fire! We're on fire!"
"Help me!"
Soldiers wailed in agony, writhing and rolling along the battlements while cloaked in flames.
Jan swept his sword down, taking off one soldier's head to put a swift end to his misery. His expression turned grim beyond measure. "Stay alert! Watch for attacks from the—"
Before he could finish, a hulking player vaulted out from behind him, swinging an iron warhammer down to crush his skull.
*Crack!*
"Eighty!"
Brain matter splattered; gore went flying.
Before the squire could even turn to face his foe, his skull was caved in, and he collapsed stiffly to the ground.
"No—!"
"Lord Jan!"
The guards' eyes nearly tore from their sockets. They lunged forward to swarm the assailant.
Yet with a single swing, the player smashed another soldier's head to pieces. More players leaped onto the walls with bizarre, screeching battle cries, throwing themselves at the terrified garrison.
"Daddy's home!"
"Ayyy-ayy-ayyy!"
"Cower before the boss, strike hard when mowing the lawn!"
Fire, frost, and acid blended together, pouring down over the defenders. Some players even wielded foul, reeking kobold leather breeches as weapons, drawing disgusted looks even from their fellow players.
There was no formation, no discipline, and no discernible tactic to speak of.
Yet even against such madness, the soldiers of Belon Castle could barely hold on.
They were accustomed to holding fortifications, raining arrows and rocks from superior ground so that any siege force would pay a gruesome toll just to reach the walls.
Instead, these players deployed an endless bag of bizarre tricks—some dropped from the sky, some teleported directly in, and others even burrowed out of holes in the ground. Caught completely off guard, the defenders were on the verge of losing their will to fight.
"How could this happen...?"
Sir Mitra surveyed the chaotic "battlefield," struck by how utterly absurd it was.
He and his men were bleeding and dying in desperate struggle, yet the enemy didn't show even a shred of awe or respect. If anything, they were having more and more fun, treating the whole thing like a playground.
An uncontrollable fury ignited within Mitra's chest.
How dare these bastards treat war like this?!
How dare they treat a noble knight this way?!
From childhood, his aristocratic martial training had taught him that even against an insurmountable foe, one must maintain courage, charge heroically, and perish carrying the family's glory.
And an enemy was expected to show respect to such a knight.
Yet now, these soldiers from the Kingdom of Cinders had completely shattered his worldview.
They treated the battlefield like a carnival game, threw all standard tactics out the window, and acted purely on whim. They didn't care about their enemy's presence—they didn't even care about their own deaths.
To them, chivalry was nothing more than a bad joke.
Sir Mitra raised his longsword, elevating his voice in a grand, theatrical cadence as he hurled furious insults from above:
"Monsters, you filthy pack of monsters!"
"You wretches from the Kingdom of Cinders wear the skins of men, but what kind of heart beats beneath that flesh? A demonic heart oozing with pus? Or the boiling, vile heart of an evil dragon?!"
Little did he know that not far away, Tiansheng Zhankuang had already locked eyes on him, his gaze burning with battle lust.
*Another mini-boss...*
*Tsk, that gear looks slick. Bound to drop a ton of prestige.*
Tiansheng Zhankuang thought to himself, gleefully licking the blood from his lips.
Chapter 354