Faced with the relentless bombardment unleashed by the sheer number of Thracian artillery, the Kingdom of Cassander was caught utterly unprepared, suffering grievous losses.
Wizards, after all, were extraordinarily precious, and magic could not be squandered like cannonballs; casting required communing with the Weave and rapidly drained a caster's mental reserves.
*Boom!*
*Boom! Boom!*
The cannon fire continued to roar.
Smoke billowed across the Thracian lines, drifting over the entire front.
Impact craters pockmarked the towering city walls. Shells plunged into crowded ranks, smashing unprepared Cassander soldiers into pulp and even severely wounding several of the Titan godblood.
"Get down! Take cover!"
"Spread out! Don't bunch together!"
"How can they have so many of these iron spheres?"
"Where did they get this many spellcasters?"
"No, those aren't spellcasters!"
Shock and fury gripped the soldiers of Cassander. They were powerless against an assault launched from hundreds of meters away, and even the noble commanders were thrown into complete disarray.
Relying on their towering, muscular frames, the Titan godblood attempted to charge forward and smash the contraptions launching the shells.
Yet the angelic godblood in the air were not to be underestimated. Flapping their wings, they hurled clusters of explosive energy along the charging path of the Titans, while shells continually rained from above.
As a result, the Kingdom of Cassander's Godblood Legion could not gain an inch of ground toward the Thracian positions, suffering over a dozen casualties in the process.
Every member of the godblood was an invaluable asset to the kingdom—mighty supernaturals brought into being through the sacred sacrificial rituals of the Sun God, and the very pillars of the realm.
"Dammit."
*Slash—*
Eli swung his blade, cleaving dozens of incoming cannonballs into scrap midair. Yet the strike only caused fiery shrapnel to rain down in showers, drawing screams of agony from the soldiers around him.
"Stelgen! Put an end to this!"
"It's time for you to act!"
Eli's roar reverberated across the battlefield, carrying all the way to the hundred-meter-high city walls.
Aloft on the white fortifications stood a soaring watchtower guarded by several sentries.
Within, a man dressed in deep red robes rested with his eyes closed. An intricately carved adamantine staff hovered before him in midair, rotating slowly and releasing rings of glowing patterns.
"Already...?"
"They need me this soon...?"
Hearing the thunderous shout, the man opened his eyes, revealing deep blue irises within which magical formation circles turned in a slow circle.
He was Stelgen Megan. Though he bore the appearance of a man in his prime, he had already surpassed seventy years of age. He was the Grandmaster of Cassander's Arcane Legion and a legendary spellcaster of immense power.
At this moment, however, a flicker of surprise showed in Stelgen's eyes.
This was simply too fast.
Throughout this protracted war, legendary spellcasters on both sides had rarely shown themselves, choosing instead to anchor the armies and wait for the right moment, as though bound by a tacit agreement.
They would intervene only at pivotal turning points, capable of altering the tide of battle in an instant.
Why not strike first?
Because spells required preparation.
For high-tier spellcasters in large-scale warfare, holding the second move was often far more advantageous than taking the initiative. It allowed a caster to counter the enemy's spells directly, securing greater tactical results at far lower cost.
Yet the battlefield was ever-changing. If seizing an immediate opening could inflict irreparable damage upon the enemy, seizing the initiative was not necessarily a poor choice either.
A faint gleam flickered in Stelgen's eyes.
At his gesture, an invisible bird woven from pure elemental energy beat its wings and soared high into the sky.
A sweeping bird's-eye view of the battlefield unfolded in his vision. The sight of countless arcing trajectories made his pupils narrow.
*Spells?*
*No, they seem more like artifice.*
*Yet there are barely any fluctuations of casting. Do they rely purely on natural magical reactions...? An intriguing approach.*
Then, as Stelgen looked farther across the field and saw thousands of black cannons gleaming with metallic luster, his brow furrowed deeply.
*How could there be so many?*
*The Kingdom of Thrace could never have manufactured this many in such a short time. Could it be... they unearthed an ancient ruin?*
*Whoosh—*
A sphere of force shot up from Thrace's battle lines, tearing the scouting elemental bird to shreds.
It was hardly unexpected.
Thrace's spellcasters had intervened.
Stelgen caught the hovering adamantine staff, his expression turning grim.
"No wonder Eli is in such a frenzy."
"Still... if they think they can defeat Cassander with such crude contrivances, they are deluding themselves!"
A sharp light flared in Stelgen's eyes.
Ripples warped the space around him. In a flash, he vanished from the tower and reappeared high in the open air beyond the city walls.
Stelgen raised the adamantine staff. Light streamed from its openwork carvings, and amid violent fluctuations in the Weave, an intricate spell matrix took shape against the heavens.
A barrier forged of pure kinetic force materialized, blanketing half the sky and warding off every incoming shell and fiery blast.
Pulsing waves immediately bent the surrounding space. Gripped by an unseen power, the cannonballs were deflected off course, some even hurled back toward the Thracian positions.
"Cease fire!"
"They're coming back at us!"
"Quick, halt the bombardment! Their spellcaster has entered the fray!"
Uproar swept through the Thracian lines, and their artillery barrage ground to a sudden halt. Only the angelic godblood continued pouring their power into the sky, attempting to batter the barrier apart from the outside.
Such was the might of a legendary wizard—a single intervention was enough to overturn the battlefield. This was a spell born of High Wall of Force merged with Force Deflection.
Though not a 9th-tier spell, its composite nature and immense scale demanded mental strain rivaling that of the 9th tier.
No physical assault could breach it—not even deadly cannon fire.
"Long live the Kingdom of Cassander!"
"It's Lord Stelgen!"
"As expected of the Grandmaster of the Arcane Legion!"
Cheers erupted along the towering ramparts of Teotihuacan. Feeling secure beneath the unyielding barrier, the soldiers were filled with renewed vigor.
Yet Stelgen, standing in the center of everyone's attention, showed not the slightest hint of joy. Instead, he tightened his grip on his staff, his face growing even more solemn.
"Jagos Hirst..."
He murmured the name.
That was the Kingdom of Thrace's legendary spellcaster, and once his fellow student.
The two had once considered each other confidants, serving the Holy Fadlan Empire side by side. Now, loyal to different masters, they had no choice but to face each other across a bloody battlefield.
Stelgen knew his old friend would never sit idly by.
*Whoosh—*
A shrill, piercing scream tore through the air.
Streaks of brilliant green light plummeted from the horizon, driving straight toward the force wall below.
*Meteor Swarm?*
*No, that's Disintegrate!*
A Wall of Force could block most physical attacks and spell effects, even extending into the Ethereal Plane, but it remained vulnerable to Disintegrate.
Such was a duel between wizards.
Only by thoroughly understanding the capabilities of one's own spells and those of the enemy, and mastering their counters, could magic be brought to bear with maximum effect.
The streaks of green slammed into the barrier.
The instant the two magics collided, the invisible force wall disintegrated, riddled with gaping fractures before collapsing entirely.
Right on their heels, streaks of searing crimson fell from the heavens—this was the true Meteor Swarm!
Stelgen had no time to weave another protective ward.
Casting Time Stop was hardly worth the toll. To him, Meteor Swarm was far from lethal; he had countless ways to evade it.
For mortal soldiers, however, it was an unmitigated catastrophe.
*Boom!*
The falling meteors detonated the moment they slammed into the earth and the ramparts. Colossal explosions tore through the air, and raging tongues of fire swallowed everything nearby.
Amid the coordinated detonations, the lives of over a thousand mortal soldiers of Cassander vanished in a brilliant, terrible flash.
In this war, mortal lives were treated like weeds.
"Fire! Fire everywhere!"
"It hurts!"
"No, stay back!"
"Help me! I'm burning!"
Flames raged across the battlements. The soldiers who had just been cheering were now being mercilessly incinerated by magic.
"Jagos, stop!"
"Stop fighting for those rebels!"
Stelgen gritted his teeth and raised his adamantine staff once more. Space distorted around its tip.
*Absorb Magic.*
Surging heat and raw energy from the Meteor Swarm swept in from all directions, channeled into the warped space to serve as fuel for Stelgen's next spell.
Taking a stride forward, he unleashed the stored energy, casting a massive pillar of light that surged straight toward the distant Thracian forces.
*Sunburst.*
*Boom!*
A scorched trench gouged itself into the earth. In an instant, the pillar of flame swallowed countless mortals, reducing them to ashes.
"Arcane Legion!"
"Support Lord Stelgen!"
At the same time, the Arcane Legions on both sides began casting in unison. Blinding brilliance, searing flames, leaping arcs of lightning, and biting hail collided across the battlefield in a chaotic storm of elemental power.
"For the Kingdom of Thrace!"
"For the Kingdom of Cassander!"
"Slaughter the rebels, reclaim the Holy City, and restore Fadlan's glory!"
"Defend the Holy City! Revive Fadlan!"
"We are the true lineage of Fadlan! Only His Majesty Otis can restore our past glory!"
"Praise the Sun God Amaunator! Punish the Cassander rebels!"
The Titan godblood and angelic godblood held their respective domains on the ground and in the sky, shouting their war cries as they clashed violently across the desolate plains.
Thrace's mortal units continued reloading, relentlessly battering the towering white ramparts and reducing several towers to rubble—caring nothing that the Sun God's holy emblem was carved upon the very stones they were shattering.
The spellcasters and Godblood Legions went all out, slaughtering one another across ground that had already been soaked in blood countless times before. Mortal lives were nothing more than fodder.
This was the nature of Fadlan's military system.
Because they had risen through divine grace, the upper echelon of the army was completely detached from the rank and file. Mortals served merely as expendable assets; only the godblood and spellcasters decided the fate of war.
With the introduction of Thrace's artillery, the lives of Cassander's soldiers became cheaper still. These unfortunate mortals not only had to dodge spell strikes and the shockwaves of clashes between godblood, but also constantly watch for iron shells falling from above.
For the two kingdoms, suffering tens of thousands—or even over a hundred thousand—casualties in a single battle was commonplace. A battlefield with godblood, legendary wizards, and artillery was an absolute meat grinder.
The brutal combat dragged on for two days and two nights.
The earth was torn to pieces, the walls of the Holy City embedded with cannonballs. The surface of the plains was gouged down by several feet, the mud thoroughly stained crimson by flowing blood.
At a horrific cost, leaving thousands of corpses before the ramparts, the Kingdom of Cassander, with its greater overall strength, ultimately held the "City of Sunburst," Teotihuacan.
Yet there was no true victor. Cassander and Thrace had each paid a price of tens of thousands of casualties, including dozens of noble godblood on both sides.
***
In the center of Teotihuacan.
The Sunburst Palace.
Ruins and crumbled walls lay all around, yet the surviving reliefs and masonry still bore witness to the palace's former majesty and opulence.
This had once been the dwelling of the "Sun Emperor," Aragorn I. Through extensive, repeated construction, he had erected a grand palace complex here that once drew praise and wonder even from celestial beings.
Yet once war reached Teotihuacan, the palace had changed hands multiple times, reduced to its present battered state.
Even so, the central hall of the Sunburst Palace—Hadrian Palace—had been repeatedly restored by the Kingdom of Cassander, once again gleaming with gold and jade, recapturing a shadow of its former glory.
Here resided King Otis Aragorn of Cassander, who proclaimed himself the rightful heir of Fadlan.
Deep within the hall, seated upon a massive and ornate golden throne, sat a man clad in splendid heavy armor, holding a golden scepter.
He was extraordinarily tall, measuring nearly two meters in height even while seated. His features and physique were as flawless as a master's sculpture, his marble-like skin completely free of blemish.
Rings of solar radiance hovered behind him, and the mark of the sun was etched into his irises—a mark borne of the divine bloodline flowing from the empyreans. This was Otis Aragorn.
As the eldest son of Aragorn I, he was over one hundred and ten years old. He had received the Sun God's grace several times, endowed by Amaunator with might rivaling that of the empyreans. Thus, he was hailed as "the man closest to the Sun Emperor."
Now, Otis sat where the old emperor had once ruled, clutching the golden scepter of supreme authority as he listened to the reports of his subjects gathered below the dais.
"..."
"Your Majesty, that is the situation."
Stelgen extended his staff, conjuring a magical projection within the palace hall. It displayed hollow metal cylinders capable of firing iron spheres, alongside shorter tubes that shot smaller projectiles.
"These profane contrivances allow mortals to harm noble godblood, which has caused us considerable trouble."
"To my knowledge, Holy Fadlan's forces never possessed such an inheritance. I suspect they unearthed these weapons from some ancient ruin."
"This..."
At that moment, Navin Bessarius, who stood in attendance along the side of the hall, let out a sudden gasp.
Otis turned his head toward him.
"Navin, do you have something to add?"
Navin stepped out from the ranks of ministers, bowing hurriedly as he reported,
"Your Majesty, I have seen things just like this in the Cinder Empire! These seem to be their primary military ordnance!"
Otis leaned slightly forward, his golden pupils contracting as a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
"You mean... that Cinder Empire in the Great Anzetta Waste?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Though there are slight differences in design and structure, Thrace's weapons clearly originate from the Cinder Empire."
Navin Bessarius answered with absolute certainty.
Chapter 417