The winds of deep winter had finally swept over the Emerald River.
In years past, by this time the river's surface would have already frozen into a solid sheet of ice thick enough to bear marching troops.
This year, however, was different. The Ryanians had spared no effort, hacking at ice and lighting fires, determined to keep the Emerald River from freezing over.
Now jagged shards of ice floated over the water. It looked frozen at a glance, but a single step onto it would plunge a man straight through.
Ange Watson was more than just a military commander. He understood that a war between two nations was ultimately a test of overall strength, and right now the orcs were in an awkward bind.
They were starving.
As a mountainous kingdom with little arable land that relied on rudimentary farming, the orcs were perpetually short on grain.
Now, with a massive number of able-bodied warriors mobilized and devouring huge amounts of rations each day, the orcs could not hold out for much longer.
Had they not captured one of Ryan's cities and seized a modest hoard of supplies, the war would likely have ended already.
The orcs knew this as well. Over recent days, they had somehow procured a cabal of mages who were casting long-range spells to freeze the Emerald River solid.
Day after day of blizzards and hailstorms were transforming the river into dense slabs of ice.
Yet the Ryanians were not holding back either. In a war of attrition, who feared whom? Did the orcs really think they had more mages than humanity?
Who said priests couldn't cast Fireball?
Both sides hurled a deluge of magic, every spell aimed directly at the river.
Moreover, both sides now possessed aerial reconnaissance. Want to detour upriver or downriver to find a crossing? Useless. An airship could sweep across a hundred kilometers of river in half an hour. Ryan's jet-propelled aerial scouts did the same, albeit with shorter flight times.
The war had entered an era of full-map vision where neither side had prior experience, forcing battlefield tactics to evolve rapidly.
Though Ryan held the upper hand for now, the weather favored the orcs.
Ange Watson stood atop the fortress wall, braving the biting cold. His heart felt even colder than the northern wind.
This year's weather was too frigid—abnormally so. Normally at this time of year it hovered around ten to twenty degrees below zero, but right now it was plunging past minus thirty.
The river was freezing far too fast. After struggling for so long, it seemed all the Ryanians could do was watch the water turn to ice.
Most people could not fathom why the temperature had dropped so drastically this year, assuming some deity had intervened, but many astrologers had already anticipated it.
An entire nation—the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn—had vanished.
Never before had there been such a terrifying geographical upheaval. Scholars studying the climate had made all kinds of predictions, and a massive cold wave had been among them.
It seemed those scholars who had predicted catastrophic droughts or massive earthquakes were about to be proven wrong.
Yet no matter how many climate scholars were sacrificed to the heavens, the shifting weather remained an inescapable reality. Large-scale, wide-area ice-melting operations could not be sustained indefinitely. By Ange Watson's estimates, Ryan could hold out for ten more days at most before the Emerald River froze completely. When that happened, there wouldn't even be enough manpower to attempt melting it again.
Once the river froze solid, the orcs would certainly launch their decisive assault before deep winter truly set in.
Ange Watson could already foresee the outcome.
Ryan would suffer heavy casualties, but they would hold the Emerald River defensive line and beat back the orc host. Yet doing so required pulling troops from other borders while praying those frontiers remained unmolested.
If fighting broke out on another front in the meantime, Ryan's losses would be catastrophic.
Still, the end result would be the repulsion of the orcs. At most, the invaders would vent their bitter hatred and fury before retreating, perhaps without even managing to hold the city across the river.
A mutual devastation where nobody won.
Ange Watson had known this outcome from the beginning, and he had struggled ceaselessly to avert it.
At the thought, Ange Watson smashed an enraged fist against the battlement.
"Damn it! Why won't he sell me those warships?!"
Ange Watson had witnessed the power of Anbaixiu's weaponry. The greatest weapon of war had unquestionably been the Black Tide. Though he heard the Black Tide had crashed, the lich still had other warships.
A warship with an absolute speed advantage was enough to dominate the skies over the entire battlefield. It meant you could strike the enemy at will while they couldn't retaliate in the slightest.
No matter how brilliant the opposing commander was, he couldn't make every orc sprout wings.
With overwhelming technological superiority, Ange Watson was confident he could drive the orcs back without suffering catastrophic losses.
Yet Anbaixiu stubbornly refused to sell.
That damned lich dared to amass war profits soaked in blood!
How could Ange Watson fail to see through Anbaixiu's scheme? The lich simply wanted both nations locked in endless warfare so he could sell even more weapons.
Those few individual jetpacks alone had bilked Ryan out of over a million gold coins, when their actual manufacturing cost couldn't have exceeded fifty thousand.
Yet Ryan's alchemists had failed completely to replicate them. In fact, an attempt to dismantle one for study had triggered an explosion, earning them another hefty penalty fee from the lich.
Yes, compensation for damages.
Because those jetpacks were merely "leased," with rental fees calculated strictly by flight time. Each jetpack was fitted with an activation timer, charging gold coins by the minute.
The longer this war dragged on, the more the lich raked in.
Undead were undead. They possessed no morals and no mercy, only naked profit. Even this lich who claimed to have saved the world was no exception.
Ange Watson felt more and more that the Emperor had been right all along. His younger brother Alan should never have collaborated with this lich in the first place. Alan had fallen far too deep under the creature's sway; the Watson family had been utterly ruined by him.
Just as Ange Watson was stewing in fury and helplessness, a massive shadow suddenly fell over the fortress wall.
Ange instinctively looked up, assuming the orcs had unleashed another wide-area Ice Storm. He was about to shout a warning to the soldiers below when he realized what blotted out the sun was not a storm-laden cloud, but several colossal sky warships.
"Is that the lich's Black Tide? No... how is it even bigger than the Black Tide?!"
Ange Watson's immediate thought was that the orcs had paid some exorbitant price to buy warships from the lich.
Though startled, Ange did not panic in the least. He rapidly retreated into the castle while barking orders to his attendants. All jetpack scouts were to recall immediately, while ground troops were to take cover or maintain erratic movement to avoid serving as sitting ducks for the warships.
At the same time, Ange Watson activated his magic mirror and established contact with the very lich he had just been cursing.
Seeing Anbaixiu's skeletal visage appear in the mirror, Ange Watson snapped immediately, "Does Master Ultraman believe Ryan cannot match the price? Can those dirt-poor orcs afford your warships while we Ryanians cannot?!"
Anbaixiu chuckled softly. "Don't be nervous, my old friend. When did I ever sell warships to the orcs? I merely leased them a few small reconnaissance airships, none of which carry weapons."
"This is a battlefield, Master. I hardly have time to spar words with you. What are those colossal warships floating above my head? Don't tell me you're here to sightsee."
Ange Watson clenched his fists.
At the start of the war, the Black Tide had appeared several times, inflicting severe losses on the Ryanians on every occasion. If the warships currently overhead possessed combat power comparable to the Black Tide, there was no point in even fighting. They might as well abandon the city and flee immediately, hoping to evacuate before the fortress's defensive spell array collapsed.
"You truly misunderstand. Ange, I did not sell these warships to the orcs, nor are they here to launch an attack against Ryan. On the contrary, I have come today for peace."
High in the sky above, Anbaixiu sat in the cockpit of his new warship, gazing at the empty space around him with a trace of rueful sentiment.
That blasted lunatic goddess had ruined his Black Tide.
Now that had been a true warship. These newly forged vessels were mere hollow shells; they lacked matching armaments and carrier craft entirely. All of them combined couldn't hold a candle to the original Black Tide.
They were simply enormous and looked terrifying, but in a real fight, the facade would crumble instantly.
Still, Anbaixiu was only here to put on a show of force, and this spectacle was more than sufficient.
Seven gargantuan warships gliding across the sky, completely blotting out the sun, was enough to strike terror into both the orcs and the Ryanians below, freezing any hasty aggression in its tracks.
Ange Watson wasn't the only one frightened out of his wits; the orcs were contacting Anbaixiu as well, frantically asking if he had accepted money from the Ryanians.
One had to admit, both sides had reached the exact same conclusion—proof of how deeply entrenched Anbaixiu's public persona truly was.
Across the magic mirror, Anbaixiu said to Ange Watson, "I come today not to wage war, but to teach Ryan and the orcs how to shake hands and make peace. Ange, I hope Ryan and the orcs can agree to a temporary ceasefire. Continuing to fight will only spill more innocent blood."
Ange Watson froze, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him.
Wasn't this lich waiting to reap bloodstained war profits? With the war bogged down in a quagmire, this was his prime opportunity to make a fortune. Why on earth would he call for a halt now?
A thousand thoughts flashed through Ange Watson's mind in an instant, yet he still could not decipher Anbaixiu's intent. He asked bluntly, "Master Ultraman, what exactly are you after?"
"To preserve world peace, of course. Isn't that what I've been doing all along? Back then, I mediated the war between the dwarves and elves, preventing a catastrophic clash and saving a million lives. When the Githyanki invaded from the Astral Plane, I was the one who put an end to it. Even the great war in the depths of the ocean was swiftly brought to a close because of me..."
Anbaixiu delivered these claims with such unblushing naturalness that Ange Watson felt uncomfortable all over.
To hear a lich preach about maintaining world peace to a paladin—Ange Watson felt the entire world had gone mad. What was even madder was that he couldn't find a way to refute it on the spot; at least half of what the lich said was demonstrably true.
Damn it all. Without anyone realizing it, this lich had become a great hero who saved the world.
Wait, no. He was almost led by the nose.
Ange Watson caught himself and pressed, "Master Ultraman, what did you just say? You intend to stop this war?"
Anbaixiu sighed. "Though the grudges between the orcs and Ryan run too deep to untangle, and the hatred between your two nations has spanned a millennium, I still cannot bear to watch so many innocent lives thrown away. Thus, I have come. I hope both sides can accept my mediation."
Ange Watson was speechless.
A lich claiming he couldn't bear to see innocent lives lost was like a tiger announcing it had decided to turn vegetarian. The nerve of him to spin such a yarn!
Still, at the very least, the lich wasn't here to rain undead bombs onto Ryan. Ange Watson breathed a subtle sigh of relief.
"Master Ultraman, what do you mean by 'mediation'? Can you make the orcs withdraw their troops and return Ryan's land?"
Anbaixiu glanced at Ange Watson. Among the three Watson brothers, Alan might have been the simplest of the lot, but this grand general casually demanding the return of territory right out of the gate was making demands so outrageous it made one wonder if he was truly a paladin.
Fortunately, Anbaixiu had already done his research. He said to Ange Watson, "Ange, according to historical records, the land on the other side of the Emerald River originally belonged to the Orc Empire. You only seized it two hundred and seventy years ago. In fact, not just the city across the river—even the very city you are standing in right now once belonged to the orcs."
The Ryan Empire had expanded ceaselessly, gnawing away at its neighbors' territories piece by piece, which was how it had attained its vast domain and sustained its enormous population.
Of course, those were debts of the distant past. Land held for several centuries naturally became Ryan's.
Ange Watson's expression did not waver. "It was the orcs who broke the non-aggression pact back then, which prompted Ryan's counterattack. That land has long belonged to Ryan. If you want to talk about ancient history, Master Ultraman, I can only remind you that the Orc Empire itself was founded with Ryan's aid."
"Indeed. The great Holy King Arthur Ryan helped the various races establish their own kingdoms, hoping that all peoples might live with freedom, equality, and dignity. Yet what has Ryan done over these past seventeen hundred years? Your fanatical racism and fanatical religious dogma have savagely tormented your neighbors. If Arthur Ryan were still alive and saw your deeds, how disappointed he would be..."
Before Anbaixiu could finish, Ange Watson cut him off with a roar of fury.
"How dare you speak that name?! I give you solemn warning: the name of the Holy King is not something you are permitted to utter! Master Ultraman, I respect your erudition and your achievements, but I warn you in all seriousness: the Holy King is not a tool for your rhetoric! This is blasphemy! This is a declaration of war against the entirety of Ryan!"
Anbaixiu looked at Ange Watson's rage-contorted face. He hadn't expected the general to be such a devout follower of Arthur. Anbaixiu had assumed he was like the Iron-Blood General—a ruthless pragmatist who cared nothing for old ideals.
Facing Ange Watson's fury, Anbaixiu said placidly, "You know the truth in your heart. You wage war, letting innocent blood stain the Emerald River red. Meanwhile, I, an undead, strive to save the world, willingly relinquishing my own profits so fewer lives are lost. Ange, between you and me, which of us is truly desecrating the Holy King?"
Ange Watson gritted his teeth. The rhetorical question left him without a reply, yet failing to win an argument did not mean he was convinced.
"Master Ultraman, you and I both know that your heart holds nothing but wealth. No matter what you do, the flame of your soul fire smells of nothing but the rust of gold coins. So let us not waste each other's time. What does this 'mediation' of yours actually entail?"
Anbaixiu felt a flicker of emotion. Compared to Alan, Ange Watson was not merely older; his worldview was far more established and could not be swayed by mere rhetoric. Thus, Anbaixiu ceased beating around the bush and came straight to the point.
"I intend to convene a summit, inviting the Elven King, the Archdruid, the Dwarf King, the Orc King, and your Ryan Emperor to attend.
"Let me emphasize this one last time: I come here precisely for world peace. Therefore, I will invite every monarch to take part in this peace conference and resolve your disputes once and for all. My goal is to extinguish war, so that all may live and work in peace."
Having said this, Anbaixiu transmitted an exquisite little box through the magic mirror to Ange Watson.
"Take this gift to your Emperor. It is my letter of invitation to him. Once he reads what is inside, I believe he will understand my benevolent intentions."
Chapter 483