Chapter 421: The King's Astonishment
Faced with the dense artillery barrage from Thrace's forces, which relied on sheer numbers of cannons, Kassande Kingdom was caught off guard and suffered heavy losses.
After all, every mage was incredibly precious, and spells couldn't be used as freely as cannonballs. Casting them required connecting with the Weave and consuming the mage's mental energy.
"Boom!"
"Boom! Boom!"
The cannon fire continued to roar.
Smoke billowed across Thrace's positions, creating chaos everywhere.
The towering walls of the city were riddled with craters, and cannonballs crashed into the crowd, turning unsuspecting Kassande soldiers into bloody pulp. Even some Titan Demigods were gravely wounded.
"Get out of the way! Move aside!"
"Spread out! Don't cluster together!"
"How do they have so many of these iron balls?"
"Where did they get so many mages?"
"No, those aren't mages!"
The Kassande soldiers were both furious and panicked, powerless against the attacks coming from hundreds of meters away. Even the noble commanders were in disarray.
The Titan Demigods tried to rely on their large and powerful bodies to charge forward and destroy the devices firing the cannonballs.
But the Angelic Demigods in the air were no less dangerous, flapping their wings and launching clusters of explosive energy that rained down on the charging Titans. Meanwhile, more cannonballs fell from above.
This made it nearly impossible for Kassande's Demigod Corps to breach Thrace's lines. In fact, over a dozen of them had already fallen.
Every Demigod was a valuable asset to the kingdom—powerful superhumans born through the Sun God's rituals and the backbone of the realm.
"Damn it."
"Slash—"
Eli slashed through dozens of airborne cannonballs, slicing them into fragments. However, the fiery debris rained down around him, causing the surrounding soldiers to cry out in agony.
"Shtelgen! Make them stop!"
"It's your turn to act!"
Eli's furious roar echoed across the battlefield, reaching the towering white walls.
On the tall tower of the white city wall, a few soldiers stood guard outside.
Inside, a man clad in a deep red robe sat with his eyes closed, resting. A finely crafted orichalcum staff floated in midair, rotating gently and emitting glowing patterns.
"So soon...?"
"They already need me to act?"
Hearing the roar, the man slowly opened his eyes, revealing deep blue pupils with magical runes subtly rotating within them.
He was Shtelgen Megan, who, despite appearing middle-aged, was over seventy years old. He was a Grandmaster of Kassande's Arcane Corps and a powerful legendary spellcaster.
Yet, there was a hint of surprise in Shtelgen's eyes.
This was too soon.
In this protracted war, legendary spellcasters rarely showed themselves. They typically stayed within their respective camps, waiting for the right moment, as if by tacit agreement.
They only acted at critical moments, where their intervention could instantly change the course of battle.
Why not act first?
Spells required preparation.
For high-level spellcasters, waiting often provided an advantage in large-scale battles—they could respond to the enemy's spells and achieve better results with fewer resources.
But in war, opportunities were fleeting, and seizing the initiative to deal a devastating blow to the enemy could also be a wise choice.
Light flickered in Shtelgen's eyes.
With a wave of his hand, an invisible bird composed of pure elemental energy flapped its wings and flew into the sky.
Instantly, a bird's-eye view of the battlefield appeared before him, and the trajectories of the cannonballs caused his pupils to constrict slightly.
"Spells?"
"No, they seem more like mechanical constructs."
"But there's hardly any magical fluctuation. Are they purely relying on natural magical reactions? Interesting approach."
When Shtelgen's gaze shifted to the distant area and saw the thousands of black cannons gleaming with metallic luster, his expression darkened.
"So many of them?"
"This can't be something Thrace produced on their own in such a short time. Could they have discovered some ancient ruins?"
"Whoosh—"
A forcefield orb suddenly shot up from Thrace's formation, shattering the scouting bird.
This was no surprise.
Thrace's spellcasters had made their move.
Shtelgen gripped his floating orichalcum staff, his expression becoming even more serious.
"No wonder Eli is so anxious."
"But... they're dreaming if they think these crude constructs can defeat Kassande!"
A glint of determination flashed in Shtelgen's eyes.
As space rippled around him, he vanished from the tower and reappeared in midair outside the city walls.
Shtelgen raised his orichalcum staff, its intricate patterns glowing as the Weave trembled violently. A complex spell structure began forming high above.
Soon, a massive forcefield barrier materialized, covering most of the sky and blocking all cannonballs and fiery projectiles.
The space around it distorted, and the incoming projectiles veered off course, some even reflecting back toward Thrace's formation.
"Stop!"
"They're coming back!"
"Halt the bombardment! Their spellcaster has acted!"
Chaos erupted in Thrace's ranks, and their offensive came to an abrupt halt. Only the Angelic Demigods continued raining down their attacks, attempting to break the barrier from the outside.
This was the power of a legendary spellcaster—able to shift the tide of battle with a single spell. The barrier combined [Greater Force Wall] and [Force Deflection].
While not technically a 9th-level spell, its combined nature and large scale consumed as much energy as one.
It could block nearly all physical attacks—including deadly cannonballs.
"Long live Kassande!"
"It's Master Shtelgen!"
"As expected of the Grandmaster of the Arcane Corps!"
Cheers erupted from the towering walls of Teotihuacan, as soldiers felt a surge of confidence behind the impenetrable barrier.
But Shtelgen remained unsmiling, gripping his staff tightly with a grave expression.
"Jargos Hurst..."
He whispered the name slowly.
Jargos was a legendary spellcaster serving Thrace and once Shtelgen's close friend.
The two had once been confidants, loyal to the Sacred Fadlan Empire. But now, as servants of rival factions, they could only meet on the bloody battlefield.
Shtelgen knew that his old friend would not remain idle.
"Whoosh—"
A shrill whistle pierced the air.
Bright green streaks of light descended from the horizon, aiming straight for the forcefield.
"Meteor Swarm?"
"No, it's Disintegration!"
The forcefield could block most attacks and magical effects, even extending into the Ethereal Plane, but it could be dismantled by Disintegration.
This was the essence of mage combat.
Only by understanding one's own spells and the opponent's capabilities could a mage fully exploit the interaction and counterplay between magic.
The green "meteors" collided with the barrier.
Upon contact, the invisible forcefield unraveled, creating gaps and eventually collapsing.
Following closely behind were blazing red meteors descending from the sky—the real Meteor Swarm.
This time, Shtelgen had no opportunity to rebuild the defense.
Casting Time Stop would be inefficient, as the meteors weren't a fatal threat to him—he had countless ways to evade them.
But for the mortal soldiers, this was a cataclysm.
"Boom!"
The meteors exploded on contact, creating massive blasts that engulfed everything in flames.
Thousands of Kassande soldiers perished in the blinding explosions.
Mortal lives were mere blades of grass on this battlefield.
"Fire! Fire everywhere!"
"It burns!"
"No, stay away!"
"Help! I'm on fire!"
Flames engulfed the walls, and the recently emboldened soldiers were now consumed by merciless flames.
"Jargos, stop this!"
"Don't fight for the traitors!"
Gritting his teeth, Shtelgen raised his orichalcum staff once more, its tip distorting space.
[Spell Absorption]
The scorching energy from the meteor swarms surged toward him, stored within the distorted space and converted into energy for his next spell.
Taking a step forward, he unleashed the stored energy, creating a massive beam of light aimed at Thrace's forces.
[Sunfire Explosion]
"Boom!"
The ground was scorched black, and the fire pillar incinerated countless mortals, turning them to ash.
"Arcane Corps!"
"Support Master Shtelgen!"
Both sides' arcane corps began casting in unison—blinding light, searing flames, crackling lightning, and freezing hail clashed on the battlefield.
"For Thrace!"
"For Kassande!"
"Kill the traitors, retake the Holy City, and restore Fadlan's glory!"
"Defend the Holy City! Revive Fadlan!"
"We are Fadlan's rightful heirs! Only His Majesty Otis can restore its former glory!"
"Praise the Sun God Ammanata! Punish the Kassande traitors!"
The Titan Demigods and Angelic Demigods, occupying ground and sky respectively, shouted their battle cries as they fought fiercely in the wilderness.
Meanwhile, Thrace's mortal forces continued reloading their cannons, bombarding the towering white walls and reducing watchtowers to rubble—ignoring the Sun God's emblem etched on the walls.
Spellcasters and Demigod corps unleashed their full power, tearing into each other on the blood-soaked battlefield, where mortal lives were mere afterthoughts.
This was the essence of Fadlan's military system.
Relying on divine blessings, their military had an extreme gap between high and low levels—mortals were disposable, while Demigods and spellcasters dictated the course of battle.
With Thrace's cannons now in play, Kassande's soldiers became even more expendable. Mortals had to dodge spells, stray blasts from Demigod clashes, and falling cannonballs.
For both kingdoms, battles resulting in tens of thousands of casualties were normal. With Demigods, legendary spellcasters, and cannons, the battlefield had become a brutal meat grinder.
The savage battle raged for two days and nights.
The land was left scarred, the Holy City's walls riddled with cannonball holes, and the ground itself had been worn down by several feet, stained red with blood.
After suffering tremendous losses and leaving thousands of bodies before the walls, Kassande's superior forces managed to hold onto Teotihuacan, the City of the Sun.
But there was no true victor. Both Kassande and Thrace had suffered tens of thousands of casualties, including dozens of noble Demigods.
At Teotihuacan's center.
The Palace of the Sun.
The palace was surrounded by ruins, but remnants of its grand reliefs and walls still hinted at its former glory and opulence.
This was where Aragon I, the Sun Emperor, had once resided. After several expansions, he had built a palace complex so magnificent that even celestials had praised it.
But with war engulfing Teotihuacan, the palace had changed hands multiple times and fallen into its current state of disrepair.
However, the main hall of the Palace of the Sun, Hadrian's Hall, had been restored by Kassande to its former splendor, echoing its past majesty.
Here resided King Otis Aragon, the self-proclaimed rightful heir to Fadlan's legacy.
Deep within the palace, on a grand golden throne, sat a man clad in resplendent armor and holding a golden scepter.
His figure was towering—even seated, he nearly reached two meters tall. His sculpted face and body were flawless, like a masterwork sculpture, and his skin was smooth as marble.
Behind him, radiant sun halos emitted a golden glow. His pupils contained solar patterns—a trait bestowed by the divine blood of the Upper Heavens. This was Otis Aragon.
As the eldest son of Aragon I, Otis had lived over 110 years and received several blessings from the Sun God. Ammanata had granted him the power of the heavens, earning him the title "The Man Closest to the Sun Emperor."
Now, Otis sat on his father's throne, gripping the golden scepter of supreme authority, listening to reports from his ministers.
"…"
"Your Majesty, that is the situation."
Shtelgen extended his staff, projecting a magical image of hollow metal cannons capable of firing iron balls and strange short rods that launched projectiles.
"These blasphemous constructs have given mortals the power to harm noble Demigods and caused us significant trouble."
"To my knowledge, there's no record of such weapons among the Sacred Fadlan Empire's artifacts. I suspect they've discovered these weapons in some ancient ruins."
"This..."
Suddenly, Navin Besalius, standing among the palace officials, exclaimed.
Otis turned his head.
"Navin, do you have insights to share?"
Navin stepped forward from the ranks of ministers and bowed hastily before reporting:
"Your Majesty, I've seen similar weapons in the Ember Empire! They seem to be part of their primary arsenal!"
Otis leaned forward slightly, his golden pupils narrowing as a faint trace of astonishment flickered across them.
"You're referring to that Ember Empire in the Anzeta Wasteland?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Although there are slight differences in appearance and structure, Thrace's weapons clearly originate from the Ember Empire."
Navin Besalius affirmed confidently.