Chapter 1009: The Blizzard
Anti-aircraft guns roared, torrents of superheated air surged out from the cooling grilles, evaporating the snowflakes on contact. Steam and dust were swept up together into the raging blizzard, while piercing beams of light and streaks of shell fire repeatedly tore through the chaotic sky. Amid the low-hanging clouds and swirling snow, a fiery net was drawn—a net of fire that flashed and crackled, within which countless shadows clashed and grappled fiercely.
Flesh and steel, flying knights and modern soldiers armed with arcane technology—this scene was like two eras violently colliding in midair. Sparks and fragments scattered from the impact, merging into the howling storm.
The external monitor above the carriage displayed the aerial battle. Mariland’s face was ashen as he watched the brutal spectacle unfold—he had seen this kind of collision before, this violent clash that felt like the turning of an age. But last time, it had happened on the ground. This time… it was happening in the sky.
“Sir! Those Typhon are abnormal!” the observer shouted urgently. “They seem to be coming back to life! And their combat effectiveness is far beyond anything we’ve faced before!”
“If they can revive, then kill them again and again. If they’re too tough, concentrate firepower. Bring all anti-aircraft guns to full power, and deploy those individual missile launchers too—flesh is always more fragile than machines!” Mariland stood on the command platform, his voice steady but commanding. “How much longer until we break out of this blizzard?”
“Sir!” another comms officer, responsible for coordinating with the air units, reported loudly, “High-altitude recon drones confirm the blizzard is moving with us—we’re stuck right in its center!”
“Damn it… this has to be those Typhon’ doing…” Mariland cursed under his breath. His gaze shifted to the side window. Through the reinforced crystal glass and thick energy shield, he saw the escorting Iron Scepter armored train unleashing a full barrage. Small turrets mounted on the roof and along the sides swept the sky continuously. Suddenly, a massive fireball plummeted from above, slamming hard against the train’s shield. Then came three more fireballs in quick succession—the shield flickered violently, briefly tearing open before snapping shut again. But one fireball had already pierced through, striking the train’s hull.
The explosive force within the fireball erupted, bathing the Iron Scepter’s roof in blinding light. Amid the thunderous roar and the screech of metal twisting and tearing, an anti-aircraft gun and large sections of armor were blasted off the train. Flames and thick smoke billowed from the midsection. Through the shattered armor plates, Mariland could see the train’s damage control team scrambling to extinguish the spreading fire.
Some enemies had already closed to direct attack range against the armored train. This meant the dragonrider squadron in the sky was locked in a desperate struggle, unable to intercept all the foes.
This strange blizzard was clearly more than just a visual obstruction or a flight hazard.
“This has to be a ‘miracle’-level spell…” Mariland gritted his teeth and looked to his adjutant. “When will the reinforcements from the Shadow Marsh arrive?”
“The special operations squadron took off minutes ago, but the weather is so severe we don’t know when they’ll get here,” the adjutant replied quickly. “Also, the blizzard’s range just expanded again—”
Before he could finish, a sudden flash erupted outside the window. Mariland saw a blazing fireball tumbling from the sky in the distance, its core glowing with a faint blue magical aura. Amid the roaring flames, the twisted, distorted cockpit and dragon-wing structure were still faintly visible—the remaining power was still functioning. It drifted slowly through the blizzard, then accelerated, crashing into the eastern ridge with a violent explosion under the gloomy sky.
Dragonrider pilots were equipped with emergency escape systems. Their specially crafted armor embedded with weight-reducing runes and wind-element blessings allowed them to eject early. But in this terrifying blizzard, their chances of survival were slim.
As the flying machine fell, more shattered remains of griffon knights and battle mages rained down from the sky.
Mariland watched the scene but quickly withdrew his gaze, maintaining his composure as he continued commanding the massive war machine through the storm.
A miracle spell of this magnitude couldn’t be unleashed instantly. Such a large aerial force required time to mobilize, coordinate, and conduct reconnaissance and ambush site selection. This was all the result of meticulous planning—the Typhon had likely been scheming this assault for a long time.
Clearly, the armored train’s “Iron Advance” was putting immense pressure on them, which explained why they were willing to pay such a high price to destroy these war machines.
The thunderous blasts of arcane cannons echoed continuously. Even through the barrier, the tactical carriages vibrated with a low, persistent rumble. Two armored trains sped through the mountain passes against the howling wind, anti-aircraft guns sweeping down more debris from the sky. This went on for an indeterminate length of time.
At the edge of the blizzard, heading toward the Shadow Marsh, a black-painted dragonrider squadron flew at full speed.
Ahead, the clouds took on an unnatural iron-gray hue, far beyond normal overcast—more like a solid chunk of metal slowly rotating in the sky. Fierce hurricanes whipped the snow into a frenzy, roaring in the distance. It was a terrifying sight—if not for the dragonriders’ specially enchanted shields and wind-element affinity, such extreme weather would make any flight mission impossible.
Yet the black-painted squadron showed no hesitation or slowdown. After gaining altitude, they plunged straight into the heart of the storm, as if reveling in it.
Inside the lead craft, a short-haired black-haired female pilot gripped the controls tightly. She stared at the approaching cloud wall, eyes narrowing slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
A voice crackled over the comms from a wingman: “Captain, we’re about to enter the storm!”
“Got it, got it!” the woman grinned excitedly. “Wuhu—this is way more intense than the breezes in training simulations!”
“Full power!” the mechanic pilot behind her shouted. “Fifteen seconds to blizzard entry!”
The captain opened the squad’s comms channel and shouted, “Alright, ladies and gents! Let’s go dance in the storm! Keep your eyes wide open—if you fall behind or get lost, find a hill and crash yourself. Don’t come back!”
A chorus of excited cheers erupted over the comms: “Wuhu—”
…
Another flying machine was engulfed in flames far off, the blazing fireball tumbling wildly in the gale as it drifted toward a distant ridge. Before the explosion, two faint figures leapt from the cockpit, drifting down like leaves in the blizzard.
Clement stood high above, watching coldly. He chose not to deliver the final blow—this was his code as a noble.
He knew the era of traditional nobility and knightly honor was over. War had become something far more ruthless, and his ideals were a joke to many now. Let them laugh. For him, that glorious age was not yet finished. It would only truly end with his last breath.
Besides, those who fell into such a dreadful blizzard had little chance of survival anyway.
The cold wind howled from all directions, explosions and acrid smoke assaulting every sense. Clement scanned the battlefield, frowning.
Before today, no one had imagined such a scene.
Before today, no human nation could field such aerial forces.
For the first time, he realized the sky could be a battlefield this brutal. Vast armies fought far above the earth, a three-dimensional conflict dominating the war. What this revealed sent a shiver through the Typhon noble’s nerves.
The Cecilians mass-produced flying machines; the Typhon mass-produced supernaturals and miracle spells—two independent paths of development. When they collided unexpectedly, human history would have to record it in full.
Around Clement swirled fierce winds, lightning, frost, and flame. A roaring elemental vortex spread like massive wings behind him. This was a power he had never felt before. With endless magical energy fueling him, he had lost count of how many massive spells he had cast to the point of exhaustion. Enemy numbers dwindled, but so did his allies. Yet the losses were worth it—the Cecilians’ aerial forces were showing cracks. Now, several assault teams could focus powerful spells on the two moving fortresses.
It turned out those arrogant steel monsters were not invincible.
“…Aerial forces might become the key to deciding the battle. Coordinated ground and air operations could be the future trend…” Clement spread his arms, facing the Cecilian anti-air barrage. His strong shield absorbed several blows that should have been fatal. He locked onto a flying machine, attempting to disrupt its energy cycle. At the same time, he activated a powerful communication spell, reporting what he saw as if talking to himself—the blizzard hadn’t hindered the spell; instead, it extended every battle mage’s communication range.
“…Flying units can’t survive long in air combat, even with three lives…
“Griffon knights and mid-level battle mages here are expendable… many are shot down by ground-based anti-air fire…
“…The intense light from the ground has a huge effect… the illumination not only exposes us but also disrupts vision and spatial perception… it’s as effective as a weapon…”
The anti-gravity ring on the distant flying machine suddenly flashed repeatedly, the craft wobbling unstably. Clement’s eyes narrowed—he had successfully disrupted its propulsion system.
Based on earlier observations, the machine would now divert most of its energy to the malfunctioning anti-gravity device to stay aloft, turning it into a sitting duck in the sky.
Clement raised his hands high, a powerful arc of electricity crackling to life between his palms. Just as he was about to unleash this deadly strike, a low, rumbling hum suddenly approached at breakneck speed from the side. A surge of instinctive danger forced him to redirect the arc, swinging it sharply to the side while fiercely channeling invisible magical energy to swiftly move away from his original position.
A dense barrage of arcane firestorm swept through the spot where he had just stood.
Cold sweat broke out across Clement’s brow as he turned toward the source of the attack—and his eyes widened at the sight of a sleek, jet-black aircraft with broad, dragon-wing-like appendages cutting into his view.
Then more appeared, emerging one after another from the distant clouds—an unrelenting wave of them!
Cecilian aerial reinforcements?!
“The enemy’s backup has arrived!” he shouted urgently into his comm-link. “Watch out for those black machines—their attacks are even more ferocious!
“Speed up! Attack squad, take out the Cecilian train! Gryphon Knights, provide cover at all costs!”
Just moments before, the dragonrider squadron had been pushed into a dire disadvantage. The Typhon forces, now vastly empowered, combined with the brutal blizzard conditions, had already downed one fighter after another. The armored train on the ground was teetering on the brink of destruction. But now, with reinforcements arriving suddenly, the tide was stemmed from slipping further into disaster—the newly arrived black aircraft swiftly joined the fray, locking into deadly combat with the frenzied Typhon warriors.
Amid the howling hail of bullets and beams, Clement raised a formidable shield. He constantly shifted his flight path to keep distance from the black fighters, all the while turning back repeatedly to unleash wide arcs of electricity aimed at weakening their defenses. More than once, he felt death brush past him—though in theory, he had three chances to gamble with death itself, he was determined not to waste any here unless absolutely necessary.
Because every time he died, the price of the “miracle” had to be paid.
One black fighter seemed to have singled him out as the commander of this force, relentlessly pursuing him. Clement lost track of how long they had been locked in this deadly dance, but finally, after endless attrition and chase, he seized an opening.
He plunged into the clouds, using their cover to conjure vast clusters of floating magical spheres. Without hesitation, he burst out from another angle. Just as he expected, the black fighter followed without hesitation—and in the next instant, a series of explosive flashes tore through the iron-gray cloud bank.
Clement hovered in the air, eyes fixed on the direction of the blasts. Through the smoke and firelight, he saw the black silhouette stagger out—shattered and barely able to maintain flight.
“Farewell,” he whispered, then without hesitation, swung his hand down. A powerful arc of electricity leapt across the distance, shredding the aircraft into fragments.
Without missing a beat, Clement turned to rush to the aid of his embattled comrades.
But a roar thundered from behind, halting the high-level battle mage in his tracks. The sound shattered the sky, carrying a primal terror that seemed to clutch at his very heart with an invisible hand.
He didn’t know what emotions stirred as he slowly turned his head toward the source of the roar. The raging blizzard around him seemed to freeze in place. And then, through the lingering smoke and flames, two terrifying, monstrous figures tore through the clouds—two cold, hostile eyes locked onto him.
Cecilians… with dragons.
(The new Paladin novel! “The Multiverse Roster” is out now—need I say more?)
(End of chapter)