Chapter 1021: The Rising Wind

The seventh flash of light erupted above a mountain peak near Winterburg. After a brief delay, an irregularly shaped mushroom cloud billowed up at the edge of the plain. Pale, ghostly currents of magical energy swirled outward from the base of the cloud, scorching and obliterating everything in their path. The deafening roar echoed through the sky and earth, shaking the very mountains themselves.

Then, a colossal figure tore through the rolling heat waves and smoke. Cracks spidered across the giant’s armor, from which rust-colored gas hissed and poured out. Molten lava flowed beneath its feet. The giant lifted its head, and deep within its hollow helmet, two dark red flames flickered wildly. Its gaze fixed distantly on a certain mountain—one that, just a minute ago, had unleashed the seventh annihilation strike.

In the next instant, a chaotic, layered roar erupted from inside the helmet—a battle cry beyond human comprehension. The giant raised its arm high, and a longbow materialized in its grasp. With a heroic posture that only the most imaginative mortals could envision, it drew the bowstring taut. A blood-red arrow appeared, seemingly conjured from thin air, resting on the string.

The giant released the bowstring. The massive crimson arrow tore through the air and struck the distant mountain almost instantly. At nearly the same moment, thick, layered magical barriers rose around the peak. The arrow slammed into the shields with a piercing shriek that rent the sky. The barriers were shredded in an instant, and a massive explosion engulfed the entire mountain.

The brilliant white beam that had pierced the heavens above the peak flickered violently before vanishing into the rising cloud of smoke and fire. At the mountain’s base, the sprawling Typhon encampment, bathed in flowing streams of magical energy, dimmed one sector after another as if swallowed by darkness. Anyone observing from above would see a vast void forming within the magical network that spanned the entire Winterburg region—an eerie, gaping hole carved out of the web woven by hundreds of thousands of gifted spellcasters.

Inside the Arcane Hall, the voice crackled through the communication crystal, trembling slightly: “The Black Thorn Mage Division has been completely annihilated! Node Seven is offline! Magical flow deviation at ninety percent!”

A brief silence fell over the hall. Then, a calm, steady voice echoed through the cavernous chamber:

“Continue.”

…

On the opposite side of the standoff, the terrifying scene between the Winterburg mountains and the plains shook the minds of all who witnessed it. The enormous glowing orb rising relentlessly, the giant striding through the torrents of magical energy, and the successive collapse of mortal defenses painted a picture of apocalypse. Even from a considerable distance, the sight was enough to unsettle the bravest hearts.

Dragon cavalry scouts, positioned closer but maintaining a safe distance, relayed clearer images—capturing the relentless advance of the out-of-control, merciless god, battered by continuous annihilation strikes.

Amber stood beside Gawain, eyes wide as she stared at the distant scene projected by the magical network terminal. After a long moment, she couldn’t help but exclaim, “They actually have something this powerful hidden away…”

“This is Typhon’s ‘full national might’…” Gawain said slowly, his voice heavy with awe. “Truly… impressive.”

At the same time, a thought quietly surfaced in his mind: If Rosetta Augustus hadn’t tried to avoid bloodshed and had declared war on Ansu outright, Ansu might have been wiped out long ago.

This world… truly is a chasm of endless depths.

Just then, another magical network terminal beside them hummed to life. The projection crystal above it glowed, and Mariland’s figure appeared in the hologram, set against the bustling interior of an armored train.

“Your Majesty,” Mariland saluted briskly, his tone urgent. “We’ve reached Typhon’s control zone. Their outposts here have all been destroyed. The railway ahead can still be pushed forward a bit, and the tank units are ready to deploy. Shall we attack?”

Gawain didn’t answer immediately. He lifted his gaze toward the Winterburg defenses.

Even through thick walls and great distance, he could imagine the battlefield’s grim reality: the war god, now utterly unhinged and transformed into a living disaster, pressing forward; mortal lines crumbling step by step; the massive mage encampments near Winterburg falling one by one; hundreds, even thousands of Typhon soldiers dying every minute amid the chaotic magical currents and divine counterattacks.

Typhon—the terrifying behemoth, the Empire of Cecil’s greatest rival and threat, a deeply entrenched military power—was bleeding out by the minute. Centuries of accumulated strength were being consumed at an unprecedented rate. Wait a little longer, and the war god’s elite forces would be torn apart. Wait a bit more, and Typhon’s defenses would be shattered. Wait even longer, and Typhon would cease to be a threat to Cecil forever.

Meanwhile, the war god might be sufficiently weakened in the process, becoming easier to kill. So many annihilation strikes on a god already in decline—if not fatal, they would at least inflict grievous wounds. That might be the most “cost-effective” moment to launch a full assault.

Behind Gawain stood a black-haired maid named Diana. Despite being in the enemy’s stronghold, surrounded by soldiers watching her every move, this woman from Typhon remained calm and composed. Her gaze, devoid of emotion, fixed on Gawain’s back. She neither urged nor advised him, as if a detached observer quietly calculating every second of this historic turning point.

Gawain smiled faintly and, without hesitation, turned to the communication device. “Mariland, full assault.”

…

The cold wind howled across the dry plains. The armored train “War Citizen” crouched like a steel colossus on a temporary track in the Typhon-Cecil standoff zone. Alongside it, on parallel rails, two “Iron Scepters” and the “Zero” armored train, rushed from the Longwind Fortress, stood ready as escorts. Around and behind these mechanical beasts, rows of tanks and multi-purpose combat vehicles were neatly arrayed, along with massive arcane cannons—large enough to serve as fixed fortress artillery—hauled by powerful locomotives.

This ironclad formation stretched across the plain. The hunters anxiously awaited orders from the rear. Among the soldiers operating these war machines were many veterans of the original hunt for the “False God’s Corpse.” For mortals, participating in a single god hunt was enough to become legend; now, they had the chance to hunt a god twice.

And unlike the “False God’s Corpse,” this time they faced a far more powerful, more “legitimate” deity.

In the distance, above the Winterburg fortress cluster, a dozen brilliant beams of light pierced the eerie night sky. One beam flickered suddenly, and moments later, a cataclysmic explosion erupted on the plain. Magical torrents surged upward like a new sun rising from the earth. Then, just as suddenly, the beam extinguished.

Inside the War Citizen, a senior officer hurried through the busy command seats to Mariland’s side, urgency in his voice: “General! Do we attack? Several tank regiment commanders have already sent multiple inquiries…”

Mariland, clad in full uniform, had just ended a communication. The composed, knightly middle-aged general heard his subordinate and replied tersely, “Orders from above—attack!”

“Yes, General!” The officer snapped a sharp salute and shouted loudly. But as he turned to leave, he paused, puzzled. “By the way, which target?”

Mariland shot him a sharp glare. “Do you really need to ask? The biggest, easiest one to hit!”

A broad smile spread across the officer’s face as he responded with booming enthusiasm, “Yes, General!”

In the next moment, surging magical energy flowed into engines and power spines. Gears and linkages whirred under arcane mechanisms. The war machines began to move forward. The massive steel legion surged like a flood toward the Winterburg defenses.

After a brief delay, the large iridescent generator at the rear of the War Citizen hummed to life. Blinding white light rippled across the focusing crystal. Accompanied by a piercing scream that tore through the air, a torrent of pure arcane energy leapt across the distance, striking the advancing iron-gray giant.

Following that came the main cannons of the War Citizen’s front and rear, the Zero armored train’s main gun, and the Iron Scepters’ primary and secondary batteries…

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The thunderous roar of arcane artillery filled the air. Waves of steel and light surged forward, powerful beams and shells raining down on the god who had now closed in on the Winterburg fortress cluster.

That enormous, conspicuous “iron giant”… was indeed an easy target.

…

“Frost Combat Mage Division completely wiped out! Node Eleven offline! Magical flow severely unbalanced—our network faces regional collapse!”

“Magic supply camps twelve through sixteen lost contact. Garrisons at camps nineteen and twenty-two suffered heavy casualties, unable to hold nodes, have withdrawn!”

“National Knight Order, Eighth Regiment, missing…”

“The Fourth Griffin Knight Regiment completed aerial assault, returning at forty percent…”

Reports from various mage outposts streamed into the largest mage tower. Palin Winterburg, stationed atop the tower, gripped his staff tightly, his expression as cold and unyielding as the winter mountains.

The empire’s elite, amassed over many years, was being consumed at a terrifying rate. He no longer felt pain—only absurdity. And the most absurd thing was that the dreadful giant still lived, now attacking the Winterburg fortress cluster. Mortal attacks inflicted only limited damage, but each counterstrike meant the annihilation of an entire unit.

The pressure was overwhelming. Even the steadfast Typhon soldiers, faced with such a relentless battle for so long, could only feel fear and doubt creeping in.

So far, the entire defensive line hadn’t collapsed. That was thanks to three factors: first, the soldiers, who, with no way to retreat, summoned every ounce of their courage; second, the old Duke Peridinan Wendell, who commanded the frontline with the power of the Protectorate Knights to forcibly maintain the barest semblance of morale and order; and third… the sheer vastness of the defense. The speed at which the troops struck down by the wrath of the god were wiped out was so rapid that small detachments scattered across the line couldn’t truly grasp the scale of death and injury unfolding every second along that endless front.

Only those who understood the entire battle could comprehend what mortals were facing on this field.

“This… this is divine calamity,” Count Winterburg muttered to himself. “What exactly have we been worshiping all these centuries…?”

He instinctively glanced at the nearby magical projection, catching sight of that merciless, cold giant roaring as if tearing the sky apart. Deep within the hollow helmet, two blazing fires burned with a madness that seemed to embody all the extremes of human insanity.

It was no longer a god in any sacred sense—completely transformed into a pure natural disaster, a monster driven by instinct to slaughter every living thing on this land. Or rather… to wage a war in which everyone must perish.

At that moment, a sudden glow flared at the edge of the magical projection, drawing Count Winterburg’s attention. In the next instant, massive bursts of fiery light erupted across the iron-gray giant’s body—within seconds, a torrential downpour of beams and shells rained down, blanketing the entire area where the giant stood.

Winterburg was stunned for two seconds before realizing this was a scene created by the Cecilian forces.

The Cecilians had crossed the contested zone and entered Typhon Empire territory—yet all the outposts along the original defensive line had long since been destroyed by the mad god, leaving no one to warn or report the Cecilians’ arrival.

Of course, at this point, no one cared about that anymore.

“Your Majesty! The Cecilians have launched an attack!” Parin Winterburg hurried to the communication crystal, activating the spell as he spoke urgently, then quickly added, “Ah, they’re not attacking us…”

“…Maintain the attack frequency on the Wound of Oblivion as much as possible,” came the calm voice from the crystal, as steady as ever. “This battle is only just beginning.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Regardless, the arrival of the Cecilians greatly bolstered the officers and soldiers along the line. Seeing the bombardments and arcane torrents raining down on the iron giant, even the most steadfast knights couldn’t help but breathe a heavy sigh of relief. No Typhon soldier had ever imagined such a thing—never thought they would be heartened by the Cecilians’ arrival, nor that falling shells and arcane floods could become a source of comfort.

The wavering line steadied once more. Mortals did not retreat. The thunderous cannon fire roared again.

(The special edition of the Chronicles of the Abnormal Creatures is now out! Made by the new team! Everyone, show your support—whether there will be a sequel depends on how well this does!)

(End of chapter)