Chapter 1022: The God of War

From a bird’s-eye view, the Winter Fortress complex and the narrow plains to its west resembled a boiling sea of radiant light—

Hundreds of thousands of supernaturals were stationed across hundreds of camps of varying sizes. This vast network of encampments formed an unimaginably massive magical grid, with surging torrents of mana flowing across the expansive land, converging continuously at a dozen or so strategic high points around the Winter Fortress. Beams of light pierced the sky from mountaintops, and with every flash, powerful spheres of energy rained down from above.

On the eastern front, Cecil’s armored forces pressed forward. Armored trains rumbled along the tracks, while clusters of tanks and various light and medium combat vehicles crushed the parched winter earth beneath their treads. Amidst rolling clouds of dust, the thunder of artillery roared in unison. Dense flashes of light rippled like waves along the leading edge of this “iron tide,” as shells and energy beams wove a fiery net that spilled across the distant plains.

Colossal giants, towering like mountains, trudged across the land, advancing relentlessly through a storm of ancient forbidden spells and modern artillery fire. Even in their weakened divine forms, these gods appeared impossibly resilient against the furious onslaught of mortal weapons. Though the combined might of two empires poured unceasing firepower onto their heads, inflicting continuous damage, the giants’ steps never faltered. Like undefeated knights, they pressed onward, smashing every defensive line before them or loosing arrows from their great bows to annihilate any “insects” foolish enough to harm them.

Inside the armored train War Citizen, the thunderous roar of cannons vibrated through the protective barriers, filling the entire tactical carriage with a deep, rolling rumble. Mariland approached a side observation window and gazed out toward the Winter Fortress complex.

Nestled among the mountains, the core of the Winter Fortress line rose gradually from the plains’ edge, its slopes and hills glowing with brilliant streams of light flowing across the earth. Though many “black zones”—areas where the magic had already died out—marred the landscape, this luminous sea of mortal power remained breathtakingly magnificent.

“Truly impressive…” the seasoned general murmured, unable to hide his admiration.

This was the miracle wrought by Typhon’s centuries of accumulated strength, a colossal supernatural army stacked like a living fortress. The sprawling magical ley lines were the pride of Typhon’s Royal Mage Association. Their cost was astronomical, and the number of supernaturals required was likely beyond the reach of any nation on the continent except Typhon and the Silver Empire. The system’s efficiency and stability paled compared to a similarly scaled arcane network; at least, a comparable magic grid powering the Annihilation Rift wouldn’t suffer such frequent overloads and self-destruction. This network might only last for a limited time—human power had its limits—but even so, Mariland had to pay tribute to this marvel. He was certain that even the sovereign he served would feel the same.

This was the last pinnacle of the old era’s supernatural order…

Suddenly, a messenger’s shout broke Mariland’s reverie: “The track ahead ends here! The connecting segment has been blown up!”

He lifted his gaze. The plains stretched out to their limit, and the outermost buildings of the Winter Fortress complex stood in the distance—Cecil’s forces had crossed the long-contested stalemate zone, but the railway for the armored trains ended here.

And the mountain-like giant still marched forward with steady, resolute steps. Its goal had never wavered: the castle perched atop the mountain peak, its walls as pure and white as snow, as if something of utmost importance there irresistibly drew it onward.

Suddenly, the giant raised its arm again. A massive bow materialized in its grasp. Scanning the battlefield around it, the giant swiftly loosed an arrow backward—the enormous shaft tore through the air and almost instantly struck the steel tide of Cecil’s forces. Tanks and multi-purpose vehicles near the impact point scrambled to evade, but when the explosion erupted, over a dozen vehicles were obliterated in a terrifying blast of energy.

Without hesitation, the giant turned back and resumed its march toward Winter Fortress.

Mariland’s pupils constricted sharply—

This was the god of war that mortals believed in, the deity shaped by human imagination since ancient times—no flashy adornments, no arcane trickery. It swept the battlefield with absolute power, its indomitable body facing every attack head-on. Clad in armor, wielding weapons, it charged through enemy ranks, destroying every threat. This was the classic image of battlefield heroism that humanity had revered throughout history.

The giant embodied all these traits perfectly.

Nearby, the Iron Scepter armored train assigned to escort duty was missing a car. On another track in the distance, the rear half of the Zero armored train was severely damaged, its remaining cars billowing thick smoke. These were the costs paid in the recent pursuit of a god.

Mariland took a deep breath and quickly issued orders to the communications officer beside him: “Slow the armored trains to a stop. Continue firing all weapons at the target until it moves out of range. Other ground forces, keep advancing and maintain firepower. First, second, and fourth artillery battalions, move forward and establish a new position at Hill 76. Continue the assault…”

…

Above the Iron Throne, the eerie starry sky and night shroud cloaked the land. Squadrons of shadows streaked across the clouds, accelerating toward the giant clad in iron-gray armor below—silver-gray dragonrider aircraft and steel-winged dragon flocks soaring directly through the clouds.

The biting wind sliced across their wings like cold blades, cutting through protective magical barriers. Black dragon Sujina narrowed her eyes against the turbulent air currents and peered into the distance.

The giant that even dragons trembled before was now clearly visible.

“Maggy… when you wrote asking me to come to Cecil to ‘experience flying,’ you never mentioned we’d be fighting something like this…”

The black dragon commander muttered softly, but a faint, fearless smile tugged at her lips. She spread her wings wide, embracing the sky. Runes along the edges of her steel wings shimmered in the night, and the dragons beside her mirrored the gesture. The entire aerial formation surged forward once more, leaving behind faint, shimmering afterimages under the starlight.

The Typhon forces fought with reckless abandon here because their lives and honor were at stake. The Cecil forces charged with desperate resolve because their very survival and homeland ideals depended on it. And the dragonborn… mercenaries by trade and outsiders by birth, yet now as fearless as the humans around them. This might be hard for outsiders to understand.

But the dragonborn felt it was only natural—they had been paid, and when they took the coin, they made solemn promises.

Dragonborn might be incomplete dragons, but even incomplete dragons had their dignity and code: when paid, the job must be done; promises must be kept.

Besides… flying through the sky like this was truly exhilarating.

…

Blazing flames scorched the earth. The once-cold northwestern border had become a roaring furnace on this day. Amid the utterly destroyed Typhon encampments, rampant, uncontrolled magic continued to lick at the soil and the ruins of barracks.

A communication crystal, half-buried in the scorching earth, flickered weakly. Without the support of its controlling mage, its surface glow rapidly dimmed. Yet faint, muffled voices still emanated from deep within the crystal: “…Calling out to Camp 44, Winter Fortress Mage Tower calling Camp 44… report your… mana flow instability, we need… a response…”

The bodies buried beneath the soil could not answer. Apart from the crackling of burning barracks and the low howling of wild magic sweeping low over the land, silence reigned. Suddenly, a bloodied hand clawed away a pile of loose dirt near the crystal. A battle mage, unrecognizable and battered, struggled out from the collapsed fortifications, writhing in the mud.

He reached toward the dying communication crystal. As it received a surge of mana, its glow brightened faintly once more.

“This is… Camp 44…”

“Reporting our status: Camp 10 Annihilation needs more mana…”

“There’s no more mana… Camp 44 took a direct hit and has been destroyed. Nearby camps I can see are the same… all our people are dead.”

A pause of two seconds, then the voice on the other end replied: “Received. We will reroute mana flows to the remaining camps. You may… retreat.”

“…Understood.”

The crystal flickered several times. Its internal runes, badly damaged, began to overheat, spiderwebbing cracks across its surface. Before it shattered completely, one last faint voice whispered: “Thank you for your fight, soldier…”

With a sharp crack, the crystal shattered into pieces. The battle mage tossed aside the useless shards and, summoning his last strength, rolled over. His upper body, ragged and broken like a tattered sack, leaned against a ruin unrecognizable from its former shape.

“You’re welcome…”

He looked up at the sky. His dimming eyes reflected the night and the brilliant stars. Against that backdrop, Cecil’s war machines and fully armed dragon flocks flew toward the Winter Fortress complex.

Behind Camp 44, across the barren fields leading to the fortress, the hollow steel giant still marched forward, flames flowing beneath its feet.

…

“The loss of Camp 44 means our last forward interception barrier in front of the fortress was destroyed three minutes ago,” a senior battle mage reported gravely to Parin Winterfort. “At this point, our frontline defenses are down to less than thirty percent, leaving only the fortress walls, shields, and mage towers.”

“Their sacrifice has bought us precious time and mana. Every extra shot the Annihilation Rift fires brings us one step closer to final victory.” Count Winterfort’s expression was solemn as he glanced toward a magical projection nearby—the Mage’s Eye stationed high above surveyed the Winter Fortress line. Among the mountains housing the fortress, more than half the beams piercing sky and earth had already gone dark. The mana network flowing across the land was riddled with holes, a grim and harrowing sight everywhere.

The extraordinary nodes set up near the front lines to sustain the magical energy supply had suffered heavy losses. Yet, the annihilation camps within the fortress cluster had already been mostly extinguished… So, even though the entire defensive line was on the verge of collapse, this vast magical network had not completely fallen apart.

Perhaps this was the only “good thing” to have happened here since the battle began…

Parin Dongbao shook his head, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, all that remained in his gaze was unwavering determination.

…

Inside the Arcane Hall, the ethereal, hazy starlight had fully permeated the walls, floor, and ceiling. The entire hall resembled a glass chamber suspended among the stars of the cosmos. At the center of this “sea of stars” floated a strange, chaotic eye outlined by erratic lines, its hollow “pupil” fixed on the images projected by a nearby magical display.

The projection flickered with scenes captured by the surviving Mage’s Eyes—battlefield glimpses, the iron-colored giant striding forward, and the simultaneous advance of the Cecil Legion from both sky and ground.

“…Truly breathtaking… I never expected you to develop this far during my slumber… I thought that after the Reversal Tide was destroyed by the dragons, I would never again witness mortals displaying such fierce courage. Yet here you are, a people rising from the ruins—unbelievable, truly unbelievable… You mortals are far tougher than I imagined.”

“Mortals are easily knocked down, but we always get back up. That’s how our history has endured,” Rosetta Augustus said calmly, standing against the backdrop of the starry void. He glanced at the iron giant in the projection, then shifted the topic without a trace of emotion. “Now, we can inflict enough damage on It.”

“Enough? Enough, perhaps… It’s a delicate question,” the chaotic, hollow eye replied slowly. “I can’t quantify exactly how much harm a god takes from mortal attacks… But compared to when you first fought alone, your chances of success have definitely improved.”

“Then you must keep your promise.”

“Of course, I will… But only if you truly deliver a fatal blow to It—that requires weakening It as much as possible. You must understand, my power is very limited right now. Facing a full god in this state is quite a challenge.”

Rosetta stared quietly at the hollow eye floating nearby. After a long pause, his voice dropped low and slow: “We will do it.”

…

While the human world was engulfed in turmoil, distant eyes watched this battlefield between mortals and gods.

On the top floor of the towering Central Sanctuary, a terrace overlooking all of Talrond, a golden-haired figure stood bathed in the faint glow of the setting sun, silently gazing toward the continent of Loren.

Helagor stood respectfully at his side, speaking softly: “My lord, you have been watching for a long time.”

The golden figure was silent for a moment before replying quietly, “To me, it is but an instant.”

Helagor said no more. He followed the god’s gaze toward the distance, then quickly withdrew his eyes.

He knew what was happening in that direction—and what was unfolding stirred memories of a long-forgotten time.

But he also knew he must not dwell on those memories, especially not here.

(End of chapter)