Chapter 1024: Unprecedented
“Descendants of the Augustus family… you’ve misunderstood one thing—I have already fulfilled my promise.”
The hollow eye, outlined by countless chaotic, twisted lines, hovered in midair within the Arcane Hall. Though it bore no expression or gesture, a sharp sense of mockery—and even scorn—radiated from every subtle shift in its form. It was as if two centuries’ worth of accumulated malice and disguise had finally been stripped away, revealing its true face, dripping with unrestrained derision.
“I only promised to help you weaken the God of War, to create an opening for your final strike—but I never said how much I would weaken him, nor that your plan would succeed. And just now, I already gave you that chance. Too bad… you failed to seize it.”
On the western side of Winterfort’s summit, the mist rising along the mountain path was beginning to dissipate. Deep within the exploding clouds, a massive, indistinct shadow writhed, accompanied by maddening roars laced with unmistakable fury.
“Farewell, descendants of the Augustus family—thank you for the power you lent me and for your mental concessions. I will remember fondly the years we spent together…” The hollow, twisted eye trembled, its voice growing distant as the phantom figure gradually faded from the air. “Rest assured, I will keep my word—I will no longer strike any ‘Augustus’… Now that I am free, there are many things I must do. A mere mortal family will soon vanish from my memory…”
At last, the distorted hollow eye vanished completely. Its entire presence withdrew from this battlefield between gods and men, and from Rosetta Augustus’s mind. Just as promised—freedom was granted.
Rosetta watched the scene impassively, as if the world’s changes no longer concerned him. After the God’s Eye departed, he seemed to savor a rare freedom he hadn’t known in decades—indeed, the first freedom the entire Augustus family had experienced in two hundred years. Then, he exhaled softly, his gaze fixed on the spot where the eye had disappeared, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Completely corrupted by ‘humanity.’”
He muttered to himself, then tilted his head as if listening to several voices whispering deep within his mind. Nodding slightly, he murmured, “Yes, it’s not over yet. Not over…”
Outside the castle, on the western mountain path, the mushroom cloud from the explosion was nearly gone. The iron-gray giant’s silhouette was becoming clearer amid the dissipating mist. As the residual power of the God’s Eye faded, the figure began to emit an aura so overwhelming it threatened to shatter mortal sanity. Simply looking in its direction could drive a witness mad. Nearby, the communication crystal flickered violently as Parin Winterfort urgently inquired about the next move. The magical surge unleashed by multiple simultaneous annihilation wounds had destroyed the entire defensive line’s mana conduits around the Winterfort peaks. Rosetta Augustus observed quietly, then turned to the communication crystal beside him.
“Parin,” he said calmly, “initiate Plan B: reverse the polarity of all the Winterfort mana wells. Then evacuate everyone immediately. You’ll have exactly one hundred and twenty seconds after the polarity reversal to get out.”
“Your Majesty? And you? The plan—”
“Someone must take responsibility. Besides, I still carry the God’s Eye’s lingering aura. I must stay here and keep the target firmly ‘pinned.’”
Before Rosetta finished speaking, an angry, chaotic roar erupted again from the clouds above the western mountain path. A filthy, frenzied red light suddenly flared deep within the mist, like an “eye” fixated on the Arcane Hall. The oppressive force capable of breaking mortal minds exploded outward, ruthlessly radiating across the entire battlefield.
“Execute. No time to hesitate.”
“Yes, Your Majesty…” The voice of the Count of Winterfort came through the crystal, but before he could finish, a sudden alarm rang out. “Wait! What’s happening? Spider silk… how is there spi—Alert! Unknown intrusion! All units—”
Chaos erupted on the other end of the line. Amid a flurry of shouts and strange noises, the communication abruptly went silent. A flicker of surprise crossed Rosetta’s face, but before he could ask what had happened, an indescribable sensation swept over his mind—an experience beyond words, as if a vast, benevolent mental field had reached out to soothe and calm him on a non-physical plane. Instinctively, he looked up toward the windows of the Arcane Hall—and what he saw unfolded before him:
Three oddly shaped flying machines descended from the high sky. Their design vaguely resembled the “Dragon Riders” crafted by the Cecilians, but with many differences. They lacked dragon-wing-like flaps; instead, their upper hemispherical cockpits shimmered with rippling light, as if filled with some liquid. Within the liquid floated large, pale pink, subtly writhing entities.
Around each craft hovered a dozen or so soldiers clad in lightweight armor, metallic bands floating behind their heads. Their eyes were completely covered by metal visors, and a continuous magical aura surrounded them. A hidden connection seemed to link these soldiers and the three flying machines, as if they were bound by blood or nerves, moving with uncanny synchronization.
This was… another card from the Cecilians!?
The thought flashed through Rosetta’s mind. At the same time, he noticed the divine corruption emanating from the iron-gray giant was rapidly being suppressed. He felt that calming mental contact again, as if an invisible psychic field was radiating from the three flying machines and their soldiers, countering the god’s mental assault.
The iron-gray giant clearly sensed this sudden threat. Even in its madness, it began to respond—rust-colored steam hissed from its battered armor, and a massive bow began to form in its palm. It was preparing a powerful counterattack. But before it could fully gather its strength, a long, translucent segmented limb suddenly materialized in the air. Sweeping across the giant, countless spider silks quickly crawled up its arms and torso, even climbing over the steam and molten scars beneath its feet.
The three flying machines and their floating soldiers formed a triangle. Within its bounds, endless layers of spider silk surged forth, eventually creeping through the giant’s armor seams. The god struggled violently, unleashing a force that made the mountain tremble, but this severely weakened deity was losing ground for the first time in the battle. It was completely ensnared in silk. Above it, a colossal white spider—almost as large as the giant itself—slowly took shape from the air.
Rosetta stood before the Arcane Hall’s floor-to-ceiling window, instinctively raising his eyes to meet the gaze of the enormous spider floating in the clouds. Though it seemed eyeless, he felt a gentle, watchful presence settle upon him.
The next moment, the gaze shifted away. The white spider lowered its head, surveying the iron-gray giant wrapped in silk. Then it began to move its long segmented limbs, as a predator would drag its prey, pulling invisible threads of silk through the air. Bit by bit, the spider lifted the giant off the ground, hoisting it into the sky. It rose above Winterfort’s tallest mage tower, suspended high above the battlefield—
Rosetta narrowed his eyes. Then, from the corner of his vision, he caught a flash of white light in the northeastern sky. The light suddenly expanded and brightened, transforming into a torrent of radiant beams that swept thunderously across the heavens near the iron-gray giant.
Only now did a low, resonant hum reach the battlefield, pierced by a piercing, ear-splitting shriek.
The Typhon soldiers who had been fighting on this front since the start of winter recognized the sound immediately. It was the Cecilians’ powerful arcane focusing weapon—the Rainbow Beam. But this one, appearing over Winterfort, was far larger than any they had seen on the battlefield. Its caliber exceeded even the main cannon of the armored train’s Rainbow Beam, surpassing the giant siege cannons fixed to the fortress. This was a true flood of light.
Rosetta’s gaze snapped toward the beam’s origin. After a brief moment of shock, he realized where it came from—the sea!
More than twenty kilometers away, in the eastern waters beyond Winterfort’s mountain range. There was no way such a massive weapon could be hidden in the mountains behind Winterfort. The only possibility was the sea beyond the peaks.
A complete blind spot—a direction no one in traditional military thinking would consider part of this battlefield. Yet… the Cecilians clearly did.
Beyond the land, in the eastern sea near the Winterfort defense line, a massive ironclad warship floated on the calm waters.
Arcane wings spread like great sails from its sides, runes shimmering across their surfaces. Cooling vents along the ship’s flanks and stern hummed steadily, pumping vast amounts of seawater into the hull, then releasing it as steam over the ocean’s surface.
At the bow, the broad deck was dominated by the largest Rainbow Beam cannon ever constructed. Its curved arcane reflective shell gleamed metallically in the sunlight, while bright blue energy sparks danced between the crystals and rune arrays inside.
“First shot off-target!” a soldier in blue combat gear shouted from the ship’s midship bridge. “Nariel has transmitted recalibration data!”
Byron, clad in a navy admiral’s cloak, stood atop the captain’s platform, eyes fixed on the real-time images from the front. He bit down hard on his pipe.
“Fire another damn shot! Don’t waste the chance all those frontline soldiers fought to give us. As long as the power spine holds, keep firing! The Winter’s Wrath will endure this battle!”
“Yes, sir!”
Byron clenched his pipe between his teeth, both hands gripping the railing of the captain’s chair. His eyes, bloodshot from several sleepless days, burned with a fierce, fiery light.
He commanded the newly tested flagship, the ironclad Winter’s End, as it set sail from North Harbor. The ship charted a challenging course—skirting the Saint Dragon Principality’s coastal peninsula and curved shoreline, weaving past the Dragoncall Fjord in eastern Cecil, navigating the treacherous reefs and coastal sentries along Typhon’s eastern shore—until finally reaching the designated waters from which it could strike directly at Winterhold. The voyage was no small feat, but every hardship was worth it.
Only a massive offshore platform could haul the largest rainbow beam cannon in history across such distances. Only a rugged, reliable ocean cooler could handle the immense heat generated by this colossal weapon.
Now, it was time to let the justice delivered by this giant cannon bring an end to everything.
Hitting a land target dozens of kilometers away from a distant sea vessel—even a fixed one—is an extraordinary challenge. Though the rainbow beam cannon boasted such range, human aiming alone could never achieve that level of precision. But thanks to the meticulous calibration and terminal guidance personally overseen by the former “Upper Narrator,” this daring feat became possible.
Initial misses were expected and nothing to worry about. For the Winter’s End, this was only the beginning.
…
When that massive beam of light pierced the sky for the third time from afar, the iron-gray colossus finally ceased all its struggles.
A cascade of luminous energy surged forth, washing over the hollow armor. The “Divine Body,” teetering on the brink of collapse, suddenly became veined with countless white cracks. A ghastly pale radiance burst outward from within. This process lasted two or three seconds—a final, desperate stand of a god against the collective might of mortals. Then, the mountain-like form was pierced through; its armor shattered into fragments, and pure energy beams tore through its core, dissipating into the vast emptiness.
Above Winterhold’s summit, a massive explosion erupted. Countless shards rained down like a torrential storm. In the twilight sky, nearly the entire Winterhold region bore witness to the blast’s aftermath: fragments streaked like meteor showers, fiery shockwaves formed concentric rings that rippled through the clouds, pushing them aside and whipping fierce winds across the plains and hills.
In that instant, everyone who saw it felt an overwhelming, almost unbearable “presence” of immense power descending upon them. Yet before they could fully grasp it, the sensation vanished like a fleeting dream.
…
A true god had fallen.
Fallen in the primary material world, fallen in a direct war against mortals.
Since the departure of the Forerunners, this was the greatest upheaval the world had ever seen.
Far away in Talrond, atop the towering upper sanctum, Enya suddenly narrowed her eyes. A sharp, piercing gaze seemed to break free from her control, locking onto the continent of Loren.
In the unseen dimension above Talrond—hidden from mortal eyes—the colossal, chaotic dragon that enveloped the entire dragon realm shifted instantly. Across its undulating body, countless unnatural eyes simultaneously turned, one after another, fixing their gaze on Loren.
Within the span of two breaths, the attention of all the dragon “gods” was drawn to this world-shaking event. Whether willing or not, whether able to control it or not, as a deity of Talrond, it briefly lost control upon learning that another god had fallen at mortal hands. And as every one of the chaotic dragon’s countless eyes turned toward Loren, an unprecedented event unfolded:
For the first time in over a million years, Talrond vanished entirely from the dragon gods’ sight.
At the High Council headquarters, in the Hall of the Mind Throne, the ancient dragon speaker Andar suddenly lifted his head. Light flowed through the countless cables and tubes connected to him. From his aged throat erupted a roar-like voice:
“Authorization command—Coming of Age.
“Omega, you are free!!”
(End of chapter)