Chapter 1312: The Day of Flowing Fire

Flames coursed across the land, forests consumed by raging warfires. The ancient, majestic walls had been breached by a terrifying gap, and through it poured the enemies of civilization. The defenders of the civilized world, caught unprepared, fell into disarray. Wave after wave of grotesque mutants crashed against them, forcing a steady retreat—from the grand walls to the forest barrier, then from the forest to the kingdom’s borders, and beyond that, to nearly undefended towns and villages.

The ranger forces of the Gaoling Kingdom and the allied troops sent by the Silver Empire held their ground desperately along these lines. The original military defenses had been torn to shreds, battlefield communications were in chaos, and the still-capable human soldiers were scattered across the vast front. Isolated and unsupported, they fought alone, unaware of where their allies were, whether the lines still held, or even if they were the last living souls trapped in this nightmare.

In many regions, the garrison troops had long since lost all morale. Soldiers fought numb and near-mad, driven only by the fact that their enemies neither allowed retreat nor accepted surrender.

Yet, amid this despair, some noticed an unforgettable sight in the sky—high above the northern reaches of Gaoling Kingdom, the Starfall Sanctuary, wrapped in flames and thick smoke, slowly descended toward the horizon. Nearly half the surviving border legions could clearly see the blazing light falling to the earth.

The Starfall Sanctuary had abandoned all its subsystems, no longer attempting to return or repair. Its ancient, decaying power core squeezed out its last ounce of magic, allowing the weapon systems, long pushed to their limits, to shine one final time in the high sky—no longer cautious, no longer conserving energy, no longer fearing damage. Every logic unit in the main control system screamed in unison; the mechanical chambers roared with sparks and smoke. After tens of thousands of years, this ancient airborne fortress once again ruled the blue heavens with reckless abandon.

Belsethia sat quietly upon the throne of command, her pale golden seat surrounding her like a halo. Countless pipes and cables shimmered and snapped beneath and behind her. Her mind wavered in a haze as the cacophony of neural signals from every corner of the Starfall Sanctuary flooded her consciousness, bringing pressure and pain far beyond the usual. Yet suddenly, she smiled softly and whispered, “It’s cheering.”

Elian Vanna stood beside the throne. The young attendant had torn off the overly long hem of her dress and tied back her hair. In each hand, she held a crackling charged longsword, her expression calm as she watched the dark land drawing nearer in the projection. Despite the surrounding roar, she heard Belsethia’s quiet words. After a brief pause, she smiled too and bent slightly forward. “That’s good.”

Belsethia nodded gently, closing her eyes. In the darkness behind her closed lids, a vague silhouette emerged—an elf-like figure, slimmer and more upright than the current Silver Elves. It stood there, surrounded by faint, drifting lines that stretched into the darkness and connected to Belsethia’s back. It seemed to speak without sound, yet Belsethia understood. She smiled sincerely in the dark and said, “Thank you for all these years of dedication.”

The figure nodded and waved farewell.

Suddenly, an unprecedented tremor and thunderous crash erupted from all directions. The Starfall Sanctuary’s base structure slammed solidly into the corrupted, polluted earth at the edge of the wasteland. Mountains crumbled, the sky seemed to fall, and the ground split open.

Like a floating mountain crashing down, the entire northern border of Gaoling Kingdom shook as if gripped by a massive earthquake. Though the sanctuary had slowed to minimize damage to the still-intact sentinel towers far away, the chain reaction from this impact would forever alter the landscape. At the moment of collision, the sanctuary’s middle and upper structures disintegrated, massive fragments collapsing and scattering across the surrounding plains, hills, and river valleys. Countless mutant legions pouring from those regions into the forest defenses were caught with nowhere to flee, pulverized in an instant. Even those monsters lucky enough to escape the crash zone were torn apart by the shockwave.

The battlefield seemed to fall silent. The monsters lost their command signals from the wasteland, and the humans stood stunned and disoriented.

Along the shattered forest line in Gaoling’s northern border, human and Silver Elf ranger units gaped in disbelief as the flaming, smoke-wreathed fortress fell to earth. As the choking dust cloud rose and the ground trembled violently, some soldiers barely regained their senses. A few human troops cried out in shock, but the elves only clenched their teeth in silence—none uttered a sound.

Ranger General Romar took two steps toward the horizon. The distant fire and smoke stung his eyes, and the charged sword in his hand hummed with energy.

A silver glow shimmered through his golden hair. Behind him, the other exhausted Silver Elves silently stepped forward, their hair color shifting rapidly from gold to silver.

The human soldiers around them stared in surprise. Then, Romar suddenly raised his sword high, pointing it toward the chaos-stricken mutant hordes. A terrifying roar burst from the throat of this usually gentle elf—a battle cry not heard on this land for thousands of years, but once enough to strike fear into every creature of the wasteland and forest:

“Slaughter!”

Countless echoes of the same cry erupted throughout the forest line, igniting the entire defense with a blazing fury: “Slaughter!”

…

In the dark, chaotic Rebellion Courtyard, the golden oak tree standing in the center suddenly seemed to be swept by an invisible gale. With a series of creaks and rustles, countless golden leaves drifted down, stirring a swirling rain of foliage across the vast courtyard. A sacred white stag, previously resting beneath the oak with closed eyes, suddenly opened them and rose, gazing toward some point deep within the endless darkness.

In the next moment, another figure cloaked in deep purple mist appeared beside the sacred stag. Her eyes glowed with pale violet lightning, as if piercing through the vast space to witness the great upheaval unfolding in the world.

Amon’s voice came from nearby: “Mylmina, you feel it, don’t you…?”

“Yes, I feel it… such a massive disturbance, a howl spreading across the mortal world. Even without the ‘faithful’ as a medium, I see it clearly,” Mylmina said gravely. “That magical barrier has been severely damaged. Though it’s been partially repaired, it’s not whole… those chaotic things are spreading into the civilized world…”

Amon said nothing, his gaze fixed on a point in the darkness. The light surrounding him flickered and pulsed, powerful energy rippling outward. This sudden change caught Mylmina’s attention. The former goddess of magic widened her eyes and stared at her “roommate.” “Wait, old stag, what are you planning…?”

“I have to go… I must go…” Amon’s voice was low as he struck the rock beneath his hooves with increasing force. The massive stone, fused from unknown shadow realm materials and remnants of Voyager alloy, began to crack under his strength. “Things are bad over there. I see… I see a sea of fire flowing in the darkness, a shining light falling. I have to help them…”

“Sit down!” Mylmina’s eyes blazed as she roughly pressed her hand against Amon’s head—but despite her efforts, she couldn’t hold him. She released him and glared fiercely. “Get a grip! Do you know what you’re doing? Do you realize the cost you paid to sever the link with mortal worshippers? Even if you don’t care about yourself, think about them—if you go now to help, what then? Will they just commemorate this ‘descent’ and ‘miracle’ again? When that happens, don’t say you won’t be dragged back. The future of those elves will be ruined!”

Amon shook his head vigorously. He had never heard Mylmina speak so loudly before. Her angry, uncontrolled energy struck his mind like thunder, but moments later he lifted his head, his eyes shining with resolve as he met hers. “I have to go—not as the god of nature, but as ‘Amon.’”

“What nonsense are you talking?” Mylmina glared, lightning crackling between her hands. “No, you’re out of your mind. I have to calm you down…”

“I’m calm. I know what I’m doing and the consequences it might bring—but I have my reasons,” Amon’s gaze swept over the lightning in her hands. His voice was calmer yet more determined. “Not all aid from higher powers is a ‘miracle.’ If I were just a mortal, would I be unable to help? And I don’t have to appear before them—I can help quietly from the sidelines and leave quickly…”

He paused, shaking his head. “You know the rules behind divine workings. The key isn’t what I do, but what they think I do, what they believe they can achieve. Reverence for gods has faded over a thousand years. If I act carefully, this won’t be seen as a ‘miracle.’ Maybe…

“Maybe it will just seem like something incredible happened—like a mighty beast charging out of the forest. The dense woods hold many secrets; they can explain it however they want. What matters is that now, they need help…”

“Why are you explaining all this to me?” Mylmina suddenly cut him off. The lightning in her hands vanished, and her voice softened. She simply stared into Amon’s eyes and said quietly, “Just keep your wits about you—I’m not your guardian. I’m just staying here with you for now.”

This time, it was Amon who was stunned. “You… won’t stop me?”

“I can’t stop you. All I can do is advise—but now I realize even my advice won’t hold you back,” Mylmina lowered her gaze. “Honestly, if it weren’t for how harshly I starved myself before, just to break free from my divine status—and still haven’t fully recovered—I really would have tried to force you to stay here…”

She shook her head, her expression unusually serious as she looked at the majestic, sacred stag before her. “There’s only one thing I need to be sure of—can you truly do what you say? When you see them bleeding everywhere, watching them fall back step by step, hearing their desperate cries for help in the raging fire… can you really guarantee you’ll remain just ‘Amorn the mortal’?

“If you stay out of their sight, your options will be extremely limited. But the moment you cross that line… there’s no turning back.”

Amorn met Mylmina’s steady gaze. After a long moment, he nodded softly and stepped into the deep darkness beyond the Rebellion Courtyard.

His figure vanished into the depths of the chaos.

“…So you really do know the way out,” Mylmina said, staring long after Amorn’s disappearance before slowly pulling her gaze away. She looked around at the various magical devices flickering with light. After a brief pause, she sighed helplessly. “Alright… now I have to figure out how to explain this to them… though they’re probably already overwhelmed.”

…

Inside the Supreme Council Chamber, the lights burned bright. Intelligence from every source was being compiled before Hetty and Gawain. The hurried footsteps and tense conversations echoed through the corridors, while orderly commands were issued and relayed—these directives driving the vast machinery of the empire forward, and rekindling hope in many hearts.

The frontier of civilization faced an unprecedented crisis, yet the empire’s highest governing body continued to operate with discipline. As long as the lights in the Supreme Council Chamber and Cecil Palace remained lit, the situation was still under mortal control—at least in the minds of those steadfast Cecilians who believed the world should run this way.

After tossing the latest report onto the table, Gawain rubbed his brow. His expression was grave but not weighed down by despair.

The earth-shaking upheaval at the front lines had been relayed immediately to the imperial capital nestled at the northern foot of the Dark Mountains. Soon after came reports from Typhon, the Silver Empire, and other regions—one message after another flooding in from afar. Together, they painted a suffocating picture.

The grand wall had “malfunctioned” for unknown reasons; the sentinel towers ceased operation; the barriers surrounding the wasteland developed numerous breaches. Swarms of aberrations poured through, displaying an unsettling level of discipline. Frontline units scrambled to engage, Typhon’s defenses strained, contact with the Silver Empire and the Ogure tribes was lost. Then the 98th Sentinel Tower was utterly destroyed. The Solingen strain, which had been lying dormant and slowly spreading into the wasteland, was forced to reveal itself prematurely, transforming into the so-called “Greenwood Line”…

Gawain had expected some setbacks in this “counterattack on the wasteland.” Things wouldn’t go as smoothly as hoped.

But honestly, the scale of this “setback” was staggering.

Fortunately, he was, by nature, a chronic “fear of insufficient firepower” and “paranoia of being targeted.” Even when it seemed unnecessary, he had been relentlessly stockpiling contingency plans toward the wasteland.

After all… ever since the day it was unearthed, he had suspected the wall was doomed. And now, it really was.

(End of chapter)