Chapter 1319: The Western Front

Amon was about to leave—he had already cleared the aberrations lingering in the upper levels of the Starry Sanctuary, temporarily stemmed the polluted air near the sanctuary’s crash site, and healed some of the still-living guardians along the forest defense line. As a “Former God” who still needed to keep a low profile, he had done more than enough here.

Anything more, and he would cross a line—pushing this matter into the realm of “miracles.”

“I will still help you where I can,” Amon said softly, tilting his head slightly as he spoke to Belsethia and Ilian behind him. “The relationship between gods and mortals isn’t just about miracles and faith. There’s also the possibility of fighting side by side within safe boundaries. Perhaps that’s the greatest gain from my reckless act this time…”

As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the direction of the ruined lands of Gondor. The dark earth, shrouded in murky clouds, reflected in his crystal-clear eyes. After a long moment, he withdrew his gaze and sighed quietly. “But the main battlefield will still be your mortal stage… I can feel it—the longer I remain active in this world, the stronger an invisible force tries to bind me here. Even though I’ve never crossed ‘that line’ or revealed myself to mortals, this force still lingers… It seems that although the chain around me has vanished, some connection between me and mortals remains.”

Belsethia frowned slightly but quickly understood. With a complex expression, she whispered, “The silver elves live too long… Memories we leave in the forest are hard to erase.”

“There’s no helping it. After all, I slipped through a loophole back then—not as cleanly severed as the War God or the Dragon God. In that regard, Myrmina isn’t much better than me,” Amon chuckled softly, then bent down. “Come down. It’s time for you to leave, and for me to go. The monsters roaming the forest defense line are being gradually wiped out. Soon, your soldiers will arrive here.”

Belsethia and Ilian lightly jumped to the ground. They saw the sacred giant stag rise again, seemingly about to turn and leave. But in the next moment, it paused, gazing far south toward the vast forest sea. The longing and worry in its eyes were unmistakable.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Ilian said, unable to hold back. “The breach has been sealed. We will completely annihilate the aberration army invading this forest—the pollution will never spread.”

“I know…” Amon muttered, shifting his steps but still glancing back uneasily. “Be very careful. These aberrations are fierce, and there may be other breaches in the barrier. Don’t let your guard down just because you’ve cleared the forest. Besides, there’s an inscrutable ‘Sentinel’ behind those aberrations…”

“I understand. Rest assured,” Belsethia nodded solemnly. “Recapturing the defense line is only the first step. Once the southern situation stabilizes, we’ll immediately inspect other breaches and coordinate with allied forces on other fronts to rebuild our offensive…”

“Also, watch out for residual pollution. The trouble left behind by those monsters after death isn’t small. Monitor the toxicity in the environment at all times. Burn contaminated corpses thoroughly, and check all water sources regularly…”

“We understand,” Belsethia said, half amused but serious. “I’ll remind everyone.”

“Right, be careful of airborne pollution too. Sometimes the toxic gases those monsters release are hard to detect. They have all sorts of mutated forms—some specialize in releasing poisons. The soldiers of Cecile have personal protective gear, but you don’t. So make sure every squad has monitoring and early warning measures. If necessary, have them bring a yellow-spotted finch—they’re very sensitive to changes in the air…”

“The Starry Sanctuary’s crash caused severe damage to the geological structure. Watch out for localized geological disasters. Even if you’ve reclaimed the defense line, don’t rush near the sanctuary’s wreckage. That massive block is still stuck there, and whatever’s inside the wasteland won’t come out anytime soon…”

“Once you reunite with the main force, rest up. You’ve been through a lot—I’ve treated your hidden wounds, but the mental exhaustion is best recovered naturally…”

Amon rambled on, then suddenly seemed to realize something and awkwardly stopped. He glanced at Belsethia and Ilian, whose expressions were a bit strange, and shook his head. “I think I’ve said too much… Well, I’m leaving now. This time, for real.”

He took a deep breath. The surrounding trees, slowly awakening, swayed in unison. Turning, he walked toward the distance. The dust and mist at the edge of the defense line respectfully parted to either side. He moved steadily toward the horizon, occasionally glancing back at the two elves he left behind, looking toward the vast forest still shrouded in smoke and flame, clearly still uneasy. A giant sun was rising over the forest’s edge, its radiant corona casting endless light, blurring the outline between his figure and the sky.

Minutes later, the stag’s radiant, almost light-forged form gradually merged with the newborn sunlight, vanishing from Belsethia and Ilian’s sight.

After a moment of silence, Ilian finally muttered softly, breaking the quiet: “My grandfather was like that too…”

Belsethia’s lips curved slightly. She turned toward the forest defense line. Amid the complex scents drifting from the woods, she could already sense her kin—searching the forest, their resilient will shining like candles in the dark.

She stepped forward into the forest, then reached back to Ilian, the sunlight streaming behind her like flowing shards of gold. “Let’s go. This is only the beginning.”

…

The brutal, blood-soaked battle had raged for who knew how long. Now, the ancient ridge was finally quiet—for the moment.

With dawn still some time away, a cold wind from the northern woods carried the scent of blood across the surviving defense line. The flickering light of torches and magic crystals illuminated the weary eyes of the warriors, forming a broken line of light along the ridge. A tall figure stood behind a makeshift barricade of wood and iron spikes, his pale golden, feline eyes alertly watching the murky darkness ahead.

He saw the forest still burning in the dark, smoke rising and blending with the clouds. At the foot of the mountain lay ruined towns, abandoned fortresses, and camps. The glaring dark red flames still consumed the ruins, and the nauseating stench of rot was carried by the mountain wind, spreading freely over the ravaged land.

The twisted abominations had temporarily retreated, but the chaotic howls, screams, and low murmurs that seemed to pierce directly into the mind still haunted the valley floor soaked in blood. Interspersed were the battle cries of tribal warriors and mountain fighters who had died heroically. The tall figure shook his head hard, trying to shake off the phantom sounds, then turned and passed through one barricade after another—barricades of uncertain effectiveness—stepping past soldiers resting between stones and wooden stakes, heading toward the camp behind the defense line, straight to the largest tent.

Two mountain warriors armed with battle axes stood guard at the tent’s entrance. They bowed respectfully to the visitor. “General Morak.”

The tall tiger-man called Morak raised a hand to stop their formalities, his voice hoarse. “How’s the chieftain?”

One guard thought for a moment, then answered seriously, “She’s awake. Should be able to fight three to five mountain warriors.”

Before he finished, a sharp female voice suddenly rang out from inside the tent, piercing and loud enough to make Morak’s ears ring: “Bullshit! Call three champions, and I’ll still take them on!”

The guard looked a bit flustered. Morak just waved his hand and stepped forward, pulling aside the heavy tent flap and entering.

A strong scent of medicine mixed with blood hit Morak’s face, causing him to frown. He looked toward the source of the blood smell and saw a campaign bed set in the center of the tent. The glow from magic crystal lamps illuminated the figure half-reclining against a tent pole—the orc ruler, the forest lord Kamira, watching Morak enter. Her pale golden, feline eyes still held a lingering aura of slaughter.

Morak studied Kamira. She had temporarily shed her armor, thick bandages wrapped around her arms and one shoulder, and numerous small wounds scattered across her upper body. Her once-beautiful fur was now scarred, with many patches singed black and gray by magic fire.

For Kamira, who always cared deeply about her fur, these burnt patches were probably more unbearable than the wounds themselves. But for Morak, the most important thing was that the chieftain had survived the front lines.

“Quite a mess. I’ve never suffered such a crushing defeat in my life,” Kamira said, noticing Morak’s gaze. She twisted the corner of her mouth, folding her furry ears inward, her tone full of displeasure. “Those monsters with rotten brains… they dared to singe my favorite patch of fur… even burned my tail!”

Morak lowered his head, speaking gravely. “You fought against hundreds alone. Compared to the enemies you tore apart, these wounds are nothing but honor.”

“Save the flattery—I’m not interested,” Kamira cut him off. “How’s the civilian evacuation going?”

“They’ve all been moved to the rear. The spirit tribe’s shamans are escorting them to Red Jade City. That evacuation route is still safe for now. The aberrations can’t cross this mountain range yet.”

“Red Jade City, huh… I hope the city continues to protect the forest folk as always,” Kamira said, wincing as she shifted, the movement tugging at her wounds. “Have all the shamans left?”

“Half stayed behind,” Morak replied. “We tried to persuade them to leave, but they insisted… on standing with the tribal warriors to the end.”

“Damn it! A bunch of idiots,” Camilla cursed fiercely, her face contorting with pain this time—it was a raw wound she couldn’t ignore. “It hurts like hell… Why the hell are those spirit shamans still here? Do they think their magic can withstand another round of strain? The soul crystals and mana oils in the camp are already drained dry. What, are they planning to burn their own blood to cast spells next? Go tell their leader: all spirit shamans must retreat before dawn. The tribal warriors will cover their rear and pull them back to Crimson Jade City to rebuild the defenses—if anyone refuses, show them the token Stur left behind. Those spirit folk…”

“The Pale Hills have fallen. Saintstone Town and Radiant City barely had any survivors,” Morak interrupted Camilla’s tirade. The towering, muscular orc general lowered his head, his voice heavy and low. “More than half of the spirit folk guarding this line came from there… They can’t retreat now.”

Camilla froze, blinking slowly after a long moment, muttering under her breath, “…Damn.”

She shook her head, lifting her eyelids to look at her general. “Alright, if there’s more bad news, just say it all at once. What else happened while I was unconscious?”

“…The Darkstone Pass and Windworn Valley have also fallen. We’ve lost a third of our main force. The front line has shrunk to the stretch from Wolfspine Mountain to Echo Valley. General Santibek was leading the rear guard during the retreat and is now missing—likely dead. We’ve also lost contact with the human forces. An abnormal energy field blankets the entire battlefield, suppressing all communication spells and devices to just a third or even a sixth of their normal range. The tribal warriors are now like isolated islands in a river, cut off from each other. Even we can barely maintain contact with Crimson Jade City…”

Camilla listened quietly to the report, silent for a long time. When Morak finished, she fixed her gaze on his eyes, her expression tangled and slow as she said, “…Is that all?”

“No,” Morak spread his hands, “but there’s likely more to come.”

“Damn…” Camilla twitched the corner of her mouth. “Any good news? Even a little?”

“There is,” Morak said grimly. “After we ignited and detonated the abandoned camp on the hillside, those mutated creatures temporarily retreated. They’re immune to arcane attacks and highly resistant to physical damage, but fire still affects them somewhat. We have a brief respite—though we don’t know when they’ll strike again.”

Camilla didn’t respond.

The battle-worn orc chieftain leaned against the tent pole, lost in thought for a long moment.

Finally, she murmured softly, “From the Wasteland Outpost to the Mountain Barrier, from the Mountain Barrier to Darkstone Pass and Windworn Valley… and now we’ve fallen back from Darkstone Pass to Wolfspine Mountain. And this all happened in just a few days? What’s next? Crimson Jade City, Sainthelm City… Are we going to fall back all the way to the Ancestor’s Peak?”

“It’s not that bad yet,” Morak said quickly. “Chieftain, we were just unprepared. Our highland warriors and champion fighters are gathering everywhere. The other tribes should have mobilized by now. As long as we can rebuild the defenses in Crimson Jade City, those monsters—”

“Those monsters have an entire wasteland backing them up. Their forces are gathering too,” Camilla cut in sharply. “We were completely unprepared for this war, but our enemy has been ready for centuries… We made a fatal mistake, Morak.”

She shook her head, letting out a long sigh.

“Safe haven… it’s all just a corner to be pushed into. There’s no such thing as safety.”

(End of chapter)