Chapter 1327: More Savage Than Savagery

Blazing infernos scorched the sky and earth alike, living flames ravaging the winter night, tearing through the darkness like a second dawn. The sun seemed to rise again on the horizon—just moments ago, the hordes of mutants had utterly destroyed and claimed this land, corrupting and shattering everything they touched. Yet now, this very devastation gave the defenders of the land a grim outlet for their fury.

Here, there was nothing left worth protecting. Where the living fire spread, only the grotesque, twisted flesh and bones of monsters remained.

“What a magnificent blaze,” Wickliffe said, standing atop the steel-reinforced church tower. His gaze pierced through the translucent energy shield and reinforced glass, fixed on the distant mountain pass. The living flames split at the edge of the earth, countless elemental beings climbing and leaping across the rocky slopes, showering meteor-like fire rains, or detonating in place into massive mushroom clouds. Their brief lifespans were nearing their limits; the artificially created elemental environment would soon collapse and dissipate within minutes. Yet, as fire elementals, the closer they came to breaking down, the more terrifying their power became.

The human king shuddered at the chilling thought: if even one of these incendiary bombs fell into an ordinary city, what nightmare would unfold? But at least for now, this nightmare was raining down on those hideous monsters. A genuine smile tugged at Wickliffe’s lips, a rare joy welling up from deep within.

“The power of the Infernal Incendiary Bombs is greater than I imagined…” a steady voice interrupted his thoughts. Amiel, the White Knight commander, ascended the nearby stairs, his heavy iron boots thudding firmly on the floor. “No wonder Princess Rebecca kept stressing that these bombs must never be dropped near our own troops. The safety distance has to be sufficient…”

Wickliffe turned to see the glow from the magic crystal lamps reflecting off the armor of the “medical cleric.” The armor, etched with sacred scriptures, shimmered faintly—he couldn’t tell if it was mere light or the lingering radiance of holy power. But to him and the surviving warriors within the cathedral, these “clerics” from the Cecile Empire radiated sanctity. Even their warhammers, heavy artillery, and flamethrowers seemed forged from pure light.

These reinforcements descending from the winter sky had saved not only him and his soldiers but also the vast lands beyond the Ogure Mountains and countless people.

“Allow me to express my gratitude once again,” the king said solemnly. “Whether from a personal standpoint or that of Ogure, we owe you a tremendous debt—one day, it will be repaid.”

“Then let it remain unpaid for now, Your Majesty. This war is far from over,” Amiel said gravely. “The flames from the Infernal Incendiary Bombs are dying down, but we’ll stay here, using the cathedral itself and the engineering materials carried by our ground forces to build a new defensive line. With the support of our aerial units, we can seal this breach. According to the intelligence from the Dawn of the Mortal World, the monsters are temporarily retreating, but they will return soon. No one knows how many mutants still lurk in the wasteland. Until we strike at their stronghold and purify the entire wasteland, the fighting isn’t over.”

“Yes, the war isn’t over…” Wickliffe fell silent briefly, then slowly lifted his head, his expression calm. “We’ve lost a few cities, but my people have not fallen. I must rally my strength, return to White City, gather the troops, and reclaim and rebuild this land…”

“I’m glad to see you recovering quickly, Your Majesty. But before that, I believe you need further medical treatment,” Amiel glanced at Wickliffe’s empty right arm. “What you have now is only a temporary healing of the wound. It’s far from enough.”

Wickliffe looked down at his severed arm, then suddenly recalled the “semi-local, full anesthesia” treatment process he’d seen near the ruins of Farm. A chill ran through him, and his expression grew uneasy. “Uh, I’ll find a physician in White City later…”

“If you trust Cecile’s medical technology, we have several options to restore your arm,” Amiel said, sensing the king’s hesitation. He looked a bit helpless and awkward as he added, “Rest assured, the Holy Sunset Battalion isn’t the only medical unit in the expeditionary force. A battlefield medical ship is en route from the Karlin Junction, equipped with facilities jointly operated by the Druid Academy and the Bioengineering Department. If you prefer biological limbs, you can try flesh regeneration. Or, if you want something different, our tech sergeants can fit you with an arm reinforced with alloy armor and artificial nerves.”

He paused, then smiled faintly. “The second option is new technology but reportedly very effective. Fortunately, your injury is recent, so you have more choices. Old wounds are much harder to treat.”

Wickliffe listened to these incredible proposals, his expression growing stranger by the moment. “Well… I’ll think about it. Think about it…”

…

For a brief moment, the tide of darkness ceased its advance. An unexpected, overwhelming force violently intervened on the battlefield, halting the black tide spreading across the wasteland. The vanguard of the tide was swiftly annihilated in waves. Tens of thousands of “perception endpoints” vanished under the storm of attacks. The sensory and memory fragments relayed from the dying creatures were filled with terror born of torn limbs and scorching flames.

This was an instinctive fear even mindless monsters could feel under such fierce assault.

Marcellus’s branches trembled in the cold winter wind—not from fear, but from immense rage and hatred. His offensive had been stopped by those frenzied, desperate orcs and the relentless Cecilians who seemed to insert themselves everywhere. Yet he was so close!

The mutant vanguard had already crushed the human legions on Ogure’s northern border, leveling their frontier fortresses and countless towns and villages over the past days. Marcellus personally led the main legion to clear the mountain defenses, pushing the orcs back to their capital. Given a few more hours, he was confident he could encircle and annihilate the defenses of Red Jade City with two legions from north and south. After that, the wasteland army would spread rapidly across Ogure. No matter how stubborn the mortals were in defending their “holy mountain,” they could not stop this near-apocalyptic transformation. By then, even the arrival of the Cecilian main forces would be too late.

But he never expected the orcs to set the entire Red Jade Forest ablaze, trapping half his main force inside. Nor did he expect the Cecilians to bypass the mountains and literally “fly” from the distant northern front straight to Ogure’s frontline!

Literally, those humans flew here—they had built astonishing aerial fortresses.

“Archbishop, our frontline troops have been repelled. The ‘Swollen Polluters’ are no match for those aerial fortresses,” a low-ranking dark druid said nearby, his voice tinged with fear. “We… need to retreat and rethink our attack routes…”

Marcellus shook his withered branches, his deep brown eyes fixed fiercely on the now timid junior cleric. “Silence! I don’t need your lessons!”

The junior cleric’s mutated limbs trembled as his roots withdrew. Marcellus looked up at the dark western sky, glaring at the frontline illuminated by countless flashes. He was no stranger to aerial fortresses. When he was still mortal, he had even visited the so-called “Star Sanctuary,” the Silver Crown, as a “guest.” He had been personally received by the Silver Queen herself, then just a child, and witnessed the ancient sanctuaries and the deep halls adorned with portraits of sages.

Back then, he was a mere exchange scholar sent by the Gondor Empire to the Silver Empire—a laughably distant identity.

But he knew the Star Sanctuary had fallen. Amid flames and thick smoke, it crashed on the northern border of the Highland Kingdom, a symbol of an era’s end. Its spectacular fall sent ripples through the dark root network of the End of All Things, even moving Archbishop Borken to sigh. Yes, it had fallen—the ancient, miraculous, symbolic aerial fortress was no more. Every church brother had rejoiced at that moment. Though the Silver Empire had temporarily stabilized its defenses, the mortal world had truly lost its greatest military asset. At least, until recently, Marcellus had believed so…

Damn it, who would have thought those Cecilians would just turn around and pull out another fleet of aerial fortresses?!

Of course, based on frontline reports, Marcellus could easily tell these fortresses flying in from the northwest were far smaller than the elves’ Star Sanctuary. Whether the escort-like bastions or the heavily armed “mothership,” all were much smaller than the fallen Star Sanctuary. But no sane person would judge their threat by size alone.

The Silver Elves’ Star Sanctuary was already in decline, a decaying symbol. It was powerful, but its strength had reached its limit. What now hovered above Red Jade City were brand-new war machines.

These were war machines the Cecilians had built specifically for this war, armed to every inch of deck and hull. They were new, fierce, precise, and merciless. They were not precious symbols or treasured heirlooms to be hidden away—the Cecilians deployed them to slaughter on the frontlines.

With maximum efficiency, ruthless posture, and unrestrained killing and destruction.

Retreat orders spread through the mental network. The black tide on Ogure’s land surged again, but this time it receded. There was no point in letting the mutants continue to fight the aerial fortresses that dominated the skies. The urgent task now was to preserve strength, reorganize the main forces, and use the already corrupted lands as buffers and delays. In the coming days, they would seek any opportunity to turn the tide of war.

“More like a monster than a mere aberration…” Marcellus glared fiercely at the distant sky. His mind replayed the intelligence Bertram had brought back after retreating from the northern front—the living forest that fed on aberrations. In the chill of the night wind, he muttered softly, “The essence of civilization is to be a conqueror more savage than savagery itself… fascinating.”

A low-ranking priest nearby blinked in confusion. “Archdruid, what did you say?”

“Just a meaningless musing,” Marcellus replied, his tone unexpectedly calm, as if the anger and hatred he’d shown moments before were illusions. He turned to his subordinates, methodically issuing orders with a newfound composure. “We’ll abandon the Crimson Jade Forest and Wolfspine Mountain. Let those tainted lands be theirs. You, take the Rune Stone squad and open a deep blue rift nearby. Deploy some of the rune stones there, then move south to rendezvous with Dietmore…”

Suddenly, he stopped.

An inexplicable chill crept through his roots and mutated nervous system—a premonition of death. The dark priest, once a high-ranking druid, fixed his gaze on the direction of Crimson Jade City. From the peak of Wolfspine Mountain, now a stronghold for aberrations, he felt an instinctive, primal dread—as if a bloodthirsty beast was stalking him across a vast, isolated plain.

The junior priest noticed the change immediately. “Archdruid, what’s wrong—”

Before he could finish, Marcellus cut him off, his voice sharp and urgent. “I have a bad feeling. We move out immediately!”

Though puzzled, the junior priest obeyed without hesitation. But as he lifted his roots to head toward the eastern foothills of Wolfspine, he glanced back toward Crimson Jade City, muttering under his breath, “But we’re still so far from the front lines… Cecil’s weapons couldn’t possibly reach this far…”

His words were cut short by a sudden, terrifying scream that shattered the clouds above Wolfspine Mountain. More horrifying than the scream itself was the flash of light Marcellus saw streaking faster than sound from the direction of Crimson Jade City, striking a nearby mountaintop.

He couldn’t make out what it was—only that it was swifter and deadlier than any “heavenly fire” he’d ever known. It moved faster than sound, and only when a massive explosion erupted did the roar of the blast reach his ears. The mountain was engulfed in a blinding sphere of chaotic, multicolored light. A terrifying pulse of energy swept across Wolfspine Mountain, momentarily severing Marcellus’s connection to the aberration army.

The glowing orb expanded in the night sky, igniting the air with a roaring blaze before contracting instantly, leaving behind a stark, spatial rift-like scar in the darkness. A second wave of energy slammed through the area, accompanied by violent explosions and tremors.

For a moment, the entire mountain range seemed to shudder.

Seconds later, the light faded. The mysterious attack had come and gone in an instant, but its mark was forever etched in the eyes of every witness—

The mountaintop was gone, replaced by a hollow, spherical crater carved out by unknown forces.

Half of Marcellus’s leaves withered and fell in an instant. Without looking back, he turned and fled.

(End of chapter)