Chapter 1368: Thunder and Torrential Rain

Dark clouds were gathering, rapidly swallowing the entire sky above Greta Fortress. In less than a minute, the once clear blue had been swallowed by a heavy, night-like gloom. Moist winds stirred between the plains and hills, carrying a dampness that even made the rustling of trees in the distant forest sound as if water was splashing and churning. The soldiers desperately holding the line against the mutant onslaught soon noticed this unusual change. Those still able to spare a glance upward saw a half-sky-spanning “smile” forming in the clouds—an ever-growing, eerie grin.

“What the hell is that?!” a knight captain, his cheek marked by a jagged scar, stared in disbelief at the floating smile in the clouds. No matter how he looked at it, the thing was unnervingly sinister. Even a battle-hardened veteran like him felt a chill run down his spine. “That cloud’s grinning at me! And it looks like a girl’s face!”

A missile whistled through the air nearby. The combat mage responsible for suppressive fire beside the captain unleashed a volley of arcane missiles toward the enemy’s direction. The mage, already on the edge of exhaustion, rubbed his eyes hard and muttered as if half-dreaming, “Am I dying? They say people see the faces of their loved ones in the sky before they go… Did my grandfather turn into a beautiful girl up there?”

Before the mage could finish, hurried footsteps echoed nearby. A lightly armored knight courier dashed around the corner of a trench, shouting loudly, “The king’s orders! Friendly forces are arriving—immediately evacuate this area! All units, fall back to Greta Fortress! This is a direct order from King Odrys: full retreat to Greta Fortress!”

“Retreat?!” The knight captain grabbed the courier just as he was about to run past. “Friendly forces? Where? I thought there were no reinforcements coming?”

“Don’t know! Just follow orders!” The courier turned and sprinted toward the other side of the fortifications, shouting the king’s command as he ran.

Only moments ago, the order was to hold the line at all costs. Now, a full retreat was commanded. The captain was stunned but didn’t hesitate to obey. Suppressing all doubts, the seasoned leader grabbed the clearly dazed combat mage and bellowed down the line, “Retreat!”

Across the narrow wasteland leading toward the ruined lands, the soldiers of the Gaoling Kingdom—who had fought tooth and nail for nearly a full day—began a rapid withdrawal. As they fell back, they left behind numerous magical traps and dangerously unstable mana crystals. In the temporary command post behind the front, King Odrys’s gaze swept the sky, watching the thickening rain and the ever-growing cloud mass.

“The retreat order has been issued, Your Majesty,” the commander reported. “The mutants are quickly taking over our former positions.”

“Good. We’ll pull back to the fortress as well,” Odrys nodded briskly. “Make sure to leave some explosives behind. Those charged Rebekka crystals are surprisingly effective even if not fired as shells.”

The commander acknowledged the order immediately. Nearby, Prince Lorin couldn’t help but ask, “Father, do we really have to abandon this entire area? Maybe we could leave some elite rangers to support Cecil and the merfolk forces…”

“You don’t understand their fighting style—especially the Cecilians,” Odrys shook his head, looking at his young heir who had only recently come of age and lacked battlefield experience. “The best way to cooperate with the Cecilians is to get out of their firing range as fast as possible. If you’ve seen the footage, you’d know their new magic cannons are nothing like the ‘long-range firepower’ you imagine…”

Soon after, the temporary command post began an orderly withdrawal. The Gaoling Kingdom’s banner was lowered from the hastily constructed stone-like barricades. Behind them, the clouds thickened to a critical point, turning the sky as dark as night, heavy with tangible moisture. Suddenly, a massive figure, faintly glowing, streaked through the darkness between the clouds.

Ashelena, in her dragon form, pierced through the thick cloud cover. Her body was clad in steel-forged mechanical armor, the faint glow of navigation lights flickering along her wings and tail. The ominous clouds seemed almost sentient, parting around her without hindering her flight or her watchful gaze on the ground below. After circling twice, Ashelena activated the magic network terminal embedded in her chest.

“They’ve already withdrawn… Well, someone actually understood the ‘signal’ those merfolk sent. Humans can be surprisingly perceptive. Byron, prepare fire coverage. The monsters have entered the target zone. I’ll relay coordinates—”

Moments later, sharp whistles tore through the heavy sky. From the distant Ordo Holy River, several pale blue streaks shot upward, carving arcs that seemed to slice the heavens. They flew straight toward the vast wasteland northwest of Greta Fortress. From the fortress’s direction, flashes suddenly lit the dark clouds—lightning-like streaks weaving through the thunderheads, sparks falling from the sky. After a brief delay, the piercing whistles transformed into terrifying explosions erupting across the land.

On the ground, the mutants who had just broken through the last human defenses and surged like a tide into the positions held by Gaoling soldiers were immediately engulfed by successive blasts and deadly shockwaves. The commanders behind these creatures barely had time to savor their breakthrough before receiving signals of massive casualties among their frontline troops.

On the towering walls of Greta Fortress, King Odrys, freshly retreated to safety and still dripping with rain, heard the deafening roar from the northwest. The thunderous booms rolled across the sky and earth, shaking the ancient, proud bastion. Steel-framed windows trembled slightly; shelves and weapon racks rattled with unsettling creaks. Prince Lorin rushed to the lookout tower, his eyes wide with awe at the enormous mushroom clouds rising from the distant battlefield and the bright arcs streaking through the clouds above. The young man, new to war and unfamiliar with “modern art,” was utterly stunned.

He even trembled slightly—not from fear, but from sheer amazement.

King Odrys joined him at the lookout. Watching the fiery bombardment engulf the land and seeing the Cecilian expedition fleet’s “Truth” shells raining down from the Holy River, the king was hardly calmer than his son. After all, his knowledge of Cecilian modern weaponry was limited to official propaganda footage and a few imported medium- and small-caliber magic cannons. Witnessing the main guns’ bombardment up close was an entirely different matter.

“Father…” Lorin finally understood why his father had ordered a full retreat. “Is that kind of firepower really from a ‘magic cannon’? That’s nothing like what we use…”

“The Cecilians call it ‘Truth,’ and some of their soldiers prefer to call it ‘contemporary art,’” Odrys’s voice was low. “The medium- and small-caliber magic cannons we import are worlds apart from those main guns. But more than their power, I want you to start thinking about a deeper question.”

Lorin frowned, puzzled. “A deeper question?”

“What kind of nation can create and sustain such power?” Odrys placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his gaze drifting beyond Lorin to the soldiers resting in the fortress courtyard after their retreat. “I have to admit… I’m a little envious.”

…

“First wave of attacks landed within the target zone, acceptable margin of error,” Byron reported from the bridge of the Winter’s Chill. Ashelena’s voice came through the magic network terminal before him. The holographic projection above the terminal flickered, showing the bombarded land. The mutant tide churned like a stormy sea, huge splashes erupting as grotesque, twisted flesh and bone debris flew amid clouds of dust and rock. The scene was harrowing. “Continue bombardment.”

“Bombardment effective. Charge all main cannons to full power. Fire at maximum rate for fifteen minutes,” Byron ordered the fire chief. “Engineering ship, prepare to dock and immediately begin repairs on the hub tower spotted during aerial reconnaissance. We need to restore direct communications with Gaoling Kingdom and the Silver Empire before sunset.”

“Yes, sir!”

The military machine operated with precision and speed. The Winter’s Chill-led expedition fleet unleashed devastating firepower over the river. Meanwhile, thick clouds continued to spread across the eastern skies, rapidly advancing eastward.

Byron glanced at the darkening sky, then turned to Cassandra standing beside him, a strange expression on his face. “I still can’t believe your ‘signal’ to the Gaoling defenders actually got through…”

“That’s mostly thanks to King Gawain’s good communication with the southern front,” Cassandra smiled. “Of course, General Vanessa’s battlefield wisdom was even more crucial…”

“Honestly, I don’t see how hanging a giant smiling face in the sky counts as ‘battlefield wisdom.’ That thing could give anyone with a normal constitution a psychological scar. Yet you managed to get the message ‘friendly reinforcements are coming’ across. To me, that’s almost a miracle,” Byron smirked. “And luckily, the other side was perceptive enough…”

“No other choice,” Cassandra shrugged helplessly. “Once we got here, we found that all the magic network nexus towers along the border had been destroyed by the aberrations. The magical environment on the battlefield is more chaotic than ever. The Winter’s Chill’s comms can’t reach Greta Fortress at all, and the frontline’s been hammered so hard it’s like their brains are about to spill out. So this was just a stopgap measure. Anyway, let’s not get bogged down in the details—the end result turned out pretty well, didn’t it?”

“…Next time I hear you guys talk about ‘battlefield wisdom’ and ‘improvisation,’ I’m definitely going to dig a little deeper,” Byron sighed, then turned his attention back to the distant battlefield. On the aerial reconnaissance feed from Asarena, he could clearly see the aberration horde’s assault gradually breaking apart under the heavy bombardment. But he knew that fire support alone wouldn’t be enough to reclaim the entire narrow plain north of Greta Fortress.

From Greta Fortress to the Starsanctum Forward Base in the east, the southern front stretched long and complex. After a whole winter of back-and-forth fighting, the frontline had been reduced to a shattered wasteland—riddled with ruins, trap zones, and areas of magical disruption—by the combined firepower of the aberrations and mortal defenders. On such a vast and complicated battlefield, fire support had its limits.

“When this round of bombardment ends, General Vanessa’s expeditionary force will ‘land,’” Byron said, glancing at the mechanical clock fixed to a nearby pillar. His voice was low and steady as he spoke to Cassandra. “According to plan, we’ll first secure the northern sector of Greta Fortress. After you take that area, you’ll establish a forward base there. Then my marines will hold the line here, safeguarding the northwest border of the Korynn Kingdom and cutting off the aberration legions advancing south from the Ogure region. Meanwhile, you’ll continue moving eastward in your ‘rainfall’ formation until you link up with the Millennium Legion of the Silver Empire. Sound good?”

Cassandra closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with her psychic resonance to communicate with General Vanessa, who was controlling the weather from high above. After a moment, she opened her eyes and nodded slightly at Byron. “I’ve confirmed the follow-up orders with General Vanessa. She’s just waiting for your signal flare.”

“Good.” Byron exhaled softly, then fixed his gaze on the ticking hands of the mechanical clock. He felt the ship beneath him shudder with each salvo from the main guns, and for the first time in a long while, his mind settled into a calm stillness.

Fighting alongside allies from the deep sea—that had never been part of his original plan. Given the vast differences between the sea-folk and land races—in technology, combat style, physiology—their first joint operation was never going to be perfectly synchronized. Instead of drafting endless tactics that would fall apart in the chaos of battle due to communication issues, both he and Vanessa agreed on a simpler, more direct approach.

Step one: The Empire’s expedition fleet, equipped with long-range heavy firepower, would clear the area along the Ordo River. They’d shell the aberrations’ vanguard with their most powerful rounds, leveling a large enough landing zone.

Step two: Before the aberrations could react, the sea-folk warriors would descend like justice from the skies. Thanks to their training and prior shape-shifting preparations, the sea-folk could execute airborne assaults in the form of rainfall without worrying about casualties. They’d quickly establish a forward position on the cleared landing zone. At the same time, this carefully planned “rainfall” would transform the local environment within a short time, making it more aquatic and better suited for the sea-folk’s strengths.

The clock’s hand reached the final mark. The relentless roar of cannon fire over the river ceased.

“Signal the flare,” Byron ordered in a low voice. “It’s time to make it rain.”

(End of chapter)