Chapter 434: Closing In

Under the cloak of night, two massive ships sailed along the Whitewater River, their shapes grotesquely altered by extensive modifications. Despite their enormous size, they moved with an agility and speed that seemed impossible for vessels of their bulk.

Originally, these were large river warships with faint outlines of old sailing warships, their wooden hulls now partially sheathed—about a third of the surface— in reinforced metal plates designed to channel magic. The sails, once the ships’ main source of propulsion, had been removed. In their place, massive, sturdy metal frames were installed on the mast bases, extending outwards and upwards on either side like rigid wings. These “wings” were etched with glowing magical runes that shimmered faintly in the darkness, their light mingling with the soft glow of magic crystals embedded throughout the hull. Aside from these striking “wing” structures—known as the “magical conduit arrays”—the most eye-catching features on the decks were two enormous arcane devices.

At first glance, these resembled oversized magic crystal railguns, but their “barrels” were not straight metal rails. Instead, three elegantly curved alloy beams were arranged in a “品” (three-box) pattern when viewed head-on. The inner surfaces of these beams were covered in intricate magical glyphs, and a long, transparent artificial crystal was locked firmly in place at the center by a mechanical clamp. Behind the beams, a somewhat crude but solid steel mechanism connected the entire barrel assembly to its base.

This apparatus was more than twice the size of the first-generation magic crystal railguns. While technological progress would eventually allow for more compact designs, the sheer scale of this weapon at its inception spoke volumes about its destructive potential.

The power of these weapons was further emphasized by the magic-infused power conduits running beneath the decks, the arcane network runes scattered across the ship, and the amplifier units exposed behind the weapon mounts.

Carrying such a heavy load of modifications, these two wooden river warships had naturally become cumbersome. Yet, they cut through the water at astonishing speeds. It was a moonless night, with clouds blotting out the stars, and in this era, ships rarely sailed after dark. No other vessels were visible on the wide, tranquil river. The two warships surged forward at a pace that would leave any captain of the age utterly stunned.

The secret was the river itself—the Whitewater’s waves seemed to be pushing the ships onward.

The two warships sailed one after the other, and the once calm river now roiled with waves around them. Yet these waves did not rock the ships; instead, they propelled them steadily forward. Amid the frothy water, a graceful, almost dreamlike figure darted agilely between the waves.

It was a young girl with a beautiful fish tail. She swam through the water, occasionally leaping above the surface to dance with the spray. Her tail beat rhythmically, matching the rhythm of the waves beside her. She was like a water spirit, a river nymph from legend, playing joyfully with the entire Whitewater River.

Byron stepped out of the cabin, breathing in the fresh, cool air above the river. He spotted Tyr weaving through the waves and couldn’t help but murmur softly, “She looks so much more lively when she’s swimming.”

Footsteps approached, and Gawain’s voice sounded behind Byron. “That’s because she’s been asleep for two full days and nights before this. If she hadn’t woken up by now, I’d have started to wonder if the fish had died in the pond.”

Byron turned to see the lord, dressed in his usual attire, also watching Tyr in the river.

He saluted respectfully. “My lord.”

Gawain waved him off casually. “How’s Philip’s situation?”

Byron shook his head. “The Rock Fortress sent a squad of supernaturals to raid the temporary camp, but the ‘raid plan’ those nobles came up with was laughably naive. Aside from losing men before the battle even started, they probably won’t cause any real damage.”

Gawain was somewhat surprised. “It’s already progress that they managed a raid. If those southern nobles hadn’t been driven out by us and fled to the Rock Fortress, I doubt the fortress’s orthodox knights would have even thought of harassment or sabotage tactics.”

“Yeah, those nobles finally learned how to fight,” Byron clicked his tongue, then sighed, “But Philip’s probably going to be stuck for a while, lamenting the ‘end of noble wars’ and the collapse of chivalry…”

Gawain glanced at Byron with a teasing tone. “You sure know Philip well.”

“Hey, we’ve worked together for six years—he’s really talented. Became a full knight six years ago, probably reaching mid-level soon, and maybe one day he’ll challenge the high ranks…” Byron shook his head. “But his head’s a bit wooden. He actually believes all those knightly legends and heroic tales. I’ve never met anyone over seventeen who still thinks knights can tame dragons with faith.”

Gawain, himself a legendary hero with countless biographies, felt a bit awkward. “Well, not all heroic tales are made up…”

“Ah—” Byron immediately looked more embarrassed, scratching his head nervously. Then, as if recalling something, his expression turned strange, as if wanting to say more but holding back.

Gawain caught on and deadpanned, “The stories about eighty-something princesses? Those are definitely made up.”

“Cough, yes, just as you said…” Byron coughed on the spot, then quickly changed the subject before the boss could start swinging swords like a mercenary. “By the way, where’s Miss Amber?”

“She’s seasick and can’t get up for now,” Gawain replied casually. “She was the most excited when we set out… I really don’t know if she’ll have the strength to carry out her mission at the Rock Fortress once we arrive.”

“Miss Amber seasick?” Byron was surprised. “I thought she had no weaknesses when it came to anything involving running away…”

Gawain inwardly scoffed: “No weaknesses? That ‘shame of all things’ weakness is well known—‘Director of Military Intelligence, the Weak Mousetrap’…”

Byron dropped the joking tone and asked a question he clearly cared about. “My lord, I originally thought you would depart with Philip, but I didn’t expect you to be with my ‘second wave.’”

To most people—and in fact—the first and second combat corps led by Philip were the main forces attacking the Rock Fortress. Although the fortress gates might need to be pried open by the “Calibrator” rainbow cannon, the real assault and elimination of enemy forces would be carried out by Philip’s army. Gawain’s rare departure from home to campaign led everyone to assume he would go with Philip. No one expected the old patriarch to choose to travel with Byron instead.

“You should know, although I’m heading to the battlefield, I want my presence to be symbolic. The Cecil combat corps should be capable of taking the fortress on their own. If it comes to the point where I have to personally intervene to capture a Rock Fortress, then the army’s commander owes an apology to the people of Cecil,” Gawain explained. “Besides, compared to Philip’s battles, I’m more interested in new weapons and technologies.”

Byron turned to look at the “Calibrator” rainbow cannon mounted on the deck. In the deep night, this powerful new weapon crouched like a steel beast, its base glowing faintly with runes that resembled the eyes of a predator.

“New weapons, huh… this thing really packs a punch.”

“It’s more than just powerful,” Gawain shook his head gently, eyes fixed on the cannon but seemingly focused on something far beyond. “Magic crystal railguns and rainbow cannons… they can shatter noble castles and tear through mage shields. Their true value can’t be measured by just one or two battles.”

…

The squad sent to raid the Cecil camp and sabotage the magical devices was utterly defeated.

The bad news reached the Rock Fortress, but the Cecil army pressed on. Sir Mariland’s hair visibly thinned by the hour.

He had begun to suspect that his earlier confidence might have been overly optimistic.

From the mouths of those southern nobles, he had indeed realized the great threat posed by the Cecils and devised a plan to weaken their forces—one that even went against the chivalric code.

He knew the Cecils’ “Heavenfire Explosion” was delivered by some magical device, and that the Cecils needed to establish a position for these devices to unleash their full power. So he sent men to destroy the devices before they could be activated.

But those men ran into a unit seemingly specialized in countering supernaturals, with exceptional combat strength, and were nearly wiped out.

Small-scale raids were ineffective. Sir Mariland had no choice but to deploy troops to harass the enemy—another breach of chivalric tradition.

It was well known that armies were most vulnerable and chaotic while on the move. Large forces were difficult to command effectively, and lower-ranked soldiers often panicked in confusion, while officers struggled to organize a counterattack. Thus, attacking an army on the march was often devastatingly effective—but also forbidden in traditional noble warfare, as it risked the deaths of nobles caught in the chaos.

But since they had already broken the code with a nighttime raid on the camp, Sir Mariland no longer cared about breaking another rule.

Yet on the 56th day of the Fire Moon in the year 736 of Ansu, the Cecils still marched as planned onto the narrow southern plains of the Rock Fortress. The raiding party sent by Sir Mariland returned with less than half their number.

Facing the stunned fortress commander, the wounded knight leading the group recounted their nightmare:

When they charged boldly at the Cecils, it was as if the enemy had been expecting them all along, prepared and unshaken. The Cecil soldiers fought with machine-like precision and instinct—first deploying individual “Heavenfire Explosions,” then hurling explosives and firing magical beams from arm guards, and finally wielding enchanted blades capable of cleaving through ordinary armor. Each weapon was devastating.

What was supposed to be a surprise attack felt more like a march to certain death.

It was clear: leaving the fortress to take the offensive—no matter the form—was a terrible idea.

Sir Mariland’s heart sank to its lowest point as he quietly awaited the arrival of the Cecil forces.

On the 57th day of the Fire Moon in the year 736 of Ansu, the banners of the Cecilians appeared on the far edge of the plain opposite Rockhold Fortress.

(End of chapter)