Chapter 438: The Beams of Light

While the southern knights and noble soldiers vented their pent-up tension and fear accumulated over the past month atop the fortress walls, Sir Mariland kept his wits about him—unlike those southern hotheads who lost all reason in the heat of the moment. Though he had confidently declared at the banquet the day before that the magical barrier of Rockhold Fortress had successfully shattered the Cecilian “Heavenfire Myth,” and had spread that confidence to everyone inside the fortress, when the Cecilians launched their second bombardment, he was the first to summon the fortress’s chief magical advisor.

The mage advisor was constantly monitoring the status of the magical shield. Before him, Sir Mariland spoke without concealment: “Can the barrier really withstand that kind of assault completely?”

“For now, yes,” the elderly mage, his white beard and hair framing a somewhat portly face, answered cautiously. “If the Cecilians truly only have this much power… then the fortress can hold.”

Mariland immediately caught the deeper meaning behind the old mage’s words. “What do you mean?”

“The barrier isn’t as impenetrable as it seems, General,” the mage explained. “The power of the Cecilian ‘Heavenfire’ exceeds expectations. It’s strong enough to shake the shield. If it weren’t for the barrier’s self-repairing magic, and the fact that the Cecilians’ attacks come in intermittent bursts, the shield would be worn down—until the repair speed can no longer keep up with the damage. And there’s another troubling matter…”

Mariland’s brow furrowed deeply. He glanced around to confirm only his most trusted knights and the mage advisor were present, then said, “Master, please speak plainly.”

“I used the Mage’s Eye to observe the Cecilians’ magical positions. Only half of their ‘Heavenfire devices’ are currently operational…”

Only half?

What were the Cecilians up to?

A sudden, inexplicable sense of crisis surged through the seasoned knight’s heart. He rose, hand on his sword hilt, ready to order the activation of the reserve mage towers within the inner city, to transfer all stored magical energy to the barrier. But before he could act, a sharp knock came at the door. A messenger burst in, breathless and anxious: “General! Emergency!”

Granted entry, the soldier’s face was pale with fear. “General! The body of Viscount Carol was found beneath the castle terrace! It seems he fell last night!”

“What? Carol is dead?” Mariland’s eyes widened in shock. “Fell… from the castle?!”

His unease deepened, but the shocking news did not cloud his judgment. Instead, instinct told him Rockhold Fortress was in grave danger. Before he could respond, a second messenger arrived.

This one brought news from outside the fortress: “General! Two ships have suddenly appeared on the Whitewater River! Bearing the Cecilian insignia! And… they look very unusual!”

Mariland hurried to the battlements. By now, the two large vessels moving upriver were close enough to be seen clearly without the Mage’s Eye.

They were indeed unusual—at least their speed was.

Fixing his gaze southwest toward the open plains and the broad river, Mariland saw an unnatural swell moving against the current. Within this defiance of nature, two strange ships surged forward. Their hulls were covered in metal plating, and massive, bizarre devices were mounted on their decks. Their propulsion was clearly powered by that unnatural wave, not sails—in fact, they had no sails at all. Where sails should have been, there were symmetrical pairs of white, wing-like structures. Perhaps they could catch the wind, but they were certainly not the source of propulsion.

Above the ships, the Cecilian family banner—depicting a sword and plow—fluttered proudly in the wind.

The southern knights and nobles on the walls had also spotted the ships. Though less experienced than Mariland, they could tell these were no ordinary vessels and were curiously pointing and whispering among themselves.

Then Mariland’s eyes widened further.

The ships began to slow down—smoothly and deliberately. As they did, the wing-like structures on their sides began to unfold, operated by some hidden mechanism. The white “sails” caught the noon sun, sparkling with tiny points of light…

What was that?

…

On the deck of the first warship, the Aurora, soldiers and arcane engineers bustled about. Commands and reports echoed from all directions:

“Arcane arrays deployed, energy levels rising steadily!”
“Power spine stable, all magical networks connected!”
“Mechanical platforms unlocked on deck, adjusting main cannon angles.”
“Technicians, check rune statuses in your work areas and report!”

Gawain stood on a midship platform, watching the arcane arrays on either side unfold smoothly through mechanical linkages. He observed the magical runes on key devices light up one by one, and listened to the rising chorus of commands and reports. His spirits lifted, and despite the grim situation, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irony—this scene was hardly fitting for a medieval battlefield…

He then turned his gaze forward, toward the massive weapon mounted at the bow.

Rebecca, heir to the Cecilian family and a leading authority on arcane technology, stood confidently beside the “Calibrator.” The young viscountess was commanding the engineers loudly, overseeing final checks while personally adjusting the amplifiers on the Calibrator’s base to ensure the weapon—still in its “validation phase”—was in peak condition.

Sensing Gawain’s gaze, she turned and smiled brightly. “Ancestor! It’s ready!”

“Then let’s begin,” Gawain nodded with a smile. “Sir Philip and the others have been waiting a long time for these two ‘Italian cannons.’”

Byron, standing nearby, looked puzzled. “Italian cannons? Isn’t that weapon called the Calibrator…?”

Gawain chuckled. “Don’t mind the nickname. I gave it that.”

Rebecca paid no mind to the old ancestor’s quirky terminology. She was used to his strange names, and more than anything, she was eager to activate the rainbow cannon.

She raised her hand high, her clear voice ringing out across the deck: “Water pumps, start filling—connect the power spine!”

Instantly, the water pumps on both sides of the ship roared to life. The powerful second-generation arcane engines began channeling water from the Whitewater River into the Calibrator’s base. Below deck, the cannon’s hidden magical amplification core was bathed in the icy river water. As the power spine connected, the wing-like structures on the ship’s sides emitted a low, pleasant hum. Brighter magical energies gathered along the hull, surging through the ship’s arcane systems, filling the hull with a rising roar. Amid the noise, the Calibrator’s main body activated.

Its three curved barrels slowly rotated once. The crystal prism fixed at the center of the barrels lit up, glowing with a pure white light.

“Focusing crystal lit. Begin firing—target: Rockhold Fortress main gate!”

After a brief moment of focusing, a dazzling arcane beam, about a meter thick, erupted forth like a spear forged from light, piercing toward the distant fortress.

Seconds later, the second ship, the Morning Star, unleashed a similar beam, following the Aurora’s lead and striking the magical barrier of Rockhold Fortress.

The second beam was slightly off-target, landing nearly a hundred meters from the first, but the Morning Star’s gunner quickly noticed and began adjusting the weapon. The bright arcane torrent slowly shifted midair, sweeping majestically across the fortress’s magical shield. Where the beam struck, a massive, blindingly bright patch spread across half the wall.

Steam hissed as the drainage valves on the ships’ rear sides opened, pumping hot cooling water back into the river. Technicians below deck quickly reported: “Core temperature stable! Firing can continue!”

Using the Whitewater River to cool the rainbow cannon had proven successful in previous tests, and now, on the battlefield, it did not disappoint.

Sir Mariland’s face drained of color as he watched those divine-like beams scorch the fortress’s shield. Around him, knights and noble soldiers on the walls were thrown into chaos. At last, he realized the root of the problem—

He had never truly understood the Cecilians’ real strength.

This war had been nothing like he had expected from the start.

The blinding white beams continued to burn the fortress’s shield—an entirely new weapon, absent from any intelligence reports, utterly different from the “Heavenfire explosions.” Around the beams’ points of impact, the magical barrier erupted in terrifying bright patches, rippling and spreading rapidly, now extending dozens of meters above the walls.

Ordinary soldiers and civilians might not grasp what this meant, but Sir Mariland, a seasoned knight, knew all too well—

The magical shield was breaking down.

Those beams were pure magical energy, and of extremely high intensity. Such concentrated power was a deadly threat to any shield spell. It could easily penetrate, disrupt, and sever the shield’s energy flow, preventing regeneration in the affected areas.

What was worse—the beams’ “illumination” was continuous.

Rockhold Fortress’s magical barrier was about to fail.

As this despairing thought struck him, Mariland whipped his head toward the mage towers in the inner city.

The fortress’s only hope was to immediately mobilize the emergency magical reserves stored in the power foci and pour them all into the shield. That might buy enough time for the Cecilian weapons to overheat or lose power and pause, allowing the shield to regenerate…

But the mage towers were silent.

Where were the city’s mages?

Before the thought could fully form, Mariland saw the chief mage advisor flying in from afar.

The old mage must have flown here on a spell from one of the towers. He was breathless and disheveled. As soon as he landed, he shouted in despair: “General! The control arrays and rune stones of the magical foci have been sabotaged! All the battle mages and soldiers guarding them are dead!”

(End of chapter)