Chapter 620: The Snowstorm Subsides

A massive gray-black eagle soared across the sky, its enormous wings shimmering faintly in the sunlight. This colossal raptor seemed to be wreathed in a subtle flame as it weaved beneath the clouds. Its sharp eyes reflected the vast, scorched earth below, the crystalline armies wandering at the land’s edge, and the ironclad legions steadily pushing the front line forward.

After a sweeping turn, the giant eagle dove swiftly toward the ground, aiming directly for the spearhead of the steel army.

Sonia Frostleaf leapt lightly from the eagle’s back, moving toward Gawain not far away as the eagle let out a loud “coo.”

“Thank you for your response,” Gawain greeted Sonia with a smile. “We definitely need reinforcements here.”

“I saw it all from the sky. It’s a terrifying battlefield—reminds me of Gondor seven hundred years ago. The land was just as scorched, monsters roaming everywhere,” the high-level messenger admitted, her face filled with awe and concern. “But what surprised me even more was your army… honestly, it’s very different from what I expected.”

“Seeing these war machines operating at full capacity was a surprise to me as well,” Gawain said calmly, glancing toward the distance. “This place won’t become another Gondor—the burned earth will sprout new life. The End of All Things cult’s plague will be cleansed in time. Ansu will bear another wound, but wounds always heal.”

“Her Majesty Belsethia is watching this disaster closely, but unfortunately, the empire in the far south of the continent can’t offer much help. She could only order me and all the messengers and rangers I lead to come assist. Aside from the Bannam mages stationed at the Grant Wall, I brought my entire squad. They’re still en route and should arrive soon. Don’t worry—whether ranger or messenger, once we’re mounted on giant eagles, we’re excellent scouts.”

Gawain smiled. “That’s exactly what we’re short of.”

Cecil’s forces weren’t lacking in conventional reconnaissance units—elite iron rangers and well-trained corps scouts were formidable on the ground. But as the front advanced and battles intensified, the pressure on ground scouts grew heavier. The entire forward region had become a heavily contaminated zone, with almost no safe footholds. Human scouts couldn’t infiltrate among the monsters. Meanwhile, after suffering a series of heavy blows, the crystalline giants had grown more alert and organized, even beginning to counter Cecil’s reconnaissance and attacks. Under this dual pressure, aerial scouting became crucial.

Cecil had griffon riders, but their numbers were limited. Moreover, human-trained griffons couldn’t match the elves’ giant eagles in altitude, speed, or adaptability to scouting missions. With anti-gravity technology still not fully understood and flying machines yet to be realized, Gawain had brought Sonia here. The Silver Queen, also concerned about the northern disaster, had authorized the entire messenger corps—including Sonia—to serve the Duchy of Cecil as “mercenaries,” intervening in the war.

“Now we need to figure out what’s happening in the Red Maple region,” Gawain said. “There’s an unusually large concentration of crystalline legions there, and their combat effectiveness and organization far exceed other areas. I believe there’s at least one command center, likely with a high-ranking End of All Things cult priest in charge.”

“Leave it to us. The eyes from the sky will uncover that command center,” Sonia nodded decisively. “Anything else you suggest?”

“Just one thing,” Gawain replied evenly. “Fly as high as you can. After a few attacks by griffon riders carrying bombs, those giants have started to learn air defense.”

…

Troops kept vanishing into the southern hills and tangled woods.

An unexpected army was steadily advancing northward, flowing like a steady, determined tide from the strange southern lands. Countless corrupted beings lost contact along the way—weak “mutants” and powerful “prime abominations” alike were swallowed by the tide.

Commanders in Red Maple City couldn’t accurately gauge the frontline situation, but they all sensed certain qualities radiating from that tide—unyielding steel resolve, emotionless advance, terrifying explosions, flames that consumed everything…

High Priest Highton stood atop the tower of Red Maple Castle, his crystallized eyes burning with anger. “It’s been so long, and you still can’t mount a proper counterattack?!”

A priest clad in black robes, his body nearly fully transformed into an abomination, struggled under the priest’s fury. “The Cecil war machines are incredibly powerful, especially offensively… They can strike from extreme distances. Our abomination legions suffer heavy casualties when forced to charge…”

“So those converted wastes refuse to obey the charge orders? That’s a command, not a suggestion! A command that must be obeyed!” Highton slammed the table with a thunderous bang. “What are abominations? They are fearless, numb to pain, without hesitation—cold blades of war! Yet now these supposed mighty weapons run wild across the plains like chased beasts, utterly disgraceful!”

The priest’s rage filled the room, silencing the others. But after venting, Highton forced himself to calm down.

He took a deep breath, feeling his frayed nervous system rapidly healing under magical suppression. To transform into a stronger abomination, he had drawn too much power from the Flesh Abyss, which made him stronger but slowed his transformation and made him more irritable until fully complete.

Once calm, he realized his anger was pointless.

He wasn’t skilled in military command—most End of All Things priests weren’t. They were, after all, a dark cult. Their high-ranking members were priests, not battlefield tacticians. The powerful abomination legions had indeed crushed much of the kingdom’s and eastern forces quickly, but that was due to their strength, not clever leadership.

Highton considered who was best suited for the current situation.

Many commanders converted from the kingdom and eastern armies had been sent north to attack the outer defenses of Saint Sunir City—a critical battle that couldn’t be disturbed. Among those left, the most useful was probably Kolrod.

In the eastern ruins of Red Maple City, within the shattered stone fortress, the crystalline giant Kolrod paced irritably atop the high walls. Subordinate commanders cowered nearby, heads bowed. A fierce blizzard swirled mockingly between the castle district and the inner city.

After a few minutes, Kolrod stopped pacing. He pulled a small crystal orb from his belt, its surface flickering with light and radiating heat.

Kolrod stared at the orb, then rubbed its surface. Suddenly, the voice of High Priest Highton came through the enchanted communication device: “Don’t tell me you’re still dealing with that blizzard!!”

“Actually, I am,” Kolrod said, suppressing his frustration. “We’ve run into unexpected trouble.”

Why, after the outer castle’s magic network nodes were destroyed, was the network still running inside? Its power was reduced, but it was still operational!

When Cecil created the magic network and taught it to nobles, they had kept many technical details secret. It wasn’t just a “simple large magic circle” that would stop if a few key loops or energy lines were cut!

“Listen, I’m not interested in your troubles,” Highton’s voice continued. “Our legions are struggling in the south, you…”

Before he could finish, a strange buzzing and howling noise reached Kolrod’s ears, making the giant instinctively look up.

He saw the blizzard over the castle district beginning to weaken. At its peak, chaotic turbulence churned, and countless sharp ice shards scattered from the cyclone’s top…

The blizzard was breaking!

“High Priest, the blizzard here is weakening—Victoria Wilde’s mana must be nearly exhausted!”

Highton’s voice paused, sounding surprised. After a brief silence, Kolrod heard him again: “Excellent. Finish off that annoying duchess, then return to Red Maple immediately. I’ll give you your next orders.”

The crystal orb dimmed. Kolrod stared at it a moment before tucking it away.

Behind him, the blizzard enveloping the stone fortress rapidly dissipated.

…

The barrier was about to collapse.

Victoria Wilde stood quietly on the castle’s upper terrace, watching the disintegrating blizzard with a cold expression.

She wore a white gown adapted from a mage’s robe, draped with a silver-white shawl. In her hand was a staff inlaid with crystal and platinum. Several frost crystals, radiating biting cold, hovered around her. Beneath her feet was a large magic circle, its countless intricate lines and runes extending outward to the terrace’s edge and connecting to the castle’s magic network interface.

The magic network was still running, but its power had greatly diminished. Victoria knew this was because someone had sabotaged the underground network units outside the walls.

The saboteur clearly didn’t understand the network’s principles—Victoria vaguely recalled that the resurrected founding hero had taught her a term: “modularity,” referring to the network’s structure of many independent units combined.

This modular design prevented the saboteur from achieving their goal, allowing the inner city’s mana supply to hold until now, prolonging how long she could maintain the blizzard. In fact, if she pushed on, she could have kept it going for three more days.

But today, she chose to end the spell.

Knights clad in gray-white armor stood on the terrace, while robed mages, weary but resolute, gathered before Victoria. Behind them, soldiers of the mountain corps had taken their positions along the castle’s square, gardens, inner courtyard, and walls, swords and blades in hand, ready for battle.

The duchess gazed at the loyal followers who had stood by her side for so many years. She took a slow, steady breath and stepped forward.

“Today marks the thirtieth day—we have held off those monsters here for thirty days!

“The knights and civilians who broke through should have reached safety by now—at least, we have done all we possibly could.

“Continuing to defend this place is pointless. It’s time to end it.

“As soon as the blizzard clears, the enemy will swarm in. They may once have been our comrades, once familiar Ansu people—but now, they are enemies, monsters, irredeemable mutants and sources of corruption. The only thing left for us is to take up arms and defend the dignity of our humanity.

“Perhaps every monster we kill here is a chance for other Ansu to survive.

“I’m sorry I cannot bring you home alive.

“But I am honored to die alongside you.

“For Ansu!”

Her staff, glowing with magical light, was raised high before slamming heavily into the ground.

The warriors, swords and blades flashing like a forest, roared back, their voices shaking the rapidly collapsing blizzard: “For Ansu! We die with you!”

Relying on the blizzard, they might have held out three more days—but that would have drained every ounce of Victoria’s and the mages’ power, exhausted all the castle’s resources. When the storm finally ceased, the brave mountain troops would face a one-sided slaughter, powerless to resist.

The Northerners did not accept that fate.

The Northerners chose to die on the battlefield.

The duchess knew this. The warriors knew this.

The blizzard had dwindled to its last remnants. Beyond the fading snow, the twisted, terrifying crystal beasts could be seen lurking.

The knights sprinted toward the walls. The mages swallowed their final potions. On the castle’s terrace, every hand gripped a weapon, ready to defend the kingdom’s last stronghold. Victoria held only her staff, quietly waiting for the storm to fully pass.

At that moment, a familiar figure entered her sight—Maggie, the maid, weaving through the warriors, carrying two long swords, her black hair whipping in the wind.

This was the first time the mountain troops had seen their “head maid” armed for battle.

“Maggie,” Victoria called softly, stopping her as she approached. “You don’t have to stay here. You’re not Ansu.”

“I swore an oath to you once,” Maggie said quietly, sword in hand, meeting Victoria’s gaze. “And now, in this situation, where else could I go?”

“No,” Victoria said, locking eyes with her. “You’re the only one who can leave. You know that—I know it too.”

A flicker of surprise and a moment of panic crossed Maggie’s face, but before she could speak, Victoria continued: “Head south.”

“Why south?”

“The knights broke through to the northwest. Saint Suniel is the first hope. You head south—maybe there’s a second hope there.”

The black-haired maid met her mistress’s eyes, understanding that the “hope” Victoria spoke of was not for the mountain troops.

“I understand,” she bowed her head. “I will go south.”

“Good,” Victoria exhaled softly and began to move forward. “I’ll create a vortex for you in the south—ride it, hide yourself well, and then…

“Fly, Maggie.”

(End of chapter)