Chapter 636: Defending the City

Wales Morn was crowned.

At this critical moment when Ansu teetered on the brink of collapse.

News of what had transpired in the Golden Oak Hall had finally leaked out—partially, and under a certain degree of deliberate control. The nobles living within the inner city, though barred from entering the Golden Oak Hall, had learned the broad strokes: the king had executed the “traitor,” the new king had secured the loyalty of the Royal Knights even before his coronation, the Duke of the West, Bertram Franklin, had surrendered the king’s golden crown, and Wales himself had personally crowned himself. Beyond these surface details, only a select few knew of the purge within the Knights and the imprisonment of several high nobles for treason immediately after the coronation.

Thus, the long-vacant throne finally had a king again. The Royal Knights once more took to the battlefield in the king’s name. That day, many pale-faced nobles emerged from the Golden Oak Hall, and the previously chaotic and discordant factions unified. Rumors of “southern reinforcements” began to spread throughout the city, and the new king publicly confirmed their authenticity.

The city’s defenders were heartened. The noble scions within the various knightly orders steadied themselves. The fearful citizens regained a flicker of courage. The capital’s order, on the verge of collapse, wavered on the edge of the abyss but ultimately returned to a fragile safety—though all of this was only temporary, it was exactly the kind of “temporary” Saint Suniel needed.

A massive arc of arcane lightning tore through the air, accompanied by a blinding flash and a series of explosions striking the southeastern city walls. The enormous Saint Suniel Great Shield rippled in waves, dissipating the impact of the arcane strike into nothingness. Only a faint residual glow licked the shield’s surface, scattering into the air beyond the walls.

Soldiers staggered under the shock. A knight wearing the royal crest on his cloak was the first to scramble to his feet, raising his sword and shouting hoarsely, “Ballista—enchanted bolts, now!”

The knight’s aura of encouragement spread outward, quickly restoring the ordinary soldiers’ ability to act. Warriors rushed to the nearest ballistae and the platforms stacked with bolts, hastily preparing to counterattack. The so-called “bolts” of the city’s defensive ballistae were actually standard-sized war spears, their steel tips inlaid with tiny fragments of mithril. Battle mages stood by the ballistae, immediately imbuing the mithril with magical power as the soldiers loaded the new bolts into the grooves.

With a sharp twang of bowstrings, the massive enchanted bolts shot forth, glowing faintly. Before the magic within the mithril could dissipate, they arced through the air and plunged into the roiling tide of monstrous foes on the plains. Each impact erupted in a flash of light, followed by a mid-sized explosion of fire.

On the walls, knights raised their longswords again, shouting, “Heavy armor—aim!” “Fire!”

The second volley of enchanted bolts rained down on the battlefield, accompanied by large arcane missiles launched from the battle mage towers behind the walls. The second strike ignited an even grander blaze among the monsters, but it was met with an equally fierce counterattack—mad beasts still retained the instinct to fight back, and a storm of arcane lightning surged toward the walls.

A holy white light descended just in time, blocking the arcane lightning before it could drain the Saint Suniel Great Shield. Veronica, clad in a simple white robe, stepped calmly onto the battlements. Her hands spread slightly, and the holy light shimmered in the air around her, faintly resonating with the entire clergy behind her.

“The clergy have arrived!” the knight commanding this section of the defense called out in surprise. “Everyone, fall back into position! Heavy armor, continue the counterattack!”

A large number of holy light priests in white robes and church knights in white armor rushed up behind Veronica. They unleashed various divine spells to help repel the crystal giant’s assault while swiftly healing the wounded soldiers. Even with the Great Shield, not every attack could be blocked; occasional arcane lightning that pierced the shield and shockwaves from its violent tremors caused casualties. The clergy’s healing powers were crucial in these moments.

Shouts filled the air, mingled with the sounds of magic bursts, shield resonances, and bowstrings snapping. This hellish battlefield of death and fire stood in stark contrast to the serene and peaceful Holy Light Cathedral, yet Veronica remained composed and pure-faced, seemingly untouched by the chaos around her.

In fact, a palpable aura of “calm” surrounded her, as if the cathedral’s tranquility had solidified within her and moved with her onto the walls.

“Is it really just because there’s a king on the throne now…?” Veronica murmured softly, her voice barely audible even to herself, as she watched the united front before her.

A mid-ranking priest in a white robe trimmed with gold hurried over. “Your Holiness! Heavy casualties on the western wall. The clergy there—”

Veronica smiled gently, her tone reassuring. “Take your men to reinforce them. Leave this side to me.”

“But your safety—”

“You are here to protect the city, not me,” Veronica interrupted firmly. “Go. I can take care of myself.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

The clergy quickly departed. Veronica stood quietly on the fiercely contested battlements, holy light radiating from her, enveloping nearby soldiers and part of the Great Shield. This continuous, powerful holy light even surpassed the combined strength of an entire clergy. Under its protection, this section of the defense quickly stabilized and even shifted into a strong counterattack.

The commanding knight cast Veronica a grateful glance but had no time for formal thanks. Under normal circumstances, no knight would miss the chance to speak with and pay respects to the “Saint Princess” in person, but now, defending the city was paramount.

Veronica merely nodded faintly and lowered her gaze to the holy light flowing from her.

This radiant power surged endlessly, emerging and gathering naturally without deliberate prayer or guidance.

“The will to protect… is incredibly strong,” Veronica whispered to herself, fingers stirring a tangible strand of holy light beside her. “Interestingly, even a few non-believers on the walls receive equal protection…

“Does human survival instinct override the boundaries set by faith in moments like this…

“Humans truly are guiding the holy light…”

She lifted her eyes toward another section of the wall not far away.

The newly crowned King of Ansu stood upright behind the battlements. His hands rested on the pommel of the king’s sword. His armor, adorned with intricate golden patterns, gleamed in the sunlight. The royal cloak, blue with gold trim, fluttered gently behind him, and the heavy, solemn golden crown still rested atop his head.

Such attire was striking in any setting. Practically speaking, wearing such bright armor on the battlefield made him an easy target. But here, visibility was key—only by standing out could the defenders see where their king was and keep their morale high.

Whether it was the new king’s coronation, the news of reinforcements, or the knights’ firm control over the nobles, all these measures brought only temporary unity and fighting spirit. This was a besieged city, surrounded by endless enemies. Even the strongest will would be worn down by such a siege. That was why the king had to stand on the walls—to stretch this “temporary” as long as possible.

A gust of wind stirred as Bertram Franklin descended beside Wales Morn, riding a spell of flight. “Your Majesty, the western wall’s shield has recharged. The wall is self-repairing. The defense line is temporarily stable.”

Wales nodded lightly. “What about casualties?”

“Three hundred and twenty soldiers wounded, twenty-seven killed outright. But the clergy arrived in time, preventing further losses.”

“And the western bastion?”

“Still intact. The shield blocked the strongest blow.”

The western bastion referred to the main city wall extending forward from the western section, combined with the entire western “outwork” defense structure. Opposite it stood the eastern bastion. These two bastions were Saint Suniel’s greatest reliance against the attacks from the Holy Spirit Plains.

Wales exhaled slightly, withdrawing his gaze from the plains. “If we maintain this situation, we can hold.”

“But by the fifth or sixth day, the mage towers will exhaust their energy, and the Great Shield will near its limit. After that, it will be nothing but lives against lives.”

“Seven hundred years ago, our ancestors took this place with lives. Now, defending it with lives is no different.”

The Duke of Franklin’s gaze lingered on Wales’s face for a long moment before he spoke softly, “Your Majesty, almost no one has truly seen you.”

Wales did not turn, speaking quietly, “In truth, their judgment wasn’t wrong.”

Two seconds of silence passed before Franklin sighed faintly and said, “Your Majesty, if all goes as planned, Duke Gawain Cecil’s army will arrive in seven days. No matter how they manage it, this force has the power to break through these monsters and quell this disaster.”

“I know.”

“…Then it seems this was part of your plan.”

The walls fell into silence, broken only by distant battle cries and the whistling explosions in the air. Minutes later, Franklin’s voice cut through the quiet: “Your Majesty, always prepare for the worst. If the reinforcements don’t arrive in seven days, are you ready?”

“Of course,” Wales said calmly. “My name is Morn.”

“Then Franklin stands with you.”

…

The dazzling beam of the “Calibrator” gradually faded, leaving only a distorted trace in the air to mark where that terrifying torrent had once surged. After the crystal clusters threatening the armored cargo ship on the riverbank were destroyed, the entire fleet accelerated once more, swiftly advancing along the northern shore of the Gorgon River.

On the Pioneer, a massive armored griffin landed steadily on the broad deck. A female griffin rider dismounted, handing her mount over to waiting soldiers before striding toward the nearby bridge.

Minutes later, Amber approached Gawain’s side.

“The Griffon Knights have spotted signs of a large-scale battle far to the north, on the west bank of the Gorgon River. It looks like someone is organizing a blockade along the riverbank to prevent the crystal clusters from crossing. Judging by the magical energy readings, the side holding the blockade isn’t at a disadvantage.”

“Looks like the royal capital isn’t completely paralyzed after all… At least they still have enough strength to block part of the Gorgon River’s shore and stop the contamination from spreading,” Gawain nodded slightly, a hint of relief in his voice. “It must be Duke Franklin’s Western Legion. Their combat power doesn’t match the Eastern or Northern Legions, but they’re still one of the kingdom’s elite corps. Holding a riverbank blockade is definitely within their capabilities.”

Amber nodded along. “That means we don’t have to worry too much about the contamination crossing the river for now. And it also means we can get in touch with the north a bit sooner…”

She was cut off mid-sentence by a Bureau of Intelligence agent rushing over, his expression strange and tense. Clutched tightly in his hand was a freshly copied piece of intelligence.

Amber took the report, quickly scanning it before passing it to Gawain with a look of surprise.

“Two major updates.

“First, probably because the fleet is approaching the intact northern relay station, we’ve just restored communication with the Saint Suniel relay. The signal’s unstable, but we can barely maintain contact.

“Second, Wales has crowned Morn.”

(End of chapter)