Chapter 639: Reinforcements

The platinum scepter lightly tapped the Pope, and suddenly a blinding holy light descended from the heavens. For a fleeting moment, the frail body of Saint Ivan III straightened and grew strong, as if he had drawn power through some mysterious force, returning to his prime. But his resistance lasted less than a second—the holy light that poured down did not shield him, nor did the surrounding floating rays of sanctity. Instead, all the sacred light around him seemed to turn into deadly flames, scorching Saint Ivan III’s body. Amidst the radiant blaze, he glared furiously at Veronica. “Why—”

“In essence, holy light is just a form of energy,” Veronica said calmly, watching Saint Ivan III’s body dissolve bit by bit in the luminous flames. Her face remained serene and gentle, but her tone was cold and mechanical. “When your way of harnessing that energy is outdated, your devotion becomes meaningless.”

Saint Ivan III’s body shattered completely, leaving behind only a single, bitter curse that echoed through the Great Hall of Light, filled with endless resentment: “Deceiver… you will be… destroyed… by the Lord…”

The radiant flames gradually died down, and the Great Hall returned to its previous state. The sea of holy light still surged with the sound of prayers, and the bishops bowed their heads in prayer, as if they had witnessed nothing. Veronica held the platinum scepter firmly; the focus of the divine descent had shifted from Saint Ivan III to her. Under the faint gaze of the God of Holy Light, her body began to crack apart.

“Destroyed, huh… maybe,” Veronica whispered. Holding the scepter, she stepped slowly toward the papal throne. As more glowing fissures spread across her form, she sat down gently. “But it doesn’t matter. ‘We’ have many more…”

In the next instant, her head drooped heavily, and she collapsed onto the wide throne like a fragile porcelain doll breaking apart. Life seemed to leave her body completely.

But only moments later, she lifted her head again. The cracks across her body began to mend at an astonishing speed, and a stiff, mechanical voice issued from her lips: “Reactivating interface… reloading personality data…”

After a brief moment, Veronica sat fully restored on the throne, clutching the platinum scepter tightly. One by one, the devout bishops praying before her fell, becoming fuel for the holy light torches. Her gaze pierced forward, as if looking through the entire cathedral, through the city, all the way to the distant city walls.

The cathedral bells tolled long and loud, the brilliance overwhelming. The immense divine power emanating from the Great Hall of Light wavered imperceptibly for a moment before stabilizing again. This tiny fluctuation was masked by the powerful holy light enveloping the entire church—no one noticed what had just transpired within the sanctuary…

Night on the fifth day was illuminated by the glow of the divine descent. When the giant sun rose, its brilliant dawn light bathed the ancient royal city, still standing proudly on the earth.

It was the morning of the sixth day.

The collapse of the great shield had severely damaged all the mage towers. After barely functioning for half a day, they all finally ceased operation. Thus, the magical defenses of Saint Suniel were declared broken on the sixth day.

Led by several court mages, all remaining combat-capable mages took their positions on the city walls, preparing to launch a near-suicidal final magical assault against the monsters.

Wales Morn watched the robed figures, feeling as if he were witnessing centuries of the kingdom’s heritage slowly unraveling.

Supernaturals were the foundation of a nation, and mages—these supernaturals—were even more irreplaceable than knights. Because in most cases, mages were not only powerful fighters but also bearers of countless inherited knowledge. A great scholar might not be a great mage, but every mage was inevitably a great scholar. These scholars were supposed to remain in relatively safe environments, delving into knowledge and using wisdom to advance the nation.

After studying much intelligence about the Principality of Cecil, Wales was even more certain of this.

But now, with Saint Suniel’s defenses nearly shattered, these mages—keepers of vast knowledge and wisdom—were forced to stand on the walls, serving as flesh shields, expendable weapons, dying cheaply and quickly in this place…

In previous battles, the great shield could block most enemy attacks. Even as the garrison suffered heavy losses, most mages could rely on the shield for protection. But now that the shield was gone, once the divine descent’s effect ended, the fragile mages would likely suffer devastating casualties immediately.

Within the inner city behind them, the radiant giant summoned by the divine descent was already dimming. The monument-like barriers surrounding the capital flickered and wavered, signs that the divine power was about to expire.

From behind, Bertram Franklin’s voice came: “Your Majesty, all the city’s pitch has been gathered. It can sustain combat for more than two days.”

Wales turned to see the Duke of the Western Territories, no longer as neat as usual. His battle robe was torn in many places, his body marked with soot and grime, exhaustion etched deeply on his face.

Yet even so, the duke maintained a composed, refined, and authoritative demeanor, as if these qualities were ingrained in his very blood.

The new king exhaled softly. “Good. With the pitch, we can at least repel one or two waves of attacks…”

The monsters feared fire—this was intelligence bought with the lives of soldiers on the southern front lines. Normally, large-scale flames on the battlefield were conjured by mages. But what if there were no mages, or their power was no longer enough to sustain the entire defense?

Wrapping ropes soaked in pitch around stone balls and lighting them could replace magically ignited flaming stones. Pouring pitch down the walls could still create blazing walls of fire beneath the city, rivaling the hottest infernos. Even without magical support, there were alternative methods.

“Where is the Cecil Legion now?”

“The last report was last night. They’ve crossed the river at the Valley Corridor and are speeding toward us.”

As the reinforcements drew closer, communication spells established a more stable connection. Bertram Franklin began receiving clear messages from Victoria. The steady communication greatly boosted the morale of the defenders and was one reason the defense had held this long.

Wales thought briefly, then looked up at the mages on the walls.

“Order the mages to withdraw,” the new king said succinctly.

“Your Majesty?”

“We can’t let the kingdom’s finest scholars all die here,” Wales said quickly. “Without the great shield, and facing this kind of frontal cluster combat, these already exhausted mages can hardly be effective. Their survival is far more valuable than their deaths here. The northwest gate should still be open, right?”

“Yes, it’s still open.”

Saint Suniel was surrounded by countless crystal cluster monsters, but the entire city was not yet sealed off. The northwest gate of the capital was still passable, and limited reinforcements from the Western Legion were entering through it.

“Prepare to evacuate the scholars, including these mages,” Wales said with unmistakable authority. “Send them out through the northwest gate.”

“Your Majesty,” Bertram Franklin hesitated, “this might cause unrest…”

“As long as I haven’t retreated, the defense won’t falter,” Wales interrupted. “And I’m not ordering these mages to flee—I want them to survive this battle. This city will be held. The armored swordsmen will hold it. But after holding it, we’ll need those who wield pens and paper to rebuild it.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

The duke left to carry out the king’s orders. Wales’s attention returned to the walls and the holy light barriers that could extinguish at any moment.

After an unknown length of time, his gaze suddenly shifted upward.

Several tiny black dots had appeared among the distant clouds. Bathed in the increasingly bright morning sun, those dots were rapidly approaching Saint Suniel.

Minutes later, as the dots began to descend, Wales used his supernatural vision to make out what they were—

A group of griffins escorting a giant eagle.

Wales’s eyes widened as he watched them dive toward the capital in a near-suicidal plunge. As their altitude dropped, the crystal cluster army gathered on the plains finally reacted. Though in a frenzy, the monsters instinctively attacked the uninvited intruders in their “airspace.” Arcs of electricity shot from the ground into the sky, weaving a shimmering giant net. But at the edges of this net, the eagle and griffins danced past the clouds, beyond the city walls of Saint Suniel.

They dropped something from high above.

The objects bounced and unfurled midair, fluttering in the wind with vivid colors. Wales quickly recognized the fluttering, cloth-like items—

They were the banners of Cecil.

The king’s eyes widened, then he suddenly laughed.

The founding hero had arrived a day earlier than promised.

As countless Cecil flags unfurled and drifted down from the sky, the booming bells of the Holy Light Cathedral in the inner city gradually faded.

The divine descent’s effect had ended.

The radiant giant floating above the city shattered, scattering countless fragments of holy light into the air. The protective holy light barriers around the capital cracked inch by inch, disappearing within moments.

The crystal cluster monsters across the plains stirred restlessly.

With Cecil’s banners fluttering in the wind and morale soaring, Wales raised his longsword toward the sky:

“For Ansu!!”

Saint Suniel—the battle cry shook the clouds.

By the Gorgon River, cannon fire roared.

Three river warships lined up along the shore, with other gunboats and smaller vessels arrayed on the river. Anti-aircraft guns and light main cannons targeted the eastern riverbank. Magic sparks flashed continuously, and the entire beach was engulfed in a relentless barrage.

On the bridge of the Pioneer, Byron’s booming voice was almost as loud as the cannon fire outside:

“Suppressing fire! Suppressing fire! Clear the landing zone quickly!”

“Follow-up supply ships, move up! All of you, move up!”

“Quick, quick, deploy the gangplank! Deploy the gangplank! Get the ground troops off now!!”

Under the cover of the gunships, the crystalline monsters entrenched along the entire east bank were swiftly wiped out. One armored cargo ship after another approached the riverbank suitable for landing. Steel ramps, made from sturdy iron frames and thick plates, extended onto the shore through mechanical mechanisms. Tanks and multi-purpose combat vehicles, fully prepared, rolled off one by one, quickly establishing a mobile frontline on land.

As the thunder of tank cannons echoed, the ground forces surged onto the riverbank.

On the bridge of the Pioneer, the image of Sonia appeared on the arcane network terminal before Gawain: “…just flown over Saint Suniel… signal has been sent… they’re still holding out…”

Gawain turned to Byron, who had finally quieted down. “Can we hit Saint Suniel from here?”

“Out of theoretical range—but we can try one shot,” Byron’s booming voice rang out again. “If we don’t care about accuracy and the firing angle’s right, I can land a shell somewhere on the plains south of Saint Suniel. Where exactly? No one knows. But it definitely won’t reach the capital.”

“Fire,” Gawain nodded slightly. “Let those monsters know we’re here.”

“You hear that, boys?!” Byron’s face flushed with excitement as he waved his arms at the crew. “Overload the main cannon—let’s give ‘em one hell of a shot!!”

(End of chapter)