Chapter 640: The Receding Crisis

A strange, piercing whistle echoed faintly in the distance. Moments later, Wales heard a thunderous roar rising from the southern plains.

It was a sound unlike anything heard in the previous battles—something the crystal cluster giants had never made before.

He lifted his gaze toward the source of the noise, barely making out a massive plume of dust billowing into the sky. Near that rising cloud of smoke, the crystal army seemed to be thrown into chaos.

Rumor had it that the magical weapons crafted by the Cecilian forces could strike from over ten kilometers away, launching devastating explosives with pinpoint accuracy. Before the “Heavenly Fire” descended, that sharp whistle was their unmistakable signature.

Reinforcements were arriving—but they were still far off.

All the holy light barriers had been shattered. Tiny particles of radiant light drifted down, scattering over the city walls. As the light particles fell, arcs of electricity from the crystal legion swept across the now defenseless walls. Knights, their armor cracked and battered, lifted massive shields and stepped forward to fill the gaps, while bloodied soldiers manned every catapult—magic or no—to mount a final counterattack.

The blazing sun pierced through the clouds, bathing the ancient royal city in brilliant light. The dawn’s glow spilled between the clouds, gilding everything in gold—the bloodstained banners, shattered armor, glinting spears, massive catapults and ballistae, and the raging crystal tide encircling the city—all shimmered under the sunlight.

“Our reinforcements have begun their assault!” A bloodied knight atop the wall raised the banner of Ansu high, waving it fiercely as he shouted, “Hold on just a little longer—”

A sharp crystal spike suddenly shot from the edge of the wall, piercing the knight’s chest. On the battlements, a grotesque, swollen monster continued its climb upward.

Wales swung his longsword, releasing an invisible shockwave that severed the creature’s body. Catching the falling banner, he raised it high. “Hold the line!”

“Hold the line!”

“Hold the line!”

More and more whistles echoed from afar. At the southern edge of the plains, new clouds of dust and shockwaves began to form. But the battlefield was vast—endless crystal monsters covered nearly the entire Saint Suniel Plain. Even if reinforcements reached the field, it would take hours to push close to the walls. And the mindless crystal legion would not cease their assault during that time.

Gawain and Byron understood this all too well.

Armored gryphons streaked across the sky, bringing the latest intelligence from the city’s defenses. Inside the bridge of the Pioneer—the command center for this operation—Byron analyzed the frontline situation.

“…The Saint Suniel Great Shield has collapsed. The holy light barrier Sonia observed has also fallen. Now they’re relying on enchanted walls and the knights and soldiers to hold the defense. The enemy’s densest concentration is near the eastern wall, but it’s out of the Pioneer’s main cannon range.”

Gawain studied the tactical map before him, but in his mind’s eye, he saw satellite-like images sweeping over the terrain.

“We’ll carve an assault corridor from directly south of Saint Suniel to the Gorgon River. Ground forces will enter through there, then establish artillery positions south of the eastern wall. Coordinated fire from the fleet and ground troops will split those monsters apart. As long as we hold off their counterattacks, the battlefield is under control.”

“But their counterattacks will be fierce… They’ve lost all sense of self-preservation. They won’t stop until they’re all dead.”

“That’s exactly our goal—to reduce the crystal legion’s numbers near Saint Suniel as quickly as possible. Once they lose their numerical advantage in the area, their threat to the city drops sharply. The walls of Saint Suniel can self-repair; as long as damage is less than repair speed, the city is safe,” Gawain said calmly. “As for whether the ground forces can hold out until then… you should trust the armored units. When firepower is overwhelming, numbers don’t matter. And I’ll be personally commanding the ground troops, so no worries.”

“…Understood. I’ll ensure fire support here to keep your path clear.”

Ten minutes later, Gawain left the bridge, preparing to disembark.

He approached the Pioneer’s railing, and Amber’s figure appeared beside him.

“Hey, hey, you really are charging into battle headfirst—”

Without turning, Gawain replied, “What, got a problem?”

“Don’t forget how you died in your last life. Today’s scene is way too similar to that day. Don’t you have any psychological scars?” Amber kept nagging. “Or was your claim of being haunted by it just a lie…”

Gawain finally glanced back at her and said casually, “So your main reason for coming along is to dig up my grave and reenact the scene after I die?”

“…Not exactly. I’m still officially your bodyguard, you know.”

“Then quit the chatter and keep up. This kind of battlefield needs a sharp, survival-savvy scout like you.”

“Oh—then you better not die either. If you do, I won’t be able to explain it to Heddy and Rebekka back home…”

“Shut up.”

As steel treads crushed the earth and armored vehicles rumbled toward the battlefield, Gawain’s mood had completely settled.

Amber wasn’t right beside him, but he could sense her presence within a hundred meters—she was slipping between the real world and the shadow realm, scanning the surroundings, searching for residual energy left by crystal giants in the shadow realm to predict enemy movements.

Above, armored gryphons and giant eagle knights scouted the entire battlefield, guiding ground forces forward and directing fire support for the fleet on the Gorgon River.

On the river, the Pioneer and accompanying warships adjusted their main cannons, preparing to unleash the next round of fire support.

Gawain exhaled softly.

Amber had been wrong about one thing—seven hundred years ago, when this body had died, the circumstances could never have been the same as today.

…

Amid the roar of artillery, ground forces advanced as planned to a high ground southeast of Saint Suniel. Against the overwhelming firepower of the tank clusters, the crystal legion’s advantage in sheer numbers quickly evaporated, just as Gawain had predicted. The monsters launched relentless counterattacks driven by instinct, but were ultimately buried beneath a hailstorm of shells and burning flames. A long-range artillery position was swiftly established, suppressing the southeastern sector of Saint Suniel.

With fire support extending from the Gorgon River and the newly secured high ground, the Cecilian army sliced diagonally into the battlefield like a blazing blade, tearing apart the crystal legion’s lines and bleeding the out-of-control monsters dry.

Wales noticed subtle shifts on the battlefield.

Faster than he had expected, the crystal legion’s assault on the royal city was weakening.

The soldiers fighting desperately might not have noticed the overall change, and the limited knights could only focus on their assigned walls. But Wales, who kept watch over the entire defensive line, caught the small but significant change—the density of the crystal legion’s attacks was decreasing. The enchanted walls along parts of the southern ramparts had stopped collapsing and even entered a state of repair balancing damage.

The monsters’ numbers were dwindling, and their focus was shifting.

Wales turned his gaze toward the southern plains but still couldn’t pinpoint the Cecilian forces’ exact location. All he could see were endless plumes of dust and flashes of explosions. Those blasts were no longer far from the walls, but the attackers themselves remained out of sight.

The only certainty was the incredible power behind those explosions—mountains crumbled, earth shattered. No exaggeration.

The Cecilians were using overwhelming long-range firepower to carve the battlefield, and judging by the distant signs of combat, they were executing bold maneuvers and advances during this cutting operation.

The reinforcements were still far away, but their strength had already crossed the spatial divide, projected onto the royal city’s defenses.

In the sky, Cecilian armored gryphons and giant eagles made their third pass over the battlefield, their movements clearly coordinated with the ground fighting.

Wales’s mind filled with intelligence about the southern region—about their magical weaponry, the kingdom’s arms purchases there, and details from the Southern Unification War.

Many things couldn’t be gleaned from intelligence reports alone. Only firsthand contact—even from a distance—could reveal the truth behind those reports.

Wales had long pondered everything about the south, but military intelligence remained shrouded in mystery. Using his analytical talents, he had pieced together part of that army’s profile, but key information was missing, preventing a complete picture. Now, after witnessing some of it with his own eyes, the fog in his mind suddenly lifted.

“…So this is their method of warfare… superior long-range weapons, concentrated assaults, rapid redeployments, deep penetrations… all requiring coordination of large forces and high-speed information transmission… It can’t be simple message magic—that’s too limited… Could it be the ‘magic network communication’ the Duke of Victoria mentioned? And they must have established a more efficient command system to control the numerous units spread across the battlefield… What might that look like?”

Wales stared into the distance, overwhelmed by how much he still couldn’t understand. How the Cecilians maintained such large-scale long-range communication, how their command system operated, how their logistics, equipment, and troop quality were built—all beyond his imagination. Yet, faced with so many unknowns, the new king of Ansu smiled.

The “factory reforms” underway in Saint Suniel were ultimately crude imitations. The town management schemes trialed in the western territories and royal domains barely scratched the surface. Last year’s grand reform efforts had fizzled out, undone by the reformers’ own flaws and the stubborn resistance of conservatives. But in the end, the new era had arrived.

“Your Majesty, the enemy’s assault is weakening,” Duke Bertram Franklin of the West Territory said wearily nearby. His eyes were bloodshot, but his tone remained steady and strong. “The Cecilians have taken the high ground south of the eastern wall. The crystal monsters’ attacks have been cut off.”

Wales nodded slightly. “Saint Suniel has survived.”

“Yes, the royal city has survived,” the duke confirmed.

“I should prepare to receive the Duke of Cecile.”

Bertram Franklin gazed quietly at Wales, his bloodshot eyes free of doubt. It seemed that, from the new king’s many actions in recent days, he had already begun to piece together some understanding. Yet in the end, he said nothing more.

(End of chapter)