Chapter 656: The God Hunter

A surge of raw energy poured into the system. The ancient, homeland-forged machinery hummed to life amid the rising power. Energy conduits pulsed with excitement, mechanical structures seemed to cheer, and the massive Elemental Fold Tower radiated dazzling light layer by layer. Under the forceful magical pulses, the barrier between the elemental realm and the physical world shattered. A peculiar spatial rift slowly opened, like a dark, profound eye at the center of a swirling vortex, its depths shimmering with flickering waves of light—

“Evaporate!” “Evaporate!” “Evaporate!”

The sea witches cheered as vast swathes of blue radiance rippled across the fold field. One by one, the bodies of the sea witches became ethereal and fluid within the glow, rising in endless mists of water vapor. In the blink of an eye, Ilaven thousand deep-sea warriors, wave vanguards, and tide masters dissolved completely, evaporating into surging steam that ascended toward the elemental rift high above.

Thunderous howls echoed through the fold field. The vast plaza quickly emptied as the sea witches condensed into a colossal cloud of energy—the “expeditionary force”—and entered the rift. The energy conduits stretching along the terrain toward the distant mothership dimmed one by one. Numerous auxiliary devices activated their cooling grids, releasing pent-up heat.

Petia exhaled softly, her silver-white hair fluttering in the sea breeze. The deep-sea sovereign lifted her gaze, staring out across the distant ocean as if her sight pierced through space itself, reaching her sisters far away on another continent.

She murmured, “I never imagined… we would reactivate these ancient devices. This season of terrestrial civilization is truly fascinating.”

“Fascinating, but dangerous,” whispered Rosalia, the deep-sea attendant, her serpentine tail swaying beside Petia. “To create ‘gods’ with human power, and then attempt to hunt those gods with human power… Regardless of what these gods really are, humanity’s methods this season are nothing short of astonishing.”

“Perhaps the sea witches should learn from these short-lived species’ ‘astonishing’ ways,” Petia said softly. “After all, they managed to create such wondrous technology as the iridescent devices.” She glanced up at the still-open elemental rift above the fold tower and commanded, “Keep the passage open until the sisters return.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Petia’s eyes swept the plaza once more. On several nearby platforms, warriors maintained vigilant watch. Dozens of elegantly curved, shell-armored weapon emplacements pointed skyward toward the rift. Between the armored plates, faint glimmers of watery light pulsed continuously.

Though the sea witches had lost much technology in this world and many ancient devices no longer functioned, after years of arduous adaptation, they still possessed some valuable treasures.

“Keep the particle pulse turrets at half-activation. If anything unfamiliar returns from the rift… shoot it down immediately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

…

The magic crystal railgun thundered, firing an obelisk-shaped shell that screamed sharply through the air. After a brief delay, the projectile struck its target, erupting in a hazy blaze and scattering blood and flesh across the sacred yet eerie creature.

The hunter’s aim was true. The prey was successfully enraged.

The terrifying flesh-and-blood construct unleashed a frenzied roar that sounded like chaotic noise incarnate. The sky darkened, and the earth was instantly scorched with searing burn marks and overrun by strange blooming vines. Shaking off the explosions, the creature burst from the smoke, its antlers forged of light crackling with a powerful energy surge.

The engines of the war machines roared. The “Brave Ones” assault squad charged forward before the monster fully emerged from the smoke—engines had been preheated before firing, and no delay followed the shots. The tanks moved directly into the next phase of the hunt as planned.

Seven war machines thundered across the scorched plain. The enraged artificial god roared and gave chase, unleashing uncontrollable power—the “divine force” implanted by the cult of universal demise within its body. The chaotic path of scorched earth, blooming flowers, death, and life stretched across the land like a colossal serpent slithering through the wasteland, its head pointing straight toward the Sorin Fortress defense line of the Cecil Legion.

Fully awakened, the artificial god’s power mutated and intensified. Even without living beings nearby, it could make stone and steel bloom with flowers.

A wild wind swept up, carrying dry sand and stones that battered the tanks’ armor. The heavy war machines raced across the rugged battlefield, their treads crushing the cracked, blackened soil—soil once belonging to kings, lords, and knights; soil soaked with the blood and sweat of generations of serfs and peasants. The furious “god” roared, scorching plasma whips lashing behind the “Brave Ones,” carving fiery cracks across the earth.

Crystal cluster giants wandering the plain were also enraged. They “heard” the chaotic roar, the call of the highest-level nodes, and responded with their own bewildering howls. They surged toward the twisted trail of death and life, scorch marks and flowers. Bright arcane lightning flickered in the distance as countless towering shadows appeared on the horizon.

A monstrous army was gathering. Hunter Hunt could feel the thick, suffocating malice and hostility in the air. Even with his mental defense system active, his heart pounded wildly as if about to explode. Through the observation window, he watched the electric serpents writhe and the furious giants converge from all directions. The sky darkened with each passing moment. The scene resembled the apocalyptic visions sung by bards in their epics.

Now, Hunter Hunt’s experience could truly be written into legend.

The war machines accelerated, engines screaming under the strain. The repulsion mechanisms pushed their rods and gears to the breaking point. These first-generation tanks were already exceeding their design speeds, nearing structural limits. Every mechanical roar was a countdown to collapse. And the enraged “god” was closing in fast.

In truth, Hunt had no idea what that giant stag really was. His superiors, or their superiors, might know—but what did it matter?

He was a soldier, a hunter. Now, he had to fulfill both roles.

A griffin-shaped armored flyer streaked across the sky.

One minute later, a blinding white light suddenly swept in from the east, accompanied by a low, humming roar. It swept majestically over the ground near the “Brave Ones” squad. Hundreds of crystal cluster giants disintegrated into smoke and ash in the beam’s path.

They had entered the Sorin Fortress defense line’s beam cannon range.

Inside the Iron Throne, Mariland stared intently at the surveillance feed from the “Brave Ones” observation vehicle. Outside the window beside him, a mighty energy beam shot from a distant mountainside, crossing the defensive structures and sweeping across the southwestern sky.

Almost instantly, Mariland saw the beam through the “Brave Ones” perspective on the monitor.

A deafening barrage erupted. Heavy fortress cannons hidden in mountain bunkers began firing in sequence after calibrating the beam. Countless shells and powerful energy beams crossed vast distances to strike at the enemy still beyond visual range. The relentless cannonade was louder and more intense than any day since the defense line was established. Without the soundproofing barrier activated in the tactical compartment, Mariland might not have even heard his own voice over the roar.

His adjutant’s voice came from beside him: “General! All units have commenced attacks as ordered. The ‘Brave Ones’ squad is entering the cover zone.”

“Continue the assault. Distract the enemy’s attention,” Mariland ordered loudly. “‘Hound’ squad, move to support the ‘Brave Ones’—then withdraw to the eastern border as planned.”

“Full firepower on the defense line for ten minutes, then all units withdraw according to schedule.”

“Charge the Iron Throne’s power spine. Release chassis locking hooks.”

Orders flew out, met with responses and the tense bustle of commands across the line. Yet at this moment, Mariland felt a calm settle over him.

These were elite soldiers, led by capable commanders. As Cecil’s most powerful and advanced ground war machine, the Iron Throne was a prestigious asset. Every crew member was handpicked from various units—veterans of the Cecil Defense, Southern Unification War, and the Rock Fortress Battle. With these seasoned warriors and formidable war machines, Mariland held the nation’s best hand.

He could ask for no more.

Along the defense line, units moved as ordered—some holding firm, others preparing to retreat. Mariland and his crew waited quietly in the Iron Throne’s control center for the next phase.

“Target in visual range!” a soldier shouted.

The contradictory, eerie monster appeared. Amid rising dust clouds on the distant plain, the flesh-and-blood abomination emerged, charging toward the defense line.

It was battered and torn, flesh disintegrating—some wounds self-inflicted by its grotesque form, others from the defense line’s shells and beams. Though heavily injured, judging by its distance and speed, the defense line would likely fail to stop it.

Mariland couldn’t help but sigh. More railguns and beam cannons might have held the creature back, but he knew that was unrealistic—such massive weapons couldn’t be produced overnight, and there weren’t enough skilled technicians to operate them.

The artificial god noticed the obstacle ahead and the source of its pain—the “flying insects” launched from the defense line. It ran on pure rage, seemingly moments from breaking through the Cecil fortifications.

But defense wasn’t just about holding the line.

The target entered the marked zone. The railgun turrets nestled between the cliffs gradually quieted. The four beam cannons simultaneously ceased fire. All arcane networks across the line shut down. Yet at the very heart of the defense, a long-dormant war machine roared to life.

Several cannon blasts rang out as the armories at both ends of the Iron Throne bared their teeth. The massive railguns roared thunderously, and at the same moment, the arcane crystals mounted atop the heavy train flared to life. A surge of intense magical energy instantly flooded the battlefield.

For a creature driven mad, fixated on draining life force and mana, this bait was utterly irresistible.

“Armory section, open fire! First volley hits the target!”

“Onboard arcane obelisks activated!”

“The target is moving again!”

Mariland took a deep breath, raised her arm, and brought it down with authority:

“Iron Throne, engage!”

A sharp whistle pierced the mountains and plains. The clanking and grinding of machinery filled the air as the armored train, clad in black plating and heavy shields, roared to life. Thanks to its high-performance repulsion drive and low-friction chassis, this steel behemoth was far more agile and swift than it appeared. As the enraged “god” began to pivot in pursuit, the train had already left the platform, bursting through the defensive line and charging toward the White Sand Hills, accelerating relentlessly.

Behind the Iron Throne, on the plains west of the charging rail, the artificial god—mad with fury—was thundering in pursuit.

Trailing the “god” was a striking trail, a twisted scar of life and death, scorched earth and blooming vines, curving sharply before the Sorinburg defenses and veering southward, stretching far into the distance.

(End of chapter)