Chapter 657: The Gluttonous Beast
Inside Silverkeep Fortress, High Commander Gawain stood before the arcane network terminal alongside two newly appointed Grant Magistrates. Reports from the eastern plains were relayed through a chain of outposts—Sorinhold, the White Sand region, the southern border, and the Gorgon River communication lines—streaming continuously into the room.
“The ‘Brave Ones’ squad has initiated the operation. Primary-level luring of the target is successful…”
“The target has entered Sorinhold’s defensive range. The ‘Brave Ones’ squad has disengaged successfully. Secondary-level luring confirmed…”
“All units in the White Sand Hills have completed evacuation. Beacons established…”
“Tertiary-level luring successful. The Iron Throne is beginning its southward advance… The target is closing in on the White Sand Hills…”
Each report from the various units came like clockwork, as if following a meticulously precise schedule. Yet Gawain felt no relief. Sorinhold’s defenses had already proven the eerie, formidable, and nearly indestructible nature of that artificial god. Though the cultists had only fashioned a “replica” with flesh and blood—mortal hands creating a counterfeit—the power it wielded had clearly transcended the mundane, bearing divine attributes.
Against such an enemy, no one dared to relax until it was utterly destroyed.
Gawain also knew that behind these seemingly smooth, flawless reports lay countless soldiers and commanders risking their lives every second. The apparent success was a razor’s edge balance.
The sea witch allies were indeed powerful, and the plan appeared flawless, but the risks remained. Even with a high chance of success, the dangers had to be faced.
Beside him, the ever-calm and composed Victoria couldn’t help but tighten her expression, a trace of tension in her voice: “Let’s hope everything goes smoothly.”
“It will… If the sea witches can’t finish it, the Second Legion from Rockhold Fortress and the reserve forces from Cecil City will reinforce the White Sand Hills. Eventually, we will destroy that monster,” Gawain said gravely. “Then, we will reveal the truth of this operation—make it known far and wide.”
Bertram nodded softly. “People will recognize the strength of the New Empire. Their shattered confidence will be rebuilt, the situation stabilized, and the border nobles will cooperate more willingly with reforms…”
“Yes. People will realize the New Empire’s might,” Gawain agreed, but silently added to himself—
They will also come to understand that “gods” are not as untouchable as they once believed.
…
At the border between the Holy Spirit Plains and the Eastern Territories, the long pursuit had passed its halfway point.
The arcane rails stretched between plains and hills, a heavy magitek train hurtling along the tracks. The sky was overcast, hot winds from the plains whipping up dust that lashed against the relay posts and the armored sides of the train. The roar of the war machine tore through the air, punctuated by the thunderous blasts of its cannons. Wherever this colossal beast passed, birds fell silent, and the surviving beasts of the plains fled their burrows in panic, as if the apocalypse had arrived.
The arsenal section fired relentlessly—not only the powerful main cannons but also defensive secondary turrets near the main guns. Accelerated rails aimed backward, launching heavy shells into the distance amid flashes of magical energy.
In the dim light, the shells traced bright arcs through the air. At the convergence of these trajectories, a sacred, radiant glow illuminated the plains, bridging earth and sky. The furious god ran wild across the land, charging into mortal cannon fire, continuing the relentless chase.
This was no battlefield for ordinary men—few could even bear to look directly at it. Only from far, far away, some brave lords in the Eastern Territories climbed their towers and walls, emboldened by various extraordinary spells, daring to glimpse the thunderous, flashing battlefield. Half of them dared not look again; the other half whispered the names of their gods and ancestors, praying that the fire would not consume them.
“The target’s speed is increasing,” the adjutant shouted beside Mariland in the Iron Throne’s tactical compartment. “The distance between us is closing!”
In some ways, fury could fuel strength.
This was true for humans—and astonishingly, for an artificial god as well.
Mariland glanced out the window. At just the right angle, he saw the scene behind the train: that sacred, malevolent light blazing in the north, beams of energy bursting forth, flattening rocks and forests, destroying the arcane rails along the way, and covering the shattered stones and steel with lush vines and flowers.
He turned back to the adjutant. “How far are we from the White Sand Hills?”
“At full speed, about half an hour, General. But we may be caught before then.”
Mariland frowned. As they spoke, the distance seemed to shrink again.
A powerful energy beam struck from afar, sweeping across the arcane rails. The protective shield flickered violently before shattering. The runic structures beneath the tracks and nearby arcane networks detonated one after another. Before the safety systems could sever the connections, the chain explosions rocked the Iron Throne, causing the speeding train to shudder violently.
For a moment, the former fortress commander felt a strange familiarity.
He had faced a similar crisis before—a vastly superior enemy attacking, while his own forces were steadily drained. Direct confrontation was a luxury he could not afford. All he had left was courage and the pride of noble birth.
Last time, he had chosen the noble way—leading a loyal band of knights into a glorious duel to turn the tide. But he was defeated within moments and taught a harsh lesson about the true nature of war.
On a real battlefield, he needed more pragmatic methods.
“Order all personnel in the Fourth Arsenal Section to move to the transport carriages,” the commander quickly decided and barked the command. “Prepare to sever the coupling and cut power to the Fourth Arsenal Section. Also…”
“Before evacuation, have the soldiers remove all shell fuses and leave the grenades inside the carriages.”
The adjutant hesitated briefly, then snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, General!”
Inside the Fourth Arsenal Section at the rear, soldiers busily manned every turret capable of firing on the target. The recent shock had caused the main cannon to malfunction and some injuries, but no one left their posts. Even as the onboard comms lit up, these veterans struggled to recalibrate the main gun.
Not all soldiers immediately grasped the general’s intent, but all obeyed the order without hesitation.
“Move it, lads!” shouted the carriage commander, a veteran of every battlefield from Old Cecil to now. He understood the general’s plan and raised his voice. “Follow orders—remove the shell fuses, open the grenade safeties, and stuff any spare landmines into the ammo stacks! Let’s make this one count!”
The train pushed its speed higher, widening the gap with the colossal stag. The soldiers used the brief window to complete their task, then moved through the Third Arsenal Section into the empty transport carriages ahead.
Two minutes later, the Third Arsenal Section commander received the order to manually disconnect the rear coupling and cut power to the Fourth Arsenal Section.
The now powerless carriage quickly detached and was left far behind on the tracks.
Minutes later, a cataclysmic explosion echoed from the distance, followed by a series of smaller blasts.
Mariland stared toward the rising mushroom cloud, briefly wishing that the terrible “god” would be obliterated in that blast—gone for good. But the sacred glow shining through the smoke quickly dashed that hope.
The colossal stag was unfazed by the carriage’s sacrificial explosion. Its surrounding light and overflowing magical power had triggered the detonation prematurely. The beast slowed only slightly before surging forward again.
Mariland furrowed his brow but watched silently.
Ten minutes later, he gave the order again—
“Third Arsenal Section, personnel move to transport carriages. Prepare for sacrificial detonation.”
“Yes, General!”
Though the sacrificial blast couldn’t harm the monster, it could at least buy time.
The White Sand Hills were nearly reached.
As a second mushroom cloud rose over the distant tracks, Mariland looked out once more.
The sky was terrifyingly dark, as if night was falling over the world. Thick clouds gathered over the White Sand region, and a cold wind swept wildly through the area. Suddenly, thunder and lightning exploded simultaneously.
The thunder seemed to shake the very souls of everyone aboard, causing even the most seasoned and composed soldiers and officers to shudder. Under the faint blue glow of their mental defense systems, nearly all exchanged glances before turning their eyes outside in unison.
A raindrop struck the window, tracing a slanted streak across the crystal glass. Before the wind could scatter it, a second drop fell, then a third…
Rain began to pour.
Countless droplets formed a curtain, cascading from the sky.
The Iron Throne plunged headlong into the downpour, as if entering an inverted underwater world. Behind it, the raging artificial god followed. The storm swallowed all intruders in an instant, rapidly expanding to engulf the entire White Sand Hills.
The sky was completely covered by a swirling, inverted vortex of clouds. The dreadful darkness made the region feel like midnight. Cold winds howled, rain hammered down, and the Iron Throne’s scattered lights barely pierced the nearby gloom. Beyond, only the relentless thunder and lightning illuminated the world.
In the flashes, Mariland saw countless shadows gathering in the sky—strange, monstrous forms breeding in the storm and darkness. The boundary between the tangible and intangible blurred. An indescribably vast structure, mountain-like in scale, coalesced amid the tempest, sprouting dense, forest-like limbs and tentacles that swept toward the still-glowing “colossal stag.”
Even in its frenzy, the stag sensed the looming threat. It abruptly abandoned the Iron Throne, rearing its head skyward. Light surged between its antlers, and blinding energy streams swept across the heavens.
Countless shadows plummeted from the sky, as if countless tangible and intangible things had been severed and shattered by beams of light. Yet, in the blink of an eye, these shadows dissolved into the surrounding rain, reassembling into tendrils and limbs that relentlessly pressed onward beneath the looming “Great Stag.”
Those indescribable forms gradually took shape, resembling some colossal sea creature, yet also seeming like a monstrous patchwork of countless unimaginable shapes. It was as if only in humanity’s wildest, most absurd fantasies could one piece together even a fragment of this entity’s structure. It unfurled thousands upon thousands of limbs, slowly encircling the Great Stag, sealing off every move it made, inching closer and closer. Twisted, eerie runes shimmered across those limbs’ surfaces, suppressing every ounce of the stag’s resistance one by one.
It’s feeding—an absurd and chilling thought suddenly flashed through Mariland’s mind.
But it truly was feeding—the tendrils and limbs were tightening, unmistakably the posture of a predator consuming its prey.
Yet, faced with such a terrifying scene—one that would shatter the sanity of any ordinary person—Mariland was surprised to find his will utterly unshaken. On the contrary, his thoughts had never been clearer, his spirit never more invigorated. All the negative emotions and psychological burdens he had carried seemed to vanish, replaced by a soaring, uplifting energy—an emotion tinged even with a strange kind of joy.
His mental defense system could produce a similar effect, but its power paled in comparison to this moment.
In this wondrous state of mind, Mariland watched as those indescribable limbs and tendrils finally closed completely, even blocking out the radiant glow that had surrounded the Great Stag.
Then, in an instant, all the tendrils and limbs contracted tightly, and through the storm came a roar—a chorus of countless voices merged into one jubilant cry:
“Lunchtime!!”
(End of chapter)