Chapter 693: Chance and Fate

The biting cold wind grew even sharper, whipping the banners against the metal flagpoles with thunderous claps. Soldiers within the fortress were swiftly mobilized under urgent orders, rushing to their battle stations along the walls, watchtowers, and bunkers. A knight clad in a deep blue short cloak raised a lance bearing a narrow swallow-tailed banner, shouting commands as he ran the length of the ramparts. In the dimming light, the runes etched between the plates of his armor glowed faintly, tracing streaks of light across the stone.

Mariland withdrew his gaze from the walls and turned to his longtime adjutant. “Payne, how long until the Tiphans reach the Paramel Heights?”

“Within two hours,” the adjutant replied immediately, “assuming the rain doesn’t start before then.”

“Two hours…” Mariland frowned. “Did the scouts get a clear look at the exact banner and size of that cavalry unit?”

“Visibility was poor due to the clouds and interference from the enemy’s gryphon riders. We can’t tell their numbers for sure, but it’s definitely not the Iron River or Blacksteel Knights.”

“Not the Iron River or Blacksteel?” Mariland paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

The adjutant looked puzzled. “Yes, General—do you have a theory?”

“They’re still exercising caution. They’ve sent out the regular Winter Wolf Legion cavalry… which might actually be our chance.” Mariland glanced at the darkening sky, his expression grave as his mind raced.

“They’re likely probing our defenses with the regular knights first, while the Iron River and Blacksteel Knights wait on the plains. Those two legions have devastating charge tactics—if they gather enough force on the open field, they can shatter a city-level shield in moments. The Great Shield of Longwind Fortress might hold, but it’ll be a struggle.

“If the enemy commander realizes our lines are thin, they’ll quickly deduce that Longwind Fortress is undermanned. Then the Iron River Knights will charge. Even if they can’t break the Great Shield outright, they’ll deal us a heavy blow. More importantly, they’ll close in on the fortress, where the Iron Throne can’t provide artillery support.

“Their tactics are cautious and sound, but it creates a deadly time gap…

“Where is Iron Throne Zero now?!”

The adjutant thought for a moment. “Last communication placed it entering the Caron Valley.”

“Can it speed up?”

The adjutant frowned. “That would strain the power spine heavily… it’ll need adjustments and repairs afterward.”

“That’s fine. It can rest safely on Paramel Heights for a while afterward. No need to drag an enraged god across the plains like last time. The magi engineers will have time to fix it.” Mariland spoke quickly. “Send a message to General Philip—tell him to push harder. As long as Iron Throne arrives in time, the Tiphans won’t be a threat.”

“Yes, General!” the adjutant called out.

Mariland took a deep breath. The cold autumn wind, heavy with the scent of damp earth, blew through the window and into the room. He murmured softly to himself, “Let it rain…”

The rain seemed poised to fall, yet the clouds clung stubbornly. The Iron Throne’s dark armored prow sliced through the moist air, crossing the border of the easternmost province. Trees and rocks blurred past the windows as the vehicle sped forward. Along with the chill wind came an urgent message from Longwind Fortress.

“The Tiphans have begun their advance. The situation at Longwind Fortress is critical.”

Philip strode to the central control console of the Iron Throne and asked the technical sergeant operating the main power spine, “Can we go faster?”

“We’re at maximum speed, General,” the sergeant replied loudly. “The power spine is fully loaded; all repulsion units are active.”

“We need more speed,” Philip said grimly. “I authorize you to overload the main power spine. Also, divert all shield energy to the propulsion units.”

A turning point was approaching, and Philip sensed it faintly.

This turning point was whether the Tiphan legion’s charge or the Iron Throne’s artillery would reach the front lines first.

In this era, conventional fortress sieges were long and slow affairs. Traditional armies often spent years encircling a fortress before deciding its fate. This was the norm in nearly all noble wars within the old Ansu Kingdom. But veterans guarding the eastern fortresses warned that the Tiphan supernaturals had changed the rules—

The Tiphans treated their supernaturals as professional soldiers, training gifted children from as young as six. These mass-produced supernaturals had poor innate talent—by traditional mage standards, they might not even qualify as apprentices. Yet the Tiphans concentrated them, having them master one or two abilities over a decade or more, eventually forming specialized supernatural legions. These soldiers might only know a single skill—knightly charges or a bolt of lightning—but gathered in the thousands, they wielded terrifying “legion-level spells.”

Abandoning the pointless pride and old orthodox schools of magic, these war-born professional soldiers and battle mages could rival the power of Cecil’s mage corps on the battlefield. When amassed, their power could decide the outcome of fortress sieges in a short time.

This key reform had been underway for over a decade. Given the growth cycle of mass-produced supernaturals, several elite knight and mage legions only completed formation in recent years. During the first contact a few years ago, the eastern forces nearly suffered a devastating defeat—if the Tiphans had mastered their legion-level spells better, and if Duke Selas Loren hadn’t reacted swiftly, Longwind Fortress might have already fallen.

But the old Ansu Kingdom was still lost in revelry and false peace—behind a facade of decadence, they lagged a full era behind. The eastern crisis failed to awaken them, and the cannon fire from the south did not rouse them.

Now the Tiphans had regrouped their supernatural legions. The weaknesses exposed in that first clash had likely been addressed. Yet the new imperial legions had also transformed—young and inexperienced, but if they could hold out long enough, Longwind Fortress would endure.

If Longwind Fortress fell first under the Tiphan legion-level spells, even if the Iron Throne reached Paramel Heights, it couldn’t hold alone. But if the Iron Throne arrived first to bombard the enemy, the unprepared Tiphan supernaturals would suffer heavy losses.

After so long, the fate of these two nations would be decided in the next few hours.

The technical sergeant reached beneath the console and turned a hidden key. A locked panel snapped open with a click.

A bright red button appeared in a recessed slot, labeled simply: FULL SYSTEM OVERLOAD.

He slammed the button down. After a brief delay, the entire train shuddered. All mechanical systems roared low and deep; the hum of magical units rose sharply.

Armored plates along the Iron Throne’s sides slid open, revealing narrow gaps glowing with dim red light. Heat from the overloaded power spine warped the air nearby. Emergency coolant water was injected into the channels between the power spine and machinery. Steam hissed violently as the Iron Throne’s massive frame surged forward, accelerating rapidly toward the eastern border.

The wind picked up, swirling the swallow-tailed banners held by the vanguard knights. Though minor wind shields and aura protections blocked some of the chill, the howling gusts still grated on the nerves.

Andersa glanced up at the sky, then at the Paramel Heights now visible ahead. She silently led her troops onward.

A faint tapping sound came from her helmet.

She reached out and watched a raindrop bloom on her gauntlet. Her expression darkened instantly.

“It’s raining, General,” her adjutant whispered.

“I see it…” Andersa said grimly as more raindrops streaked down, thickening into a steady line.

It seemed the gods were siding with the Cecilians.

But Andersa showed no emotion. She raised her longsword and swung it forward. “Keep moving!”

Rain would slow the knights’ advance. Even elite imperial troops and supernaturals who could largely ignore weather effects would feel the drag—just to varying degrees.

The First Cavalry of the Winter Wolf Legion pressed forward silently through the rain. Every soldier obeyed their commander’s orders without question. Gryphon riders circling overhead lowered their altitude to provide better vision and early warning. But as the rain intensified and the light dimmed, thunderclouds gathered, and the gryphons descended closer—soon they were barely above the knights’ heads.

They marched on for some time. Just as Andersa began to doubt whether the Cecilians even existed, a piercing cry rang out from the gryphons above—

A flash of light flickered on the distant heights.

“Defend!” Andersa shouted immediately.

Almost simultaneously, every knight drew their longsword and raised it before them. Magical energy surged, pale white halos spreading out and forming a shield over the unit. Moments later, a barely visible weapon struck the shield.

A thunderous explosion rocked the air. Some knights flinched, but the solid shield held firm.

Andersa gripped her sword tighter, her protective aura flaring as she prepared to channel a legion-level spell in response. But the relentless barrage described in the intelligence never came.

“Maintain defensive posture. Keep advancing!”

The knights silently pressed forward under their commander’s command. Moments later, the barrage returned with booming blasts and shrill screams.

This time, Andersa and her soldiers did not waver. The young wolf general even felt a surge of joy—

She had bet right.

The cavalry’s pace gradually quickened. After the third attack, the Cecilian lines fell silent.

Andersa led the charge, guiding the entire squad at a brisk trot as they crossed the final stretch toward their target position. The sharp neighing of warhorses filled the air, and before her eyes appeared the carefully leveled and reinforced ground of the enemy’s fortification.

The Cecilian forces had already withdrawn, leaving behind an empty plateau littered with abandoned gear and strange, oddly shaped objects covered by tarps.

“This position is a fake!” the adjutant shouted. “General, your judgment was spot on!”

The knights exchanged glances, then erupted in murmurs of admiration. Some began calling out Andersa’s name with respect, eager to move forward and claim the Cecilians’ position along with the supplies they’d left behind. The enemy’s retreat had clearly been rushed—those rumored heavy magitech weapons couldn’t have all been taken. Whatever they left here would be invaluable intelligence for the Typhon Empire.

But Andersa suddenly raised her hand, halting her troops with a sharp command: “Hold back! Don’t approach yet!”

Dismounting with practiced ease, the female knight spun her longsword in hand before suddenly raising it high and slashing forward—

A dazzling glow shimmered across the blade’s surface, transforming into a powerful shockwave that swept through a nearby pile of discarded equipment.

A deafening explosion erupted from the center of the debris, rippling outward along the surrounding trenches and tarp coverings.

Andersa didn’t know how many variations or models of magitech the Cecilians had deployed.

But every soldier must be wary of magical traps on the battlefield.

The protective aura Andersa and her adjutant summoned deflected some of the scattered shrapnel, while the nearby knights instinctively took a half step back. A few wore expressions of shame—Andersa cast them a glance and shook her head. “Never underestimate your enemy, even if you mock them every time you drink and boast.”

With that, she flicked her longsword casually and nodded to the accompanying military mage. “Send a signal to the Iron River Knights—this Cecilian farce ends now.”

(End of chapter)