Chapter 976: The Ignition Point

Fire, smoke, the metallic tang of blood—the air was scorched and torn apart by arcane energy, rocks and steel crumbling into dust.

Border Camp 22 had been razed to the ground.

The black-armored knights stood like statues amid the ravaged ruins. Corpses from both sides lay scattered across the battlefield. As the sun rose, a biting wind swept across the plain, carrying the stench of blood and gunpowder far into the distance.

Among the knights still standing, some wore battered armor, revealing equally tattered flesh beneath—flesh torn by searing blades and energy beams, twitching unnaturally in the cold wind. Strange, sticky growths and grotesque tumors writhed at the edges of their wounds. Such a sight would terrify any ordinary human, yet the knights seemed oblivious, silently awaiting orders.

Count Moglock, leader of the knight order, stood atop a stone at the battlefield’s edge, silently surveying the grim fruits of their victory. His mind was clouded and fragmented, memories shattered and restless. Somewhere deep inside, he sensed he had done something terrible—but that fleeting thought was quickly drowned out by a surge of fanatic zeal.

He began plotting the next phase of the campaign, pondering how to expand their gains. He was also somewhat surprised—surprised by the unexpectedly heavy losses the Iron River Knights had suffered taking this camp. He had never imagined that such a formidable force would lose nearly a quarter of its men just to capture a border outpost. That was a casualty rate comparable to a frontal assault on a fortress guarded by supernaturals. Yet the defenders here… were merely ordinary humans.

The outpost had only a single wall.

A strange feeling stirred within Moglock’s mind—amid the roaring chaos and the ceaseless whispers echoing in his head, he tasted a faint trace of caution. He seemed to know where it came from: the part of him still loyal to Typhon, his homeland. He saw a threat in those fiercely fighting humans—a threat to his country.

But that sliver of clarity soon vanished. A restless agitation, born from the depths of his soul, urged him onward. He felt a mission greater than loyalty to country or king—a higher allegiance demanding grander achievements…

Or perhaps, a nobler destruction for his troops.

Moglock lifted his gaze and saw the Paramel Heights looming ahead. He knew there was an astronomical observatory there, vital to the Cecilian people. Intelligence said it was newly built, lightly guarded—too weak to withstand the remaining strength of the Iron River Knights. Inside, only a handful of frail researchers and a few aged but powerful mages remained.

This would surely enrage the Cecilians further—and attacking a scientific facility was far easier than storming the Changfeng Fortress.

He raised his hand. The knights resting nearby, still battle-ready, seemed to respond as if by telepathy, rising and gathering swiftly at his side.

After a brief reorganization, the Iron River Knights reformed their ranks and left the now worthless Border Camp 22. They moved to a gentle slope where Moglock cleared his throat—a habitual gesture, as if something was always crawling in his throat—and prepared to issue the next attack order.

But then, a strange, grating hum suddenly filled the air, drawing the Typhon noble’s attention.

Without looking up, relying on instinct and reflex, he immediately recognized the sound: Cecilian arcane weaponry was firing. The knights had not yet finished charging their shields; without a combined barrier, they could not withstand the enemy’s assault. In that instant, he ordered everyone to scatter and take cover, bracing for the incoming barrage.

Yet before the knights could fully react, a blinding white beam, charged with terrifying magic, swept across the sky from afar. Everything in its path was obliterated—rocks and steel shattered or melted, fragile flesh vaporized instantly. The entire order was engulfed like a sandcastle before a tidal wave. Even the mindless “monsters” howled in agony under the dreadful light.

In the chaos of his fading consciousness, Moglock had no time to think or remember, no time even to lament.

The speed of the rainbow beam was beyond any ordinary projectile—no matter how well-trained, the knights could not evade the deathly torrent of energy.

Several kilometers away, an armored train coated in thick steel cruised slowly. At its rear, atop the weapons car, a streamlined rainbow cannon with a massive focusing crystal was cooling down. The protective panels lifted mechanically, revealing glowing red heat sinks. Hissing steam vented in all directions.

The rainbow cannon’s technology had steadily improved. Even the once-daunting heat dissipation problem had been cracked when engineers discovered a cooling conduit from the ancient Gondor era and unlocked its secrets. Though the system still required bulky heat sinks and cooldown periods after sustained fire, these powerful energy turrets could now be mounted on land vehicles like armored trains.

Inside the train’s tactical command center, General Mariland stood before the control console, watching the aftermath of the rainbow beam’s sweep on the hillside through external monitors.

The scene resembled hell itself—but that didn’t mean all enemies were wiped out. The Iron River Knights were a formidable force, and the cunning Typhons wouldn’t send such an elite unit to charge the entire front line alone. That would be a suicide mission, and without proper support, a lone knight order’s combat effectiveness would be halved.

So there had to be a larger operation behind this attack. Though Mariland didn’t know the Typhons’ exact plans, prudence demanded more sweeps in that direction.

He also ordered the secondary cannons to shell possible hiding or ambush spots around the target area.

General Mariland was cautious.

The main and secondary cannons of the Iron Throne—World Serpent roared to life, their deafening blasts reverberating faintly through the armored car. Mariland’s brow furrowed deeply amid the familiar thunder.

He couldn’t understand why the Typhons had started the war.

But it didn’t matter. The situation had already been urgently relayed to the imperial capital. The Changfeng Fortress garrison had completed preparations and assembled according to plan. While the Iron Throne—World Serpent wiped out the Iron River Knights, the First Legion’s main forces stood ready to launch a fierce counterattack. Cecilian warriors had never let their guard down; all were prepared for war. This conflict had come suddenly and inexplicably—but since the Typhons had made their move… they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

Soon, it might be Winterwolf Fortress’s turn to spill blood.

…

After crossing the Treaty Fortress boundary, the Winterwolf Knights halted. Faster griffon scouts and several mechanized mage squads pressed onward west.

This was Andersa’s plan—she had to prepare for the worst.

If the vanguard caught up with the Iron River Knights, they could delay, harass, and slow the rampaging knights. Meanwhile, the Winterwolf Knights could use the opportunity to charge and strike the out-of-control force. After witnessing those mutated war-priest abominations, this was the only way Andersa could think of to stop the knights gone mad. Though conventional knights lacked the power of a “thermal cone” legion-wide attack, with numerical superiority and tactical coordination, Andersa was confident she could intercept Count Moglock and his men.

But if the vanguard failed to catch the target, if the enemy had already enacted their terrible plan…

Then the Winterwolf Knights would have more time and space to retreat swiftly into Typhon territory, regrouping within Winterwolf Fortress’s defenses.

Preparing to face the Cecilians’ furious counterstrike.

Still, even now, Andersa clung to a faint hope—she wished Count Moglock had not yet fallen irreversibly like those mutated war-priests, that the Iron River Knights could still be stopped by relatively gentle means. She never wanted to raise her sword against her own people unless absolutely necessary.

Suddenly, bright magical flares shot into the sky, shattering Andersa’s thoughts.

Three red flares.

The young wolf general watched them ascend, her face darker than ever.

This was no longer a matter for the negotiation table.

Within the next fraction of a second, Andersa discarded all impossible hopes, accepted the cold truth, and turned, raising her longsword—

“Fall back to Winterwolf Fortress!”

…

Urgent reports from the border flashed through the magical network nodes, crossing vast distances in an instant. As the rainbow cannon’s devastating beam swept the land, a special arcane terminal in the High Council chamber began buzzing urgently.

As the passive party, the Cecilian capital received the news even faster than the Typhons who had initiated the attack.

A young clerk manning the terminal dashed to the console, connecting immediately. Within seconds, her face froze in shock.

She had been assigned to this office less than a week ago and still hadn’t fully grasped what she was hearing. At that moment, Hetty happened to pass by the corridor and entered.

“What’s going on?” Hetty asked, eyeing the stunned clerk.

“High Chancellor Hetty…” the clerk blinked, finally comprehending. “The Changfeng line is under attack! The Typhons have declared war!!”

Hetty’s eyes widened. “What did you say?!”

The next moment, her expression hardened as she barked orders, “Summon the Typhon resident ambassador immediately—and prepare Conference Room One!”

The Cecilian government machinery roared to life like an arcane engine pushed into overdrive.

Within moments, an emergency meeting was convened. Half the participants were offsite, but through the magical network, all attendees appeared face-to-face, ready to confront the crisis together.

Heddy quickly laid out the situation, and even the icy-cold Duchess Victoria showed a rare look of shock at the explosive news.

“Is our communication line with Typhon still intact?” Duke Bertram, connected via the magical network, was the first to speak, his tone urgent. “What did their ambassador say?”

“The Typhons haven’t cut the line. I’ve already sent an emergency message to Aldern, but due to forwarding delays and manual transcription, we haven’t received a reply yet,” Heddy responded just as swiftly. “As for their ambassador here in the capital—I summoned him immediately, but he seemed completely unaware of the situation. In fact, he looked even more surprised than I was when he heard the news.”

“The ambassador doesn’t even know his own country has declared war?” An official from the Council of State widened his eyes, a mix of disbelief and bitter amusement on his face. “Is this some kind of Typhon humor?”

Heddy turned to the holographic projection at the round table. “General Philip, what’s the situation on the border?”

Philip nodded. “We lost a defensive outpost near the Paramel Highlands. Only about ten percent of the garrison managed to retreat; the rest died heroically. Fortunately, General Mariland has already eliminated the invading forces that breached the line. The Iron Throne—Dust Serpent—and three light armored trains are patrolling the rail network, temporarily plugging the gap and searching for any remaining intruders. So far, it appears the invaders were the Typhon Iron River Knights, but strangely, this elite Typhon unit advanced without infantry or battle mages supporting them. They just charged straight in—that’s why they were quickly wiped out.”

“Any other Typhon movements detected?”

“No clear military actions so far—but the First Legion is always prepared for war.”

War.

Those words from Philip carried an invisible weight, casting a solemn atmosphere over the room.

Heddy lifted her head and scanned the chamber.

Around the round table, the attendees and their holograms all fixed their gazes on her.

But she could see behind every pair of eyes a flicker of unease—

There was one person, the most important of all, who was conspicuously absent.

Even Heddy struggled to steady her emotions. Her heart had been racing since the moment the news broke. At this moment, more than ever, she wished her ancestor—solid as a mountain—were here to crush this sudden crisis with thunderous force, to swiftly quell and resolve it, or to devise a flawless response plan. But she knew well that wishing alone wouldn’t solve anything.

Her ancestor hadn’t returned yet, but he would soon. Until then, she had to shoulder her responsibilities.

“Summon the ambassador, contact their capital, and send a formal diplomatic inquiry. These are the international protocols established jointly by His Majesty and the Typhon Emperor,” Heddy said in a low, steady voice. “Cecil has already fulfilled our obligations on this front. Whether the Typhons honor their own promises is their concern. Now, it’s time for us to do our part.

“Philip, have the First Legion complete preparations and advance toward the Treaty Fortress border line as soon as possible. Regardless of whether the Typhons launch further military actions, we must seize the initiative. And if they make any hostile moves—anyone entering the firing zone is to be engaged immediately. You and General Mariland will have full authority over the operational plan.

“Gawain, prepare to manage and guide public opinion. I’m sure you already have plenty of contingency plans for this…

“Anton, you’re temporarily in charge of—”

Heddy rapidly assigned tasks, knowing there was no time for detailed discussion in the face of this sudden crisis. Many decisions had to be made swiftly. Once the arrangements were set, she stood up, hands braced firmly on the table.

“Everyone, this is no longer just a ‘conflict.’ Though there are still many strange elements in this situation, we must prepare for the worst—it could very well escalate into a full-scale war!”

(End of chapter)