Chapter 981: Spiraling to the Bottom
The scent of blood—Anderssa was no stranger to it.
She stood before the great doors of the Signal Tower, holding them half-open. As a high-ranking transcendent, her senses extended outward, sweeping through the tower’s interior. In mere seconds, a flood of various energies and auras imprinted themselves on her mind. Without hesitation, she stepped back and closed the doors firmly.
Turning on her heel, she strode swiftly toward the East Hall, her thoughts a tempest of swirling speculations and deductions, piecing together every fragment of information gleaned from recent events. Her pace gradually steadied as questions began to surface—first and foremost:
How many people would it take to deceive the supreme commander of Winterwolf Fortress without a single slip-up for a full twenty-four hours? To ensure not one soldier accidentally broke the “veil” during that time?
On the way to the East Hall, Anderssa meticulously sifted through possible illusions around her, peeling back layers of deception like unraveling silk threads. She examined every anomaly, reconstructing the true shape of the past two days’ farce, bit by bit.
Count Parlin Winterburg stood before the magical focal point in the East Hall. At the center of the hall, a circular platform embedded with a massive crystal device pulsed with flowing magical light. The Count’s attention was fixed on several key streams of energy within it—through these, he monitored the fortress’s entire magical balance and shield load, adjusting the deployment and rotation of the Black Banner Mage Corps to keep both the mages and the fortress in optimal condition.
Aside from Count Winterburg, only a dozen or so battle mages stood sentinel, guarding the various portals.
The moment Anderssa stepped into the hall, the Count sensed her presence. The middle-aged man, whose refined demeanor carried an air of authority, looked up and casually said, “You’ve come at just the right time, Anderssa.”
But the next instant, he noticed the unusually grave expression on her face, the serious aura she radiated.
“What’s happened?” he asked immediately. Before he finished speaking, a soundproof barrier materialized, enveloping the area within several meters. “This place is secure now.”
“All the mages on duty in the Signal Tower are dead,” Anderssa lowered her voice despite the barrier, her face grim to the point of terror. “They died about a day ago.”
She didn’t need to explain further. Count Winterburg’s expression darkened instantly. Within seconds, his sharp mind raced through every timeline, every key event connected to the Signal Tower. Then he said in a low voice, “So none of the messages we intended to send out actually got through…”
“Or worse—Winterwolf Fortress has been sending out messages it shouldn’t have.”
“The adjutant by your side… no, it’s not just him. There are more,” the Count’s tone grew grim. He didn’t doubt the explosive news Anderssa brought—he knew the daughter of his close friend well enough to trust her on such matters. “They’ve all been compromised…”
Anderssa took a slow breath. “Not everyone affected loses control like those priests. Most of them are hiding among us, and they… still have their wits about them.”
A suffocating weight pressed down on her, a dread so chilling it was almost tangible. Death was no stranger to Anderssa, nor did she fear it—but what she faced now was something far more terrifying than life or death on the battlefield. It was everywhere, invisible and intangible, lurking beside every person, even deep within their souls. It twisted the fates of countless lives, yet many never even realized it had come for them until they were gone…
For years, Winterwolf Fortress and its countless soldiers had been Anderssa’s pride and source of confidence. But now, standing within its walls, she felt as if she were falling into an abyss.
“What do you plan to do?” Count Winterburg suddenly fixed her with a piercing gaze, sharp as stars in a winter night. “Is there still a way to turn this around?”
Anderssa bit her lip, her face darkening. “…In a way, I’m afraid we’ve already lost control of Winterwolf. Those fanatical war god cultists are clearly pushing for war, so any attempt to stop the conflict from escalating will be met with resistance. And I don’t dare gamble on how deeply the fortress’s soldiers have been infiltrated.”
For the young wolf general, this was a bitter irony and a deep humiliation. A fortress commander losing control of her own stronghold and troops at the onset of war—something unheard of since the founding of Typhon. And now it happened to the future heir of the Wendell family. If one hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, who would believe it?
Still, Anderssa knew the situation might not be quite so dire. She hadn’t completely lost control of Winterwolf or its forces; more than half the soldiers remained loyal. But the severity of the crisis was close enough to total loss—she had neither the time nor the means to root out the faith-corrupted hidden among the rank and file. And to make matters worse… the Cecile forces were still pressing their assault on the fortress.
Explosions continued to echo from the western walls—Cecile’s long-range artillery had launched another barrage.
Amid the relentless thunder of destruction, Count Winterburg met Anderssa’s gaze. “Logic and reason tell me this war will have no victors. Both Cecile and Typhon are spiraling into the abyss. Our deadliest problem now is that all communication lines have been severed or jammed, even the messengers we sent out… Cecile likely misjudges Winterwolf’s situation, maybe even the entire Typhon Empire. If they break through this line, even without the war god cult’s interference, this war will become a catastrophe…”
“So I’m thinking about how to regain some initiative. We have to find a way to send messages out of Winterwolf—whether to the imperial capital or even to the Cecile forces,” Anderssa clenched her fists. “And we must do it without alerting or allowing the corrupted to sabotage the effort…”
“And most importantly…” Count Winterburg began, but before he could finish, a series of even more intense, unsettling explosions erupted from afar—sounds like the southwestern shield was under heavy bombardment.
After the explosions subsided slightly, the Count repeated, “Most importantly, not all soldiers and officers understand what’s happening—those who remain clear-headed and unaffected. The divine calamity is a secret we hid too well. Our warriors only know we’re at full war with Cecile, and that they’ve reached Winterwolf’s walls. At this moment, any external communication or ‘peace overtures’ will severely undermine their morale.”
“I can’t worry about that now,” Anderssa said immediately. “Count Winterburg, I need your mage corps. Winterwolf is crawling with soldiers and knights tied to the war god’s faith. Only your mages are still reliable. I need your magic—whether to retake the Signal Tower, build new communication channels, or anything that can let Winterwolf ‘speak’ to the outside world.”
“I’ll find a way,” the Count said after a brief pause. “But first, we must hold this fortress intact through the night. Cecile’s nighttime assault shows no sign of letting up—if anything, it’s fiercer than during the day. I suspect they plan to use more and more long-range ‘heavenfire’ to smash through our shields and walls. That’s why I called you here: the Mage’s Eye has spotted two new fire points in the northwest. They’ve brought massive magi-cannons, even bigger than their chariot main guns, to the front lines. They’re not ready yet, but they could strike at any moment.”
“How many more magi-cannons do they have on the way…” Anderssa’s voice trembled with disbelief. “Can the Black Banner Mage Corps take out those two fire points?”
“They’re out of the corps’ spell range. Cecile chose their positions well—they’ve probably figured out the Black Banner’s limits. Looks like we’ll have to rely on strengthening the shields to withstand those attacks.”
“Understood. I’ll order all energy from the eastern magical focal point to be diverted to the shields, and have the battle mages under the knights prepare to reinforce the walls.”
No sooner had Anderssa finished speaking than a piercing, ear-splitting shriek rang out from the distance. Moments later, a deafening explosion—far louder and more violent than any before—shook the entire fortress beneath the night sky.
The battle mages in the hall were stunned by the blast. Count Parlin Winterburg and Anderssa’s faces both changed instantly. They rushed out of the hall and onto a connecting bridge facing the walls. Looking toward the source of the explosion, they saw the thick energy shield rippling in waves. Seconds later, an even larger flash of explosion erupted.
The thunderous roar of the second blast reached Anderssa’s ears with a slight delay.
A giant cannon?
A thoughtful expression crossed Parlin Winterburg’s face. The next moment, he traced a rune in the air, quickly issuing new orders to the Black Banner battle mages: “Squads four to six, charge and deploy two wide-area illusions each at northwest positions A2 and A3. Squads seven to ten, reinforce the shields—prepare for the next wave!”
Anderssa hurried to his side, knowing her adjutant and other commanders were surely on the other end of the communication spell. No matter how many had been tainted by the divine corruption, they would still follow orders when it came to combat. “Clodien! Immediately divert energy from the eastern magical focal point to the shields! Have the regiment’s battle mages ascend the walls…”
Orders flew out rapidly. Though the sudden ground bombardment threw Winterwolf’s defenders into brief panic, order was quickly restored. More energy was funneled into the shields, more mages focused on the new attack points. The fortress’s defenses adjusted swiftly, and the briefly shaken shields began to stabilize.
Standing on the connecting bridge, Anderssa and Parlin Winterburg coordinated the fortress’s defenses through the communication spell, eyes fixed on the new Cecile offensive. They overlooked the tense, bustling scene inside the fortress, watching as the shields near the walls solidified once more. Both exhaled in unison, relief washing over them.
Nearly all of Winterwolf’s defensive strength was now concentrated on the walls and shields. Cecile’s relentless ground assault weighed heavily on Anderssa, but for now, the fortress held.
…
Philip received the latest intelligence from the ground forces.
“The Truth-I orbital accelerator cannon can’t even break through their shields…” he murmured to himself, a hint of surprise in his voice at the defensive strength of the Typhon border fortress. “Or could it be that the Black Banner Mage Corps has been reinforcing the fortress’s shields?”
“Judging by the looks of it, ground firepower alone won’t be enough to breach that fortress anytime soon,” a senior staff officer nearby commented. “General, it’s almost midnight.”
Philip glanced at the mechanical watch on the table, then shifted his gaze to the arcane network terminal not far off.
…
In the dark night, whipped by biting winds, a low hum echoed between the clouds. War machines forged from steel and crystal swept through the sky like phantoms.
More than twenty mass-produced “Dragon Riders” flew in a circular formation led by the squadron leader, cruising slowly in blackout night-flight mode along the perimeter of Winterwolf Fortress’s patrol zone.
Gina took a deep breath. The gentle breeze shield and the sturdy cockpit kept the cold wind at bay, but she still felt as if she could smell the chill in the air—tinged faintly with the metallic scent of blood. She looked down through the observation window ahead and below, where the edge of the dark earth flickered and exploded with bursts of pale cyan light—streaks of electric blue cutting relentlessly through the darkness.
At the end of this web of light stood a fortress, stubbornly defiant on the land. The shield above it rippled repeatedly but showed no sign of fading.
The young air force commander drew in another steadying breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter in her chest.
This wasn’t her first flight, nor her first battle. She had ridden griffons over the war-torn Rockhold Fortress, soared alongside the elves’ giant eagles over lands corrupted by the Crystal Plague, and flown above the old royal capital on the brink of collapse.
But this feeling was different.
Her hands gripped the control stick tightly. The hum from the anti-gravity rings and the Dragonborn drive slowly soothed her nerves. She glanced sideways and saw the mechanic and bombardier behind her, his face tense.
“Relax. This isn’t our first time holding these controls,” she said.
“I was just thinking of a good opening line,” the bombardier replied, trying to sound calm. “Something to say when the bombs drop.”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Gina cut in immediately. “Focus on—”
Her words were cut short.
Suddenly, a device on the flight console lit up. The next moment, General Philip’s voice came through the speakers—
“Dragon Riders, commence mission. Code name Z-17.”
(End of chapter)