Chapter 149
Chapter 148: The First Clash
Timon, a soldier of the Douglas Duchy, considered himself a man cursed with terrible luck.
When a plague swept through his village killing all his brothers, he alone survived. When he found work as a porter for a merchant caravan, bandits slaughtered the entire group—except him.
And now, conscripted into the civil war, he'd been assigned to rear-guard territory defense, far from the frontlines.
Given his life's trajectory, he couldn't help but believe his survival was sheer dumb luck.
Recent events only reinforced that belief.
When he received orders transferring him to the frontlines to replenish depleted forces, he'd thought the sky was falling—until the announcement came that hostilities were being suspended to conquer some backwater territory instead.
Some muttered this was just postponing the real war while starting a smaller one, but Timon ignored them.
Like most soldiers, he preferred what seemed like an easy victory over the meat grinder of the main conflict. And if he distinguished himself here? Maybe—just maybe—he could secure a rear assignment when the real fighting began.
With that hope, Timon charged valiantly behind the knights.
Reality proved nothing like his expectations.
SHREEEEEK—
A shrill whistling split the air as the sky darkened.
"AAAAAGH!"
Screams erupted as the soldiers ahead collapsed en masse. Knights raised their shields, deflecting the arrow storm as they advanced—
KABOOOM!
A fireball exploded among their ranks, painting a ten-meter radius crimson.
"GYAAAAH!"
Timon couldn't tear his eyes from the knight writhing in flames before him.
What the hell is this?! This isn't the easy fight they promised!
The slaughter unfolding surpassed any war story he'd heard. And now, the black rain of death descended toward him too.
"They said—they said this would be easy, you motherf—!"
His final curse died unfinished as—
THUNK-THUNK-THUNK!
Timon's corpse, bristling with bolts, crumpled to the earth. His legendary luck had finally run out.
"What in the blazes is happening?!"
Jordan Waltermein's face twisted as he watched the battle unfold from the rear. The sheer volume of quarrels raining down suggested at least 7,000-8,000 enemies garrisoned within—
Then he saw comparable fire pouring onto the 1st Prince's forces circling south.
"AAAGH!"
Even the screams of his rival faction's troops sounded disturbingly close.
No—far more. Over ten thousand easily. How?!
Before he could process this, movement caught his eye—Luther Kyle, the half-giant Ouroboros user, lumbering forward at his command.
"Luther! Clear a path! I want to see how many rats are hiding in there!"
"...Understood."
Similarly, the 1st Prince's forces sent their own transcendent—a figure wreathed in white gales—streaking toward the fortress.
"They're coming!!"
The MacLaine defenders redoubled their crossbow and Liberatio barrage, momentarily staggering the knightly vanguard. But all eyes tracked the two human hurricanes closing in.
As they neared the walls—
Hm?
Logan sensed anomalous energy and flashed toward the disturbance. His golden Force Blade lashed out like a serpent, slicing empty air—
CRACK-BOOM!
Invisible force met his strike, detonating midair as freezing mist coated a section of wall in frost.
"F-freezing?!"
"Magic! Fall back!"
While soldiers recoiled, Logan glared beyond the battlefield—over a kilometer distant.
That range... Damned archmages.
No time to dwell. Another mana surge sent him weaving through spells like a man dodging falling boulders. Then—
"Lord Logan!!"
A scream made him whirl—just in time to see white light erupt from the southern walls.
"Goddammit!"
Choosing survival over interception, Logan abandoned blocking Juan Douglas's spells and pivoted toward the new threat.
No mage can sustain this volume of high-tier casting without preparation.
Clutching that hope, he swung at the white-gale transcendent rocketing toward him.
KRA-KOOM!
Wicken Calria bared his teeth at the golden blade blocking him.
The bastard who humiliated me last month.
Perfect vengeance awaited.
Die!
He channeled his full Ouroboros power into a midair slash—
CRASH!
—only to see Logan skid back... unharmed.
Pale? Yes. Coughing blood or crippled? No.
How?!
Ouroboros energy was destruction incarnate—lesser forces should disintegrate before it. Even a Force Blade from a peak knight shouldn't withstand his full power.
"Piss off!"
Insultingly, Logan closed the gap to strike again. Wicken could've dodged using his aerial mastery, but pride demanded confrontation.
Must be using artifacts.
Yet no artifact could negate Ouroboros backlash repeatedly. Even if Logan carried multiple, a non-transcendent's body would fail.
Certain of this, Wicken gathered his gale-force Ouroboros and struck again.
KRA-KAAANG!
Again, Logan slid back—merely paler, otherwise intact.
Not artifacts? Then how—
The impossible scenario stunned Wicken mid-combat. As he plummeted, a golden greatsword dozens of meters long plunged toward him.
BOOOOOM!
The battle's loudest explosion yet drew all eyes to the walls, where Logan stood panting, face ashen.
"Hah... Still not enough, huh?"
His gaze dropped to the moat below, where a sodden, furious Wicken glared up.
Despite landing what should've been a killing blow, Logan smiled.
His worst fear—the Ouroboros's unique properties—had been neutralized.
And better yet—
"WAAAAAGH!"
MacLaine troops roared as Luther Kyle staggered into view, his massive frame studded with crossbow bolts.
Jackpot!
Clayton's words echoed in Logan's mind:
"The heavier the target, the more effective Gravity Control becomes. Against a half-giant like Marquis Luther Kyle? I'll—"
Logan's smile widened as the allied forces gawked at the stumbling titan.
"Keep firing! Kill the transcendent!"
Patrick's bellow triggered a concentrated barrage. The mighty Luther retreated awkwardly, his colossal frame suddenly clumsy.
I'd finish him, but...
Logan held back, watching Wicken seethe below.
Soon after—
"Retreat! Fall back!"
Whether shocked by casualties or their champions' failure, the allied forces withdrew.
"How's that, bastards?!"
"We won!"
"Your numbers mean nothing!"
The militia's triumphant shouts ignited the fortress. Logan didn't need to turn to feel his people's relieved gazes.
Wicken, scowling at Logan's smile, withdrew without further engagement.
Surveying the retreating enemy, Logan exhaled.
We held. And what's done once can be done again.
His contingency remained unused.
For the first time, hope flickered brighter.
"This is absurd!!"
Jordan's roar met no dissent—his commanders were equally baffled.
None could fathom peasants wielding weapons capable of opposing knights.
"Compose yourself, my lord. We still hold numerical superiority. Stay methodical, and we'll eradicate them root and stem."
Lucen Talos's calm words barely restrained Jordan.
"Tch. Obviously. Revised strategy?"
"If simply destroying MacLaine suffices, we could bypass their main force to obliterate that 'town' they're so proud of. However—"
"Killing peasants changes nothing. Our real targets remain there."
"...As I anticipated."
"That whelp, their lord, and likely the archmage behind those bombs—all there. I'll tear apart the brat who mocked me and seize whoever knows the secret of those weapons. Before Juan Douglas does!"
BAM!
His fist shattered a table.
"That's this war's true purpose. Their land means nothing—our real enemies lie elsewhere!"
Lucen nodded at the burning ambition in Jordan's eyes.
"Yes. The true foes are the 1st Prince and Duke Juan Douglas."
"Exactly. So we strategize accordingly—minimize losses while achieving our goals."
"...Understood."
Lucen swallowed unspoken objections.
"We'll win regardless, but the prize is those weapons, not land. Tell Juan: Since Luther's injured, we'll handle capturing the archmage."
"...He'll refuse."
"Just establish the claim. If the formula's known, their lord or that red-eyed brat likely know it too."
Jordan recalled the smirking youth who'd hidden an army beneath his nose.
"And tell him the boy is mine. No exceptions!"
"...Yes."
He'll refuse that too.
Lucen kept that thought to himself as Jordan stormed out, the broken table's splinters crunching underfoot.