Chapter 350: The Land That Lost Its Romance (8)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 350: The Land That Lost Its Romance (8)
Flutter.
The flag of Valhalla fluttered fiercely in the wind.
Beneath it, Marquis Killian, commander of the northern front, stared past the ramparts with sharp, calculating eyes.
"What is the enemy's status?"
"Exactly as our intelligence indicated, sir. The Dmitry-Hector Allied Forces are estimated at one hundred thousand strong, with Roman Dmitry commanding them. The one we must watch out for is Felix of the Phoenix Magic Tower. Having distinguished himself greatly in the war against the Kronos Empire, he has joined the allied forces."
Felix.
A dangerous individual.
The Phoenix Magic Tower's signature destructive firepower held immense weight in siege warfare, making him an undeniable threat to the defenders. However, Marquis Killian was not overly worried. It wasn't that he dismissed Felix's capabilities, but rather that the Valhalla Empire had already completed its magical defense preparations.
Looking past his adjutant, he turned his gaze to a man wearing a deeply pulled-down robe.
"Henir. Are the countermeasures ready?"
"Yes. You do not need to worry in the slightest. We of the Mountain have thoroughly inspected the ramparts' magic defenses. Even if the enemy bombards us with flares and magic, we can easily block them."
The Mountain was one of Valhalla's magic towers, specializing specifically in siege defense.
Utilizing earth magic as their primary discipline, they had been dispatched to the northern front by order of the Valhalla Imperial Court.
This was the source of Killian's confidence.
With Henir, the Master of the Mountain Magic Tower, and a full hundred mages stationed at the frontline defense post, Marquis Killian could easily cast aside any worries about magical bombardment. The timeframe Marquis Belfir had given him was ten days. Belfir had promised to completely wipe out the rebels in Hernad within a week and send reinforcements within ten days.
Ten days.
It was a short time for a commander guarding the border.
If he couldn't even hold out for that long, Marquis Killian would never have been appointed to oversee Valhalla's northern border in the first place.
Marquis Killian spoke.
"Roman Dmitry is a man who defies common sense. He may have crossed the border merely as a threat, but we must be prepared for battle to break out at any moment. The time we need is ten days. However, prepare to hold for at least a month. Variables always arise on the battlefield. Even if it takes the Imperial army longer than expected to conquer Hernad, we must stand firm."
"Understood."
Everyone wore solemn expressions.
The world had changed.
Only a few years ago, the Valhalla Empire would have laughed at the military strength of the Dmitry-Hector Allied Forces. Now, they couldn't help but feel tense as they looked upon Roman Dmitry's army. It was a difference in prestige. The path Roman Dmitry had walked and the footprints he had left in Valhalla allowed no room for complacency.
Right then.
The allied forces halted at a distance.
From their ranks, objects of a familiar shape rolled forward.
Screeech.
"It's the flares."
"There are mages as well."
It was exactly as expected.
Roman Dmitry's opening move was flares and magical bombardment.
It seemed his intention was to first damage the ramparts with a barrage of long-range attacks, then push his troops forward to force a melee. Marquis Killian gave a nod. Henir ordered his mages to hold their positions, and one hundred mages lined up along the ramparts, preparing for the enemy's assault.
Soon after.
Thud.
Th-th-th-thud.
Whoosh! Whooooosh!
The flares spat fire.
As the iconic siege weapons sent blazing fireballs hurtling through the air, the mages of the Mountain channeled their mana.
"Stone Shield."
"Stone Shield."
Flash.
In midair, massive rocks materialized like shields to block the bombardment.
Their intention was to absorb the initial impact of the flares before letting the ramparts' own magic defense dissipate the remaining shock. It was a textbook response.
However, a strange phenomenon suddenly occurred.
The Stone Shields warped grotesquely before crumbling into dust and vanishing.
Henir grimaced as he stared past the ramparts.
"Dispel?"
It was unmistakable.
And it was a blatant provocation.
* * *
Dispel.
It was a magic that was both simple and complex.
While Dispel had the effect of nullifying an opponent's magic, its difficulty was determined by the gap in skill between the caster and the target. If the opponent's skill was inferior, their magic could be dismantled with simple calculations. However, if the opponent was vastly superior, Dispel became more difficult than any other spell.
Dmitry's response.
There was nothing particularly special about it.
The issue was what Dispel signified in a siege.
"To dare try and gain the upper hand with Dispel against the Mountain..."
Atop the ramparts stood the mages of the Mountain.
Attempting to dismantle their defensive magic with Dispel while they were standing right there was an open declaration of a duel of magical prowess. This pricked Henir's pride. He believed the Mountain's magical caliber was vastly superior to begin with, so an action that so blatantly disregarded that fact naturally infuriated him.
Furthermore, the Mountain had the advantage in numbers.
While the Phoenix mages numbered around fifty, the Mountain had mobilized a whopping one hundred mages for the defense.
Boom!
Whoosh!
The flames of the flares exploded.
The Dispel had only dismantled the mages' defensive spells; the ramparts' own magic defense remained intact. A blue shield flared to life, blocking the fire of the flares. Since Valhalla had spared no effort in installing it, the magic defense would not break even if bombarded for a day or two.
However, Henir's pride would not allow him to sit back.
He raised his voice.
"Prepare for Dispel! If the enemy uses Dispel, counter-dispel them and show them the majesty of the Mountain!"
It was a head-on clash.
If both sides used Dispel against each other, it would result in a net zero.
It would be a meaningless exchange that inflicted no actual magical damage, but winning the Dispel battle meant claiming absolute superiority in magical skill. Normally, it was standard to compete with stronger offensive and defensive spells, but since the enemy had picked a fight with Dispel, Henir refused to back down.
Thud.
Th-th-th-thud.
The flares were launched once more.
The mages of the Mountain cast their defensive spells.
At the same time, they channeled their mana to prepare for the enemy's Dispel.
"Stone Shield."
"Stone Shield."
Flash.
The defensive magic formed.
As expected, the energy of Dispel immediately penetrated it.
The mages of the Mountain calmly countered the Dispel. As the enemy tried to eat away at the spell's structure to dismantle the Stone Shields, they counter-attacked the Dispel. Or rather, they believed they could. They were certain they held the advantage in both numbers and quality, but the course of the Dispel battle completely defied their expectations.
"It—it's too fast!"
"We can't block the enemy's Dispel!"
Crumble.
The Stone Shields dissolved.
It was a baffling situation.
A Dispel battle was decided by calculation speed and the gap in magical proficiency, and the enemy's ability to process Dispel was overwhelmingly fast. In truth, if they hadn't engaged in the Dispel battle head-on, they could have utilized their numerical advantage. But once they clashed directly, an unbelievable situation unfolded before them.
It was simply too fast.
Even with two mages teaming up to counter a single Dispel, they could barely keep up, unable to completely stop their spells from being dismantled.
Meanwhile—
Boom!
Rumble!
The flares exploded consecutively against the ramparts' magic defense.
Watching the situation unfold, Marquis Killian roared, "Henir! What on earth are you doing?!"
"I—I am sorry."
Henir gritted his teeth.
He couldn't comprehend how a mere fifty people were overwhelming one hundred mages. Engaging in the Dispel battle head-on had only worsened Valhalla's situation. And the problem didn't end there. Once Dmitry gained the upper hand in the Dispel battle, they used Dispel to start weakening even the ramparts' magic defense.
And then.
"Flame Cannon."
Boom!
Whoosh!
Felix's magic exploded.
As the magic defense dissolved, the mages atop the ramparts screamed.
Amidst the chaos, a figure caught Henir's eye.
Standing right next to Felix, with his red hair fluttering in the wind, was Edwin Hector.
* * *
For the past few months, Edwin Hector had lived completely immersed in the Upper Dantian.
Actively interacting with the Phoenix Magic Tower, he had explored and trained in the many areas that could be achieved through the development of the Upper Dantian.
It was exhilarating.
He stayed up every night, fully living the life of a mage.
Then, one day, Felix had said to him, "Prince Edwin Hector. In my eyes, there is only one thing you lack as a mage. That is time. You have achieved this much despite your youth; I am certain that in ten years—no, even five years—you will grow into an archmage who will shock the Salamander Continent."
It was a judgment born of experience.
Spending time with Edwin Hector, Felix had witnessed what overwhelming talent truly looked like.
And at the same time, he realized that Edwin's encounter with Roman Dmitry and his awakening of the Upper Dantian was the perfect opportunity to resolve his only shortcoming.
Flash.
"Dispel."
On the battlefield, Edwin Hector channeled his mana.
He had been conducting joint training with Dmitry, and in the allied forces, he was assigned the role of a mage rather than a commander. While Felix spearheaded the attack with his powerful destructive force, Edwin Hector actively utilized Dispel to prevent Valhalla's mages from casting their spells.
His consciousness expanded.
His expanded mental power ate away at Valhalla's magic in an instant.
"The enemy is responding to our Dispel head-on. Now is our chance. Calmly dismantle their magic, and focus on preventing their mages from actively casting spells."
"Dispel!"
"Dispel!"
At Edwin Hector's command, the mages of the Phoenix Magic Tower followed suit.
The reason Roman Dmitry had invested so heavily in magical advancement was because their power would be absolutely necessary in the wars to come. Until now, the nature of warfare had mostly consisted of melee combat on open plains or guerrilla tactics. But as Dmitry's prestige grew, even powerful nations like Valhalla would resort to defensive strategies, and a definitive weapon was needed to break them.
That weapon was magic.
Through endless research and discussion, Dmitry had forged a weapon to tear down ramparts.
The development of the Upper Dantian.
Through it, the mages' capabilities had risen exponentially.
The Upper Dantian perfectly absorbed the mana exploding from their Circles, and their highly developed brains rapidly solved the magical equations before them. Because of this, the mages of the Mountain struggled despite having twice the numbers. The power of the Upper Dantian, which surpassed human limits, created a disparity Henir could never have anticipated.
And among them, Edwin Hector's presence was overwhelming.
His mind spun at high speed.
He dismantled defensive spells in the blink of an eye, forcing three or four Mountain mages to band together just to block him alone. Even so, he relentlessly pierced through the enemy's magic defenses. Hector was not a country suited for learning magic. Yet, even in such an environment, Edwin Hector had blossomed as a mage. His talent, which even the Master of the Sky Magic Tower had coveted, was truly extraordinary.
Whenever he dismantled a spell with Dispel—
"Flame Cannon."
"Fire Cannon."
"Fire Cannon."
Whoosh.
Whoosh! Roar!
Boom!
Without fail, the spells of Felix and the other mages exploded.
Edwin Hector handled the Dispel, while Felix handled the offensive magic.
They perfectly divided their roles.
Under the relentless onslaught, the mages of the Mountain turned pale. At some point, acrid smoke began to billow from the ramparts' magic defense formation.
"Damn it! Repair the magic defense formation immediately! Hurry!" Henir screamed.
Panic seized him.
He had confidently boasted that they could block anything, yet in less than an hour, an unexpected situation was unfolding before his eyes. The Mountain mages scrambled in droves. They desperately repaired the ramparts' magic defense formation and poured their strength directly into defensive spells, but with Edwin Hector leading the charge, they were gradually eaten away.
Ultimately—
Boom!
Rumble!
Just as Felix had predicted.
In a mere hour, Valhalla's ramparts crumbled.
And then—
"All forces, advance!"
"Advance!"
The army charged forward fiercely.
From here on out, it was Roman Dmitry's turn to step up.
* * *
At that same hour, Count Gomez hurried his steps.
The report that the northern front had been attacked made him anxious.
‘Roman Dmitry is moving even more boldly than I thought. Since we have a force of one hundred thousand and the mages of the Mountain deployed there, they should be able to hold out for at least a fortnight. The crucial issue is the duel between Ares and Cesar. If Ares wins, things will become truly complicated.’
He pushed the matters of the north to the back of his mind.
He trusted them.
He trusted Marquis Killian and the mages of the Mountain.
He did not believe Valhalla would fall so easily.
Halt.
He stopped in his tracks.
The Temple of Valhalla.
Ares was there.
Ever since he had challenged Cesar, he had been waiting for Cesar's arrival under the watchful eyes of the public.
Murmur, murmur.
"Who do you think will win?"
"Cesar, obviously."
"You never know with Ares. Didn't he overwhelmingly defeat Alvarez?"
The crowd had grown even larger than before.
While it had initially consisted mostly of people incited by the Hao Sect, rumors had rapidly spread while they waited for Cesar, drawing a massive crowd. It was a literal sea of people. In a situation so packed that there was barely room to step, Count Gomez squeezed through the crowd and took his seat in the area prepared for him.
‘This duel. We must win at all costs.’
Even if Cesar lost, it didn't mean the Valhalla Imperial Court had lost.
However, there was a problem.
During his time in Valhalla, Ares had never been able to surpass Alvarez. If he were to claim the number one spot in Valhalla less than a year after transferring his allegiance to Dmitry, what would happen? All the glory of victory would go to Roman Dmitry. It wouldn't just end with people saying Ares won because he was strong; they would say Roman Dmitry had elevated Ares to greater heights.
In fact, that was the truth.
Roman Dmitry, who had led the Swordsmanship Revolution, had shown a path that surpassed even Alexander, the creator of Aura.
Finally.
"It's Lord Cesar!"
"Make way!"
"At last!"
The crowd parted to the left and right.
Through the gap, a man walked forward.
The number one ranker of Valhalla.
The First Sword of Valhalla had revealed himself before the crowd to answer Ares's challenge.