Volume 2 chapter 31
In the latter half of the night, the demon forces retreated into Picars City, seizing every precious second to rest and lick their wounds.
Clyris sat amidst a pile of mana stones, absorbing their energy with the voracity of a starving whale swallowing the ocean.
Without the blessing of the Demon God and missing one of her Authorities, her recovery speed had noticeably declined. Her raw power had also taken a hit.
Fighting six Ninth-Rank powerhouses simultaneously had left its mark. Fortunately, she hadn't been pinned down, so the injuries were not fatal, though they still stung with a lingering ache.
By the next morning, Clyris had mostly recovered. She walked to the shattered battlements of the city wall to observe the enemy.
The Alliance camp was gone. Only a few lonely sentry posts stood on the scorched horizon, watching from a safe distance.
Clearly, the Alliance had retreated their main camp further back during the night, too terrified to press their advantage after the massacre.
"Your Majesty, the Alliance has been heavily damaged by your strike. They won't dare advance for a short while. Please, rest and heal properly!" Marcus urged, standing beside her with concern.
"I'm fine! Just a few scratches. It doesn't matter!"
Clyris waved him off, her gaze fixed on the empty horizon, calculating her next move.
Chapter 116: The Slope of Ten Thousand Years
Talisk Fortress.
Of the three great demon strongholds, Talisk was the largest and the most impregnable.
Built during the Dawn Era, when the Alliance's primary invasion route was from the South, Talisk possessed three Ninth-Rank Defensive Arrays—one more than its sister fortresses.
It sat atop a massive table-mountain covering nearly a hundred square kilometers, choking the main artery into the Demon heartland. To its flanks lay rugged, impassable mountains where even mountain goats struggled to tread. The only accessible path was the main road leading to the gate.
This road was a nightmare made manifest: a four-kilometer-long slope with a steep incline of nearly forty degrees.
Originally, the slope wasn't this severe. However, ten thousand years of continuous war had changed the geography. Countless high-tier spells had pulverized the bedrock, and the demons had deliberately refrained from repairing the terrain, creating a smooth, deadly killing field where attackers were forced to fight uphill against gravity and magic.
Eight kilometers to the front-left of the main fortress stood another hill, fortified into a Vanguard Citadel.
When Luna took command, she heavily modified this citadel. She installed four Fortress Gun turrets and eight Wall Gun turrets, garrisoning it with 100,000 troops to create a crossfire zone with the main fort.
The main fortress itself had been continuously reinforced. It now boasted eight Fortress Gun turrets and fourteen Wall Gun turrets.
But now, the Vanguard Citadel had fallen.
It was a display of terrifying natural power. Several Elven Grand Druids had combined their mana to summon massive, ancient trees that burst from the earth beneath the citadel, their roots cracking the stone walls like eggshells.
Following the breach, human Grand Magi unleashed a firestorm. The flames climbed the giant trees, turning the citadel into a torch. The heat was so intense it could be felt inside the main fortress eight kilometers away.
Tens of thousands of demons were burned alive. The earth cracked, baked dry by the inferno, leaving fissures ten meters deep.
"Her Majesty went to help Marseilles first... Makes sense. His situation is even more critical than mine."
Inside the Talisk command room, Luna put down the intelligence report, the tension on her face easing slightly.
Just last night, the Demon Lord had led a night raid on the Western Alliance camp. The result: one Ninth-Rank Knight beheaded, five heavily wounded, dozens of High-Rank elites killed, and thousands of casualties.
It was the first proactive strike by the Demon Race since the war began, and it was a glorious victory.
Although Luna knew it was solely due to His Majesty's power—without him, two Seventh-Rank commanders leading two thousand troops would have been suicide—it didn't stop her from feeling a moment of pride.
But the moment passed, and the grim reality returned.
Chapter 117: Wings of Broken Iron
Early Morning.
Rowling's Air Wing took off into the dawn light, heading to bomb the Alliance vanguard camp.
Hundreds of fighters, each carrying a single 500kg aerial bomb, executed dive-bombing runs.
The sky became a chaotic canvas of contrails and magic. Planes rolled and spiraled, engines screaming. Occasionally, a pilot would break through the defensive line of the Aerial Knights and dive toward the camp.
At five hundred meters, they released their bombs, scoring direct hits on the tents below.
After dropping their payload, the fighters didn't retreat. Instead, they pulled up and engaged the Aerial Knights, dogfighting desperately to buy time for their comrades.
Despite their bravery, planes were shot down one after another, falling like birds with broken wings to crash into the unforgiving earth.
Even without Ninth-Rankers, the Alliance's air defense—relying on the sheer number of Seventh and Eighth-Rank elites—was formidable. Every run required the demons to use overwhelming numbers to punch through, and every run resulted in heavy casualties.
But Rowling had no choice.
They could not allow the Alliance to gather large numbers of knights within fifty kilometers. If the knights were allowed to form a charge formation, the consequences for the fortress would be catastrophic.
BOOM! RUMBLE...
Explosions echoed through the clouds. As the last bomb dropped, the remaining aircraft turned tail and fled back to the airfield.
A few more were picked off during the retreat, trailing black smoke.
On the walls, Luna counted the returning planes one by one. Her face remained stoic, but her knuckles were white as she gripped the stone battlements.
"186 sorties launched... only 84 returned..."
She looked toward the devastated Alliance camp in the distance, a flicker of unwillingness in her eyes.
Afternoon.
The fleet launched again. This time, the target was further back.
To mitigate damage from bombing, the Alliance had dispersed into smaller, mobile camps that shifted locations frequently. But a scout plane had spotted a major concentration in the morning.
This raid included Carpet Bombing.
Hundreds of aircraft roared over the fortress, forming a black cloud that blotted out the sun. Two hundred fighters escorted three hundred and sixty bombers.
The demons in the fortress looked up and roared, cheering for their iron birds to vent their pent-up frustration.
However, when the sun set, painting the world in a bruised yellow...
Only a little over a hundred planes returned. Like exhausted geese struggling against a gale, they limped back to their nests, their wings riddled with holes.
They brought back suffocating news: The Alliance was preparing to siege the main fortress.
Luna immediately ordered preparations. She sent a vanguard squad, led by elite shock troopers, to lay a minefield in front of the ruined Vanguard Citadel.
She didn't care about leaving a safe path anymore. She filled the last accessible area with mines.
Even if the enemy saw them, it didn't matter. It was a clear message: If you want to pass, stop and clear the mines. Stand still and be targets for my guns!
Day Two.
Another massive fleet of hundreds of aircraft launched at dawn.
By noon, dozens of battered planes limped back. Every single one was smoking. The barrels of the bombers' defensive guns were warped red and deformed from overuse.
"Luna... I did my best! But they deployed fifteen Ninth-Rankers and over 150,000 troops... They will be within a hundred kilometers of the fortress by tonight!"
Rowling's voice over the radio was weak, drained of all hope.
"Understood!" Luna kept her voice steady, suppressing her own dread. "You worked hard. Leave the rest to me! By the way... I still need you to interdict reinforcements from other sectors!"
"No problem!"
Luna hung up and stared at the map.
She wasn't just defending Talisk Fortress; she had to hold the surrounding mountains.
While those rugged peaks couldn't support a main army, they were vulnerable to small-scale infiltration by elites. To prevent this, she established six defensive positions centered around the fortress—three on each flank, interlocking with each other.
"I hope you can hold... Byron, Finn," she murmured. "This time, we can barely protect ourselves..."
Byron and Finn, who had arrived as reinforcements, took 100,000 troops each to hold the flank positions. Eleanor and Claire took the remaining 100,000 to hold the ruins of the Vanguard Citadel.
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