Chapter 197: At the Forth Continent, Western Shipyards

Thousands of miles away, the atmosphere inside Aethelgard’s throne room was completely suffocating. King Voranthar sat rigidly upon his seat of twisted iron. He glared down at the center of the chamber, where a towering obelisk of cracked amethyst pulsed with frantic light.

The Grand Vizier stood before the crystal. His hands trembled slightly as he interpreted the magical resonance echoing from the stone.

“Speak,” Voranthar commanded, his voice echoing through the silent hall.

“The capital fortress has fallen, Your Majesty,” the Vizier whispered, refusing to meet the king’s gaze. “The southern highway is entirely lost. Our remaining garrison forces are scattering into the mountains.”

Voranthar gripped his armrests tightly enough to dent the metal. The Second Continent was no longer just resisting their occupation. The enemy was methodically clearing a direct path to the coast. The realization settled over the throne room like a heavy shroud. An invasion force was preparing to cross the sea.

“Connect to the western shipyards immediately,” the King ordered.

The Vizier hurriedly adjusted the runic dials at the base of the obelisk. The crystal’s glow shifted into a deep blue, projecting a distorted, holographic image of an exhausted naval commander.

“Fortify the harbor,” Voranthar growled before the officer could even offer a salute. “Pull every remaining vessel back to the docks and lock down the perimeter. A hostile vanguard is marching directly on your position. If you let them steal that fleet, I will personally flay you.”

The commander bowed frantically, his face pale with terror, just as the Vizier severed the connection.

Voranthar leaned back and rubbed his temples. He needed to establish a secondary line of defense before the enemy ships ever reached their shores.

“Bring up the human Heralds,” Voranthar instructed. “We need them to intercept the fleet.”

The Vizier manipulated the runes again. The crystal hummed loudly, replacing the blue light with a swirling projection of a sun-scorched desert.

Chris Pitt stepped into the frame. He casually wiped monster blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. Megan stood a few paces behind him, resting her wooden staff comfortably over her shoulder.

“We are a bit busy, Your Majesty,” Chris said, glancing over his shoulder at some unseen battlefield carnage.

“The Second Continent has broken our southern hold,” Voranthar stated flatly. “They are marching on the western shipyards right now to commandeer our naval transports. I need you to reposition your forces to the desert beaches. You will intercept their navy the moment they try to land.”

Chris let out a dry, humorless laugh. He turned back to face the projection directly, his expression completely unfazed by the king’s authority.

“Not happening,” Chris replied. “We haven’t finished conquering the Third Continent yet. The local resistance here is still deeply entrenched in the eastern dunes, and it is taking time to dig them out. We are not taking on another mission until this one is finished.”

Voranthar leaned forward, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “This is an impending invasion of our homeland. I am issuing a direct order.”

“Then defend your own homeland,” Megan chimed in smoothly. She stepped up beside Chris and offered the king a dismissive smile. “Our contract strictly covers this desert. We don’t do naval defense. Good luck with the boats.”

Chris waved a hand, and the projection snapped shut instantly.

The obelisk powered down, plunging the center of the throne room into dim shadows. Voranthar stared at the dead crystal in absolute silence. The Fourth Continent would have to weather this storm alone.

Meanwhile, thousands of Fourth Continent soldiers scrambled over the sprawling docks, hauling crates of ballista bolts and dragging iron barricades to block the inland gates. The recent transmission from Aethelgard had turned the orderly shipyard into a frantic war camp.

High above the chaos, Commander Ghizlan watched from the balcony of the harbor tower. He leaned against the wooden railing, entirely unfazed by the panic unfolding below. He was the man who had personally led the initial planetary purges years ago, earning the terrifying title of the Conqueror.

His internal mana core pulsed with a suffocating energy that rivaled the human Heralds, making him the absolute strongest asset left on this side of the ocean.

A breathless lieutenant hurried up the stairs and stopped a few paces away. He kept his head bowed, clearly terrified of stepping too close to Ghizlan’s crushing aura.

“Commander,” the lieutenant reported, his voice shaking slightly. “The artillery is locked onto the eastern ridges. We have positioned our mages along the inner walls to maintain the barrier. The King demands we hold the fleet at all costs.”

Ghizlan did not immediately turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the endless rows of transport ships bobbing in the water.

“Voranthar is panicking,” Ghizlan stated calmly. “He sits on a throne across the sea while we hold the line. But his logic is sound.”

He finally turned to face the officer. His expression remained perfectly composed.

“The enemy does not want to destroy this harbor,” Ghizlan explained, tapping a finger against the railing. “An army of that scale needs these ships to cross the water. If they bombard us with heavy magic, they sink their only ride. They have to take these docks entirely intact.”

The lieutenant swallowed hard and looked up. “Then how do we repel them, sir?”

“We tether the fleet,” Ghizlan ordered. “Chain every single vessel together and anchor them to the ocean floor. Make it physically impossible for anyone to sail them out of the bay without the master keys. Then, pull our heavy infantry back from the outer gates and funnel them directly onto the decks.”

’Let the rebels breach the walls,’ Ghizlan thought, a grim smile touching his lips. ’They will bleed for every inch of stone, only to find the prize locked in place.’

“Understood,” the lieutenant said. He saluted sharply and ran back down the steps to shout the new orders across the docks.

Ghizlan turned his attention back to the inland horizon. The capital fortress had fallen, meaning the Vanguard was already marching on his position. He had conquered this territory once before, and he was perfectly prepared to butcher anyone who tried to take it back.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep