Chapter 200: The Three Conditions, Reaching the Western Harbor

The obsidian woman traced a finger through the air to highlight the first glowing clause on her screen. “The first condition dictates that upon victory, absolutely everything owned by the Fourth Continent becomes your exclusive property. That includes their homeland, the occupied half of the Second Continent, and the occupied half of our Third Continent.”

“Exactly,” Red agreed.

“We do not care about the first condition,” the sand god dismissed with a frustrated wave of his swirling hand. “Those territories belong to the enemy now anyway. But the third clause is completely ridiculous. You demand fifty percent of our total resources, including our faith generation, as a lifetime tax for eternity?”

“You are misreading the structure,” Red pointed out patiently. “The third condition is merely an alternative clause just in case you refuse to meet the second condition.”

The obsidian woman scowled, her venomous tears dripping faster down her dark cheeks. “The second condition demands we surrender fifty percent of our surviving territory directly to you. We govern a vast number of followers who already struggle to survive within our current borders. How can we possibly give up half of our remaining land just like that?”

Red allowed a smile to stretch across his face. He had perfectly cornered them.

“I am not a tyrant,” Red reasoned, his voice dripping with false magnanimity. “I have absolutely no intention of displacing your mortals or burning their homes. Once you officially transfer that fifty percent of the land to my domain, I will generously allow your followers to continue living and building there.”

The two desert gods blinked in unison, clearly waiting for the catch.

“Of course,” Red continued seamlessly, “there will be a standard administrative tax for residing on my property. You will simply give me fifty percent of the faith resources generated exclusively by the mortals living on that specific half of the land. The rest is yours to keep. Of course, all other resources of those lands, such as dungeons and mines will fully belong to me.”

’Checkmate,’ Red thought, watching the exact moment the older deities realized they were completely trapped. They needed his army to survive the human Heralds, but surviving meant willingly placing a collar around their own necks.

The sand god let out a long, grinding sigh that sounded like shifting dunes. The obsidian woman closed her weeping eyes and pressed a hand to her temple. They had absolutely no leverage left to negotiate.

They reached forward and simultaneously pressed their hands against the holographic parchment. The system chimed softly as their magical signatures finalized the pact.

“Excellent,” Red said quietly, dismissing the contract from his screen. “We have an alliance. My Vanguard will reach the western shipyards shortly to secure our transport fleet.”

A few days later, the combined army halted their march along the crest of the coastal mountains.

Iron-Scale stepped up to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Miles below them, the western shipyards stretched across the sprawling bay. Hundreds of transport vessels bobbed gently in the water, secured tightly behind a heavily fortified stone harbor. Even from this distance, the sheer scale of the enemy occupation was intimidating.

Aaron brought his warhorse to a stop beside the Vanguard commander. The knight stared down at the distant docks, his grip tightening around the reins until his leather gloves creaked.

“That was the very first territory they took from us,” Aaron said quietly, his voice heavy with decades of inherited bitterness. “When the Fourth Continent initially invaded, they landed right there and slaughtered the original port guard. We have fought countless campaigns over the years to push them back. We reclaimed castles, valleys, and fortresses, only to lose them again. But this harbor…”

Aaron shook his head slowly. “We never reclaimed the western shipyards. They entrenched themselves too deeply. It has been an unbroken enemy stronghold since the war began.”

Gulag cracked her knuckles and stepped up to the ledge. She eyed the distant walls with a grin, clearly eager to break that long-standing streak.

Iron-Scale remained perfectly still, analyzing the layout of the distant harbor. He could see tiny specks of enemy soldiers rushing frantically across the docks like disturbed ants. The fortifications looked incredibly dense, and charging a heavily entrenched position blindly was a foolish gamble. They needed the ships completely intact to cross the ocean, meaning a reckless frontal assault with destructive magic was out of the question.

“We do not attack yet,” Iron-Scale decided, raising a hand to signal the army to hold their positions.

He turned toward the shadows cast by a nearby boulder. Elder Syra stepped out smoothly, her hands resting near her daggers.

“They have held this port for decades, so they know exactly how to defend it,” Iron-Scale instructed her. “I want to know their troop formations, their artillery placements, and where they are hiding their commanders. Send your scouts.”

Syra nodded silently. She turned and signaled to a squad of her best assassins waiting further down the line. Three figures immediately broke away from the main column. They sprinted toward the edge of the cliff and leaped over the precipice without hesitation.

The scouts fired their pneumatic spools mid-air. The steel wires shot outward to bite into the rocky crags, allowing them to swing seamlessly down the cliff face. They zipped through the ocean mist with blinding speed, using the terrain to remain completely undetected as they approached the harbor walls.

“Have your men set up camp and rest,” Iron-Scale told Aaron, turning his attention back to the ocean. “We strike the moment my scouts return with a path.”

The high ridge overlooking the bay transformed into a sprawling war camp within the hour. Local soldiers hauled chopped timber from the nearby treeline to build dozens of crackling watchfires, pushing back the creeping chill of the ocean wind.

Kingdom Knights erected neat rows of canvas tents across the rocky uneven ground, quickly establishing a functional triage center and a field kitchen that soon filled the air with the smell of boiling grain and salted meat.

The Vanguard troops bypassed the tents entirely. They sharpened their weapons near the cliff edge, eating their rations in quiet efficiency while keeping their eyes locked on the distant harbor below.

Iron-Scale was in his tent, seemingly training his senses.

’Once we have reclaimed the western harbor, the Spiral will grant us power to be able to wield magic. That will be my chance to become stronger than Gorak. He replies too much on strength, so even if he is given magic, he won’t be able to use it. He may be strong, but not as intelligent as me.’

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N/N- With this, we have reached 200 Chapters. It feels like an achievement. The wars will get brutal and intense from now on. More secrets will be relieved and mysteries will be solved.

Thank you for your support!

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