Vol 2 Chapter 117 The Scales Tip

With a soft “puff,” torches flared to life in the night.

At first there was only one, then several, and soon a swath of burning light.

Soldiers on horseback gripped torches; they split into squads, surged out of the camp, and charged into the darkness.

The torchlight formed a dragon-like line across the black earth. When the ranks finished assembling, the soldiers marched out of camp and followed the broad riverside avenue southward toward the city whose banners had already been changed.

They did not move quickly, only at a walking pace to conserve strength. Their steps were orderly and morale high. They had no worry about arriving too late and the enemy being prepared, because they believed in themselves and expected to crush that feeble foe.

These were the elite troops of the Anty Kingdom’s homeland—what had allowed them to conquer far and wide.

Night marches cannot be hidden. Even though the garrison inside Valley City was not top-tier, scattered scout reports made them aware that the enemy was on the move.

In the castle council hall, Prince Jabers strode over in disheveled clothes, faint lipstick marks still on his face—perhaps he had just been with some noble lady. Ever since he gained the upper hand against the scouts, many young women in the city treated him as a future king, scrambling to flatter and solicit him. The young prince, unable to bear the recent pressures, accepted without resistance.

“What’s going on? How did Anty’s army move without any warning? You had no detection at all?” He fired several questions in a row. It was obvious he had been woken up in the middle of the night and had a belly full of fury.

“Prince, this was not the scouts’ fault. Those Anty troops acted extremely suddenly,” an officer explained, but Jabers paid no heed.

“Don’t give me excuses. I only need to know that you completely failed to anticipate tonight’s events. This is dereliction of duty.” He rapped the table, then leaned both hands on it and looked at the map.

“What are their movements now?”

“The main infantry force is slowly approaching Valley City, though we haven’t seen any heavy siege engines.”

“As for the cavalry that rode out in the night, they are currently swinging to the sides of Valley City, likely preparing to encircle it.”

“Encircle? They only have horses; they don’t have wings—are they going to fly in?” Prince Jabers shook his head, but then remembered something and grew serious.

“Although Anty doesn’t possess flying units, Eagle Scorpion…” He recalled how long ago Windcliff City’s fortress had been quickly taken because the Eagle Scorpion Khanate’s giant eagles assisted the assault.

“Have the patrol hunters stand ready on the walls. If any strange figures appear in the sky, shoot them down immediately.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

After issuing that order, Prince Jabers glanced at the map again, agitation evident.

“Do we have any plan to respond to their assault?”

“Well…” The officers present could not conceive how the enemy would storm a city without siege equipment, so they had no effective countermeasures.

“If we just hold the walls, they won’t get in.” In the end an old officer offered that obvious but accurate remark.

“Fine, hold the walls.” Prince Jabers, having no better idea, accepted the reply.

The fires of the night burned hot. Not only were Anty’s elite troops mobilizing, but inside Valley City people scurried about; running and shouting sounded everywhere. Bells in the castle towers rang constantly to wake residents.

“Anty is coming.” That phrase spread through the streets. Many worried citizens bolted their doors and slid in their latches.

Some pulled armor and weapons from cellars, preparing warily.

An hour later, a line of torches formed outside Valley City. Even at night they marched in order, spears held high, standing in the darkness and making the new recruits atop the walls tremble.

Before those on the walls could overthink things, the horns of assault sounded through the night. The army raised shields and stepped toward the foot of the wall.

“Draw bows, fire!”

Under command, the garrison loosed volleys. Arrows, scattered in density, flew into the night and rained down, penetrating the Anty soldiers below.

Despite the protection of their shields, many attackers were struck down during the advance. Those casualties did not dampen Anty’s morale; they continued closing in on the walls.

“Knights! Charge with me.”

A tall, imposing figure emerged among the torchlight, mounted on a large chestnut warhorse whose mane flowed like living flames—none other than Viscount Mighty Bear, Nokton.

About ten fully armored knights spurred out beside him, then formed a triangular formation.

Their silver-plated armor showed crisp lines, tinted faintly gold by the torchlight and reflecting the glow. As they accelerated, the group looked like a streak of fire through the night, racing toward the dark wall.

Hooves thundered, dust billowed, and the massive wall loomed closer and closer. The blazing spearhead did not slow.

Leading the charge, Nokton raised his warhammer against the windy night.

“Andatica!”

The angular hammer burst with white radiance; a translucent giant hammer expanded into view, growing larger and larger.

When Nokton was only fifty meters from the wall, he gripped the haft with both hands and swung down with all his might.

The giant hammer carved a roaring blast through the night, smashing into the wall and tearing a breach.

The accompanying knights raised lances. White pawn-shaped phantoms materialized above their weapons, forming a white curtain with Nokton, and they charged through the breach into the city. Along the way, garrison soldiers and civilians were trampled by those riders like debris under a great train—shattered to pieces.

“Kill!”

Torches raised, soldiers outside the wall surged in. The shouts of slaughter rang through the night like a burning flood pouring through a broken dam into Valley City.

There were no prolonged trebuchet bombardments—just a battering hammer to break the wall, and once the powerful rider smashed the breach, the battle became brutal close-quarters killing.

At that moment defenders either waded against the tide, using weak lines to desperately plug the gap, or they fled and were easily hunted down and slaughtered by pursuing forces.

On the castle tower, Prince Jabers stared blankly at the scene—Anty soldiers carrying torches pouring into the city.

Old memories returned: the night White Cliff City fell.

His towering, admirable father had, with grief and helplessness, sent him and his sister out of the city, and then his father’s and the knights’ silhouettes had vanished into that night of burning flames.

“No… no, it can’t be like this. Not like this, please.” He clutched his head, unable to accept the outcome.

His earlier pride and satisfaction vanished like a candle in the night wind; only fear and bewilderment remained, and dread at returning to that endless, running-for-your-life night.

“Jabers!”

At that moment a figure hurried up the tower, breathless and anxious, and found Jabers. She grabbed his wrist.

“Quick, Jabers, we must leave via the mountain path south of the castle.” Princess Mursa frantically pulled him along. The prince followed like a living corpse.

Princess Mursa, fragile and dressed in black, ignored danger as she dragged Jabers through the chaotic castle, calling to any soldiers or knights who could be summoned to escort the prince away.

Nokton and the other senior Anty officers who had entered the city knew the prince must be somewhere inside the castle. The thunder of horses kept drawing nearer.

Without strong organization, the chaotic garrison and refugees were little different. Even those with decent combat ability fought alone; they could not resist the wave-like Anty assault and were swallowed up as the frontline.

“Kill!”

Around ten spears thrust at once, piercing a sword-wielding fighter. As a former adventurer, he had ample battlefield experience, but even at his most dangerous he had never imagined he would be struck by ten lances simultaneously.

After breaking five of the spears, the cornered “First Tier·Bloodline” warrior was surrounded and killed by ordinary soldiers, stabbed to death in the wall’s corner.

Seeing their comrade’s fate, the remaining Transcendents grew cold inside. They no longer clung to the fight but sought opportunities to flee. The core of the garrison withdrew, leaving the line without a backbone; the collapse accelerated and Anty’s elite shattered them.

The wall ruptured, the line collapsed, the core withdrew—Valley City’s battlefield balance had wholly tipped to one side.

No one among the defenders still thought of resisting; each only wanted to extricate themselves from this nightmare.

On the mountain road in the night, a group bolted out of the city, carrying only a few torches to see the path while hoping not to be seen.

“Prince Jabers has escaped!” Angry shouts rang through the city, momentarily freezing the battlefield before it resumed.

The garrison no longer cared about the prince—staying alive mattered more than anger.

But the Anty elite who had stormed the city cared deeply. Nokton led his knights and cavalry out of Valley City and pursued the fleeing group down the mountain path into the dark.

At first they could still hear the shouts and killing behind them, but as they rode deeper into the forest, all sounds faded. Only the horses’ panting and hoofbeats remained.

Unknowingly, figures in long robes rose on the slopes flanking the mountain road. They watched the pursuing riders below. Under their hoods, eyes glowed an eerie purple-red.

Soon several huge spherical shapes with antennae outlined themselves in the dark, and great eyeballs opened in the blackness.

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