Vol 2 Chapter 67 Northern Border Falls

On the surface continent, northern border of Regas, Windcliff City.

The cold wind howled, gusts laced with ice shards cutting across cheeks like blades, making people wince.

Beneath the towering city walls, torches were held high, scattered across the hills, bringing the scent of distant forces.

From the ramparts came the alarm bell, urgent and insistent, and squads of soldiers rushed out from the warm towers, moving under shouted orders.

“Raise your bows, draw the strings—” The soldiers lifted longbows, forming a forty-five degree angle.

“Fire!”

Bowstrings vibrated, a dense rain of arrows launched from the wall, tracing long arcs, carried by the icy wind, smashing into cold shields and armor, spraying blood and a shower of fragmented sounds.

“How many did the Kingdom of Ante bring this time?”

“According to scouts who rode the Cold Hawk, at least one hundred and sixty thousand. What stands below the walls now is only their vanguard,” another armored noble officer reported.

“That many?” Laine closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the restless emotions within.

“This looks like a war of annihilation they’ve been preparing for.”

If it were only fifty to sixty thousand, he would think they aimed to seize territory or plunder resources, but mobilizing such a huge army meant their appetite reached far beyond that.

“Right now Windcliff’s garrison numbers only twenty thousand. Though we’re at full alert, we didn’t expect them to muster so many troops. Don’t they worry about instability at their rear?” Laine’s voice carried doubt.

“To the north of Ante lies the Salt Lake Wasteland, a harsh environment inhabited only by a few barbarian herders, not a threat. To the west is the Fragmented Stone City-States Union;
five years ago Ante invaded them and dealt a crippling blow. They have no strength left to counterattack. To the east, though, is the Eagle-Scorpion Khanate, equally powerful and sharing a border with Ante.”

“The Eagle-Scorpion Khanate has swallowed many small states in recent years. Were it not for the Dragonhead Mountains to the east, we’d all fear they would march south.”

“Normally, to guard against the Eagle-Scorpion Khanate, Ante would have to station at least half its forces on the border. They shouldn’t be able to mobilize such a large invasion force…” the adjutant said in puzzlement.

While they were speaking, a sharp cry of hawks pierced down from the thick clouds.

Soon, hundreds of giant hawks smashed through the cloud layer. Their feathers were a mix of brown and white, wingspans nearly thirty meters, their broad wings dimming the sky beneath them.

These giant hawks clutched long strings of black iron “grapes” in their talons, and when the “grapes” were released, they fell like meteors into the city, sending up showers of sparks that ignited everything they struck.

In an instant, the giant hawks set Windcliff City ablaze. Countless flames and thick smoke roared skyward;
even the fierce cold wind couldn’t disperse the suffocating heat spreading through the air. Many soldiers struck directly by the flying embers rolled on the ground in vain, unable to put out the flames on their bodies.

“Those are fire bombs made of blazing oil. Water can’t put them out.” Laine watched the scene, fury and chill rising within him. He wanted to roar orders to his men to resist, but his body felt frozen in place because he knew it was all too late, all futile.

“Howling Wind Giant Hawks, war beasts raised by the Eagle-Scorpion Khanate… their appearance explains everything.” His hand clenched the sword hilt, his voice cold as ice.

“Ante and the Eagle-Scorpion Khanate have allied, so they could mobilize their full strength.”

Beneath the walls, more than twenty battering rams were pushed up the slope in the cold wind. The ram heads bore Patterns of the Castle Aspect. Scholars with the troops raised stone tablets;
complex lights shimmered on the tablets and resonated with the ram-head runes. Each time soldiers lifted and slammed the ram into the gate, a pale shockwave rolled out along the gate.

The invisible wave shattered soldiers standing behind the gate;
their armor cracked, bodies trembled, they coughed up blood and fell, and cracks appeared in the wall’s foundation.

On the heavy, massive gate emerged a patterned image of an old woman praying—the emblem of the Sherilien Gate. In the grand city built by the Swan King, this was the mark on the third wall’s gate, the origin of the gate-runic arrays later copied by countless castle scholars.

Facing a gate bolstered by the Sherilien Gate, the attackers were prepared. With each hammering of the ram, the shockwaves spread, fracturing the bricks around the gate. Cracks formed, disconnecting the Sherilien Gate’s Patterns from the city wall. The resistive power granted by the city’s magic arrays slowly waned.

After several minutes, vast fissures spread across the wall and the Patterns on the Sherilien Gate went completely dark.

With a thunderous crash, the grand gate was shattered by the battering ram and collapsed backward, stirring a cloud of dust.

The assault horns sounded. Fully armored knights spurred forward, tall warhorses and sturdy armor, lances raised. Over their heads floated spectral images of White Stone Chess Pieces. The pieces’ auras connected, forming a gray-white light formation like a moving iron bulwark, advancing into Windcliff City.

No matter how many arrows were shot or spears set as traps along their path, they could not shift that metallic tide. Feathered-helm knights advanced in formation, cleaving every obstacle, gouging through the city’s internal defenses like a storm breaking a dam.

Even where scattered Transcendent fighters counterattacked, against the coordinated Castle iron curtain their extraordinary power was entirely dispersed and reduced to powerless twigs, trampled easily under iron hooves.

On a blackened mountaintop outside the city, two graceful figures stood silently, watching the city sink in flames, the wailing and the clash of blades and spears within.

“Windcliff City cannot be saved,” one of them said softly. From her outline and clothing, she was clearly a witch.

“We’re too late. News of Ante and the Eagle-Scorpion alliance reached us too late.”

“The ancestors of Regas once made a pact with our organization. When other schools or groups join a conflict, we must coordinate with Regas’s royal family to resist.”

“But Windcliff has fallen. With no strong southern fortress left to block them, even if we join the battlefield, we cannot stop the annihilation of Regas.”

“What about White Cliff City? Its royal lineage fortified it through generations. Taller walls, stronger towers and bulwarks,” the other witch asked.

“If Regas still had enough resistance forces, White Cliff City might be saved.”

“Unfortunately, Regas is no longer the era of Knight King Regard. Military strength has withered. Knight recruitment tournaments and the youth knight squire patrol systems used to be held across the land;
those policies were abolished to cut expenses nearly a century ago. Regas today cannot match the old days when banners marched and lances filled the fields.”

“Without external support, an isolated city can only hold out so long.”

“The armies of Ante will not pass up such a feast. When they sweep through Regas’s borders, the so-called Royal City of White Cliff will become an isolated island that can’t hold for long.”

“Sigh…” the other witch sighed.

“Although Regas’s fall won’t directly affect our organization, we’ve lost an ally, and we’ll lack a stream of fresh blood in the future.”

“Return. Soon White Cliff City will get the news. If they cannot find a way to save themselves, we must follow the pact: escort a small portion of the royal family to escape, preserving Regard’s bloodline as the covenant’s assurance.”

A flock of crows took wing from the mountain slopes, thick and dense. The rustling of their wings alerted the giant hawk riders patrolling above the city, but the black crows did not join the battle and soon vanished into the dark night.

“Witches…”

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