Chapter 201: City-Crushing Momentum

“Battlemages, ready!”

“Heavy cavalry, ready!”

“Elite infantry, ready!”

On the snow-swept plains by Selwyn’s border, Aleisterre had erected a forward camp in haste. Its forces now gathered at the main route leading deep into enemy territory. Three divisions, each with distinct roles, stood ready for the march.

These were among the finest Aleisterre could muster, elite warriors handpicked for one purpose: to deliver the final blow against Selwyn.

This was no probing strike, no feint. The time for hesitation had passed. This was the endgame.

“For Aleisterre!” The supreme commander’s voice boomed across the field, magically amplified to reach every ear. “Soldiers—advance! We shall return in triumph!”

The war horn sounded as the battlefield roared to life.

“Received!”

“Understood!”

“Move out!”

Shouts rang from the ranks as officers echoed the command. Banners unfurled in the wind. Magicians responsible for recon released flares in the skies, directing the army to surge forward in a mighty, ordered, and unstoppable march.

High above, squadrons of battlemages hovered in formation as they fed intelligence back to central command.

“About twenty kilometers ahead is Selwyn’s rock fortress, their final line of defense leading up to their capital. It has formidable defenses. Current hostile magician and wizard presence unknown.”

The scouts’ findings were relayed immediately. The commander, a seasoned veteran, gave his orders without hesitation.

“Hold formation at ten kilometers. The battlemage corps will initiate a coordinated bombardment of the fortress. All other units—stand by for orders.”

“I understand.”

The order swept through the ranks. The battlemages began weaving a series of broad-spectrum enchantments across the army.

Warm Hearth, Windbreak, Earth’s Blessing—three elemental protections descended upon the troops.

Selwyn’s biting cold was dispelled by Warm Hearth. Windbreak protected the troops from the relentless northern gales of the St. Anna Snowfields.

Finally, Earth’s Blessing leveled the rough terrain beneath their feet, filling out dips and smoothing out bumps to allow for a smoother march.

Thanks to the battlemages’ support, Selwyn’s harsh environment was no longer a major problem. Aleisterre’s army pressed forward swiftly as it approached the rock fortress twenty kilometers ahead.

Selwyn’s geography meant that it was impossible for towns to be scattered far and wide. Rather, over 80% of its population was concentrated in the capital and its immediate surroundings.

During their march, Aleisterre’s army didn’t encounter any large towns. There were only a few small villages and hunters’ cabins in the vicinity. Aleisterre’s soldiers had no habit of slaughtering civilians; as long as no one attacked them first, they wouldn’t kill needlessly.

Of course, some fanatical Selwyn citizens, shouting “For Selwyn!” and brandishing makeshift weapons, did charge the Aleisterran army, but the armored cavalry had no mercy. Their iron hooves crushed these zealots without hesitation, and the advance didn’t slow a single whit.

At the very front, the armored cavalry kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings. More and more small villages appeared. Behind the windows were fearful and anxious faces.

Even so, the soldiers’ resolve did not waver. These mounted warriors were battle-hardened veterans. Their iron discipline and ruthless execution of orders made them the most reliable vanguard.

The rock fortress now loomed within range.

Selwynian soldiers stood solemn and still on the fortress’s thick stone walls. Heavily fortified structures blocked the path forward. Masses of soldiers stood right outside, braving the snow and wind.

The term “heavily guarded” barely did justice to the impregnable defenses of the rock fortress.

“It’ll be a tough nut to crack… but we’ve prepared well. A stationary fortress like this can’t stop us. Infantry, bring up the alchemical bombs. Battlemages, prepare for joint spellcasting. Get the earthquake spell formations in order.”

The battlefield commander made his assessment calmly.

Without all this advance preparation, Selwyn’s last line of defense would have caused Aleisterre heavy casualties. They could breach it, but at steep cost.

Now, however, Aleisterre’s superior alchemical and magical capabilities would be key to smashing this fortress apart.

Dozens of alchemical bombs were dragged out from crates and laid in front of the army.

Most had been crafted in the capital’s shadow, and their quality varied significantly—but quantity wasn’t a concern.

The sheer number of alchemical bombs even made Aleisterre’s own soldiers nervous. If these things all went off at once, it would be no joke.

From the snowfields around the army emerged enormous ape-like creatures with white fur. They were over four meters tall, with arms as thick as a man’s waist—it was obvious from a single glance that these white beasts would be serious threats.

These were ice golems, low-durability elemental constructs fortified to some degree by Selwyn’s snowfields.

“We’re finally putting those scrolls to use—they’ve been gathering dust in our reserves for years. These golems have fragile bodies, but they’re strong as hell—perfect for throwing bombs.”

One of the field battlemages tore a summoning scroll as he spoke. Another hulking golem formed beside him.

All around them, torn spell scrolls littered the snow.

By the time they’d run through the scrolls, several hundred ice golems had gathered at the front of Aleisterre’s forces. They weren’t capable of anything resembling precision, but they could definitely charge the enemy and hurl bombs forward.

“Go!” The mages gave simple commands, and the mindless golems obediently hoisted the bombs onto their backs.

Hundreds of ice golems, laden with alchemical explosives, charged across the snow.

Where horses and humans would have struggled, these creatures bounded forward with ease. For them, the snowy plains were as familiar as home.

“Heavy cavalry, follow them. Battlemages, continue preparing Earthquake spells. Any magician not involved in joint casting may begin bombardment of the fortress.”

“Understood.” The heavy cavalry followed the golems forward. Magicians began to chant.

Black clouds began gathering over Aleisterre’s forces, then slowly but steadily drifted toward the rock fortress.

Meteorological Spell: Cumulonimbus. In Selwyn’s frigid environment, this spell would generate a hailstorm intense enough that the resulting hail could crack skulls.

More importantly, arcs of lightning were already gathering within the clouds. Thunder echoed throughout the sweeping valleys, triggering small avalanches on the nearby slopes.

The force of nature mingled with the magical electricity building up within the clouds, a prelude to a thunderstorm.

The storm clouds drifted over the rock fortress. Selwyn’s defenders quickly realized something was wrong and withdrew as they sought shelter within.

Hailstones larger than fists pelted the earth, accompanied by blinding strikes of lightning. The hail obscured their vision, and the lightning struck randomly like a deadly lottery.

Knights-in-training would be injured by a single strike of lightning, while weaker trainees would be knocked out cold.

“Fall back! Fall back! Take defensive positions inside the fortress—don’t stay outside!”

Under the effect of the weather spell, Selwyn’s soldiers had no choice but to withdraw inside the fortress to avoid losses even before the attackers reached them.

And while the storm hampered the defenders, the golems bearing the alchemical bombs closed in on the fortress.

The Selwynian soldiers stationed below the walls finally noticed the golems. Their white bodies had blended into the snowy terrain, and their roars had been swallowed by the howling winds of the environment.

“Prepare defenses! Let the necromancers’ creations take the front!” the Selwyn officers barked as their defensive lines reformed.

A few grey-robed necromancers tore open scrolls, drank mana potions, and began chanting spells.

Among the best magics for holding a line was necromancy. Though Selwyn lacked overall magical strength, this school of magic made up for it with battlefield efficacy.

Suddenly, the ground split open in front of the advancing Aleisterran army.

Skeletons in ragged armor, wielding standard-issue blades and bearing eerie green soulflame in their eye sockets, along with shriveled but powerful zombies, burst forth from beneath the snow.

They had been lying in wait, buried in dense numbers beneath the snow. These were not the mindless dead raised on a whim. These were elite soldiers of Selwyn, buried with honor and reanimated for vengeance.

Though their skill and finesse were all but lost upon death, their corpses, reanimated by dark magic, retained much of their physical strength.

A massive icebound golem slammed its frozen fist into the foremost zombie. Compared to the colossal construct, the undead creature was pitifully small, and it was promptly driven into the snow with a single blow.

Yet zombies knew no pain, and the soft snow absorbed much of the impact. Though buried, the zombie emerged unscathed.

With guttural, rasping howls, the zombie clawed and tore at the golem’s body, brittle ice shards spraying with every gouge. Its limbs scratched at the golem’s not particularly resilient form. Soon, dozens more of the undead surged in.

They came in droves—far outnumbering the golems. The zombies, more agile than their skeletal counterparts, leapt and clambered onto the constructs, their claws raking across icy limbs, dislodging shards and snow. Their relentless assault eroded the golems piece by piece.

And though the golems were immensely strong, they lacked both speed and defense. Faced with the undead clinging to their bodies, they had little recourse but to grasp at them one by one and tear them asunder.

One golem, overwhelmed by the relentless horde, had its arm gnawed and wrenched free by a particularly vicious zombie. The joint, already compromised by dozens of claw marks, snapped with a sickening crack.

With just one arm remaining, the golem could no longer muster effective resistance. It was overcome entirely by a swarm of skeletal soldiers, its heavy bulk tripped and dragged down into the snow beneath the pressing tide of undead.

In an instant, the golem vanished beneath a sea of clawing bodies. Talons and rusted blades pierced its body. Though its mana core had been buried deep within its chest, the sheer volume of attacks eventually struck true. A fracture appeared—then a crack. The core shattered.

This was but a glimpse of the true scale of the battle. The undead could sense magic. They lacked true intelligence, but under the orders of a necromancer, they were relentless in their pursuit of all things living.

And in their eyes, the golems—powered by glowing mana cores—were very much alive. They would stop at nothing to destroy them.

One by one, the golems at the front were overwhelmed. Dozens of them were buried beneath waves of undead. As their mana cores were torn from their chests, their corpses crumbled into little more than heaps of snow and shattered ice.

“Good. That should do. Send another thirty golems. Let the undead crawl all over them—have them all gather tightly together.”

The lead battlemage commanding the golems stood unmoved as the constructs were destroyed. His voice was calm, devoid of panic. Though the golems stood little chance against the undead, each was stuffed with alchemical explosives.

Another thirty golems charged into the fray. Each one bore a mana core, the illusion of life. The undead surged forward with renewed frenzy, piling atop the new targets.

Skeletons and zombies alike scrambled over one another to reach the golems, which only offered token resistance.

None of the undead noticed that the rest of the golems had begun a slow, quiet retreat.

In the snow, golems moved swiftly. They crossed three hundred meters in under half a minute—and in that time, those golems sent forward were completely engulfed.

The undead continued their assault, tearing into golem bodies relentlessly. It was only a matter of time before the golems fell.

But it no longer mattered. The battlemages’ goal had been achieved. The horde of undead, thousands strong, was now clustered tightly around those sacrificial golems.

The retreating golems, moving in perfect unison, each pulled out a glowing alchemical bomb from within their chests. With thunderous bellows, they hurled them into the mass.

Dozens of bombs sailed over the battlefield, arcing through the frigid air. They fell upon the center of the horde like judgment from on high.

Then came the booms.

Light and fire danced across the snowy plain. Deafening explosions tore through the air as one detonation triggered the next. Zombies and skeletons alike were blown apart. Bone fragments rained down; charred limbs fell in pieces onto the bloodstained snow.

The thick crust of undead that had buried the earlier golems was torn away by the blast. Beneath them were dozens of shattered golems, each with their own payload of bombs.

All the bombs, now primed, detonated almost in unison. A column of fire and molten light erupted into the sky, a blinding inferno rising from the heart of the undead horde.

Fragments of undead, little more than scorched debris, pittered and pattered across the battlefield in a cacophony of destruction.

This was pure destruction—simple, overwhelming, and perfect against these tireless foes. No matter how numb to pain the undead were, they could hardly fight with their own bodies torn to pieces The undead horde was annihilated completely and effortlessly. On the ramparts of their fortress high above, the Selwyn defenders turned pale.

The undead horde, meant to break through Aleisterre’s ranks, had veered completely of course. If they’d succeeded in tearing all the golems apart, it might have been a Pyrrhic victory, but they had been obliterated completely before they were allowed to make any real impact.

Aleisterre’s assault had not paused for even a moment. With no undead to hinder them, the remaining golems surged forward, marching steadily toward the fortress and hurling alchemical bombs as they advanced.

Though some of the bombs were duds, either underpowered or altogether inert,the sheer number of bombs that Aleisterre had made such flaws meaningless.

Explosions shook the valley. Flames erupted, and debris was flung far and wide. Shockwaves echoed off the cliffs, triggering landslides on both sides of the valley.

“We can’t break through! Fall back into the fortress! Withstand the bombardment, then return fire with crossbows and ballistae!”

Those Selwynian soldiers stationed outside the fortress were now surrounded by explosions. The thought of counterattack was sheer fantasy.

They retreated into the fortress, hoping its walls could absorb the onslaught to come.

Within, they prepared for the next phase of the bombardment.

“We have alchemical bombs too! Haul them to the parapets—wait for them to come close, then drop the whole lot!

“And those precious magic scrolls sent by the capital—use them, all of them! The Earth Collapse scrolls, too—take down this whole valley if you must, but don’t let them through!

“Get the sacrificial daggers ready, too. If they breach the walls, don’t hesitate! Take as many with you as you can—drag them into our god’s embrace!

“Now, move! Archers, take your squads to the murder holes—fill them with arrows! Get the ballistae up—just one of those can even pierce a grand knight’s armor!

“We have the defensive advantage. Don’t panic. No matter how fearsome their spells—”

The Selwyn commander barked out orders to rally his men. Selwyn’s stone fortress was filled with treasures meant to break Aleisterre’s army. The undead were just an appetizer.

He tried to steel his troops against Aleisterre’s dread magic, especially the memory of the meteor that had broken their spirits.

But in the end, he underestimated the power a battlemage wielded when fully prepared.

His final words were still on his lips when the entire fortress began to quake. The ground beneath them trembled and shifted violently. Every stone groaned. The walls, the floor, the ceiling all swayed with unnatural force.

“What’s happening?!” Panic crept into the commander’s voice. The sudden tremor sent a chill through him. On a battlefield, unpredictability was death.

“Earth elementals… a massive concentration of earth mana beneath the fortress!”

A pale-faced necromancer, serving as a strategist, gasped out the answer. Though his specialty was death magic, he could feel the massive surge beneath the ground. It was a spell cast by the mages of Aleisterre.

In the heart of Aleisterre’s formation, a mage stood before a spell array. Dozens of magicians chanted in unison, guiding a prepared ritual toward completion.

This was the sixth-tier spell Earthquake. A spell’s tier represented not its raw power, but its complexity. Even a low-tier spell could unleash incredible devastation when supercharged with mana.

Around the magicians were vast supplies of mana crystals, all of which would be expended to amplify the spell’s destructive might beyond any reason.

Under their guidance, earth mana surged beneath the fortress, quaking and tearing at the land. The valley convulsed. Stone buckled.

The cliffs shook. Snow and ice tumbled down in roaring avalanches, flooding the valley below.

The stone fortress, ill prepared for the wrath of nature at such magnitudes, could no longer bear the strain that tore at its foundations. Cracks spread like spiderwebs. The walls buckled. The towers collapsed inward. The mighty fortress, filled with war materiel, crumbled into ruin.

“Charge!” came the cry from Aleisterre’s ranks.

The icebound golems surged forward again, hurling the last of their alchemical payloads toward the collapsing fortress.

Behind them, heavy cavalry gathered, weapons gleaming. The moment the golems expended their final bombs, the cavalry would ride.

Aleisterre’s unstoppable, unrelenting army pressed forward with the might of an avalanche.

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