372. Battle of King’s Gate (3)
-Whhooosh!!
Abel gasped for breath as she blocked the rough incoming fire pillar with her wing membrane. It was already the seventh spell. She was holding her ground, deflecting lightning strikes from the sky and sudden ice spears.
There was no other choice but to hold on. Once the enemy’s magical bombardment began, she had no room for any last-minute decisions. She couldn’t advance or retreat. At that moment, everyone on the city walls would be annihilated.
“The Magus…!”
“All of them have fallen, Your Highness…”
The knight spoke heavily. The Magus, who had been fighting a magical battle from the rear, had died thirty minutes ago, their heads exploding or blood pouring from their mouths and noses. They couldn’t withstand the backlash from losing the magical battle.
There was no time to mourn their deaths. Eric had to make a decision at this moment. Between a glorious sacrifice and a desperate struggle. The moment of choice was brief. If it were just him, it might have been different, but he couldn’t let all of them be consumed as sacrifices in a heroic epic.
“Retreat… We retreat.”
“B-but… where should we go…?”
“We abandon King’s Gate. Lead the people into Altberth. We fall back to Altberth!”
“Your Highness, we don’t even have enough time to tie the enemy’s feet!”
[I’ll buy that time. Everyone, leave.]
Abel spoke to the two shouting beneath her feet. The enemy’s relentless offensive had now turned into a massive deployment of troops. Since they had won the magical battle, all that remained was physical conquest.
Of course, retreating causes greater losses than advancing. Retreating doesn’t mean just running away with your back to the enemy. It means slowly falling back while maintaining discipline and shaking off the pursuing enemy.
It’s not easy. Especially when leading wounded soldiers with low morale. If the formation breaks and they start running wildly, the soldiers are no longer a ‘military force’ but ‘stragglers.’ From then on, it’s not a battle but a hunt.
The problem is that everyone here is a militia who has never received military training. How are they supposed to lead a retreat with these people?
So, all Abel had to do now was buy time so that the fleeing stragglers wouldn’t have to worry about their backs.
[Fernandez. If it’s too late, I might not even be able to say goodbye.]
Abel smirked bitterly as she clawed away the charging Phaeirn soldiers. Many soldiers had already tried to climb onto the Sacred Vessel, and she had knocked them down repeatedly, but they seemed to have no concept of giving up.
“The dragon is tired!! Charge, charge!”
[Just this much? I’ve never been tired in the past thousand years!]
Flames dripped from Abel’s mouth. The soldiers who saw this hesitated in shock, and the enemy commander shouted roughly.
“Don’t retreat!! Don’t retreat! The mages are supporting you!!”
Abel, unable to easily breathe fire, grew angry. The enraged dragon began to thrash on the city walls. Her legs and tail, like pillars, swept around, knocking down soldiers.
But in between, soldiers finally managed to reach her body and succeeded in scratching her with spear blades. It was a strike that could barely cut through a single scale, but as they piled up, it became a wound that couldn’t be ignored.
Arrows and spear blades lodged between her scales. Abel thrashed in pain, growing more furious. Amidst this, she bitterly repeated to herself.
‘Fernandez, I can’t follow your words in the end.’
From the beginning, she had recognized the fall of King’s Gate in this tactic. Fernandez’s strategy had been set in motion since the siege of Altberth.
He had only asked one thing of Abel. To hold out until the first magical bombardment hit King’s Gate and then retreat. But Abel had already endured dozens of different spells with her body.
The last militia carried their wounded comrade on their shoulder and descended the city wall. On the plains behind the wall, a long line stretched toward Altberth.
Until the last refugee, the very last person, entered the outer walls of Altberth and the gates were firmly sealed. Until then, she couldn’t retreat.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.’
She looked at the ice spear flying toward her head. She had fought for so long that her muscles were exhausted, and she no longer had the strength to dodge or block.
It had been over half a day. For nearly eight hours, she had almost single-handedly defended the city walls and repelled thousands of troops. Even if the dragon here were Kaladpelin, the Celestial Dragon, it would have been considered a great feat.
She sadly trembled her eyes and hung her head. The ice spear flying toward her seemed to move slowly. It was so close that if she breathed, it would touch her.
-Crraaack!
[Huh…?!]
And as if being ground in a mill, the ice spear suddenly shattered in mid-air, scattering in all directions. The soldiers swinging their swords at her feet were covered in sharp ice fragments, screaming and falling.
She felt a new surge of energy within her. It was a familiar feeling. This was…
[Fernandez, you were watching!]
She felt the black chain connected by magic stretching from her to somewhere in the mountains. The oath of obedience she had made with him since the moment she first opened her eyes in Infermur penetrated time, space, and perhaps even physical distance, reaching him somewhere.
Until now, this contract had only been used for her to supply him with magic. To meet the insufficient supply when using Great Magic through the Bronze Throne’s Magic Circuit.
But at this moment, magic welling up like a spring flowed through her veins, revitalizing her old heart.
-Thump, thump, thump!
Her cooling body regained vitality. Magic, different in nature from Hellish Magic, infinitely close to a natural state, surged through her veins.
Crrrack, her claws gripping the Sacred Vessel tightened. Soldiers screamed and threw themselves off the city wall. At the same time, the Sacred Vessel she held began to crumble and collapse.
“R-run! Runnnn!”
“Don’t retreat! It’s the last struggle!!”
Contradictory shouts swept through the enemy ranks. Magic spells filled the air, rushing toward her. Sometimes lightning, sometimes flames, sometimes ice. Every imaginable attack spell rushed to bind her.
But they didn’t reach.
-Boom! Craaack! Thud!
They bounced, shattered, and scattered. The moment a spell was completed, a thread of magic shot out from her body like a flash, precisely crushing the core phrase of the completed spell.
It was an insane technique. It was like shooting a needle through the eye of a needle. Only by breaking through astronomical possibilities could one…
It was a level of skill that could be convincing. And that was it.
-*Crackle!*
Dozens of spells were simultaneously unfolding across the battlefield. Abel watched the lingering echoes of magical power exploding like fireworks and scattering like shooting stars, laughing in disbelief.
[You were truly an unreasonable one, weren’t you?]
It was impossible to gauge how taxing it must have been for him to supply magical energy and disrupt such large-scale spells. But it was clear that it couldn’t have been easy. Moreover, Fernandez had been hiding his presence as much as possible until this very moment.
In other words, this event was a threat that didn’t align with his operational plans at all. Abel smiled bitterly, recalling Fernandez’s paranoid nature. Her unilateral decision had exposed him.
[But lend me a little more help.]
‘Gladly.’
It felt as if his voice came from somewhere. He was behind me. He and I were now one, united in this moment. As that thought crossed her mind, she felt something bubbling up from deep within her heart.
She remembered the words he had shouted when they flew on the Elven King’s Flagship with him on her back. Yes, is this what omnipotence feels like? The vision of mages, they say. How delightful.
Abel laughed happily and stomped her foot hard. Her injured, bloodied leg, already exhausted beyond measure, slammed down on the gallery of King’s Gate.
-*Whoosh!*
The battering ram hanging from the gate and the nearby soldiers scattered in panic. Flames dripped from Abel’s lips.
“Stop it!! What are the mages even doing?! Stop that!!”
“B-but… the magic… the magic isn’t working!!”
“Didn’t you say their magical forces were wiped out?! What nonsense are you spouting?!”
“We confirmed, confirmed that all of Dane’s magi have fallen. But there’s a mage… a mage we’ve never seen before… over there!”
Seeing the flames flickering on Abel’s lips, Zigismund shouted. But the combat mages, pale and trembling, leaned on their staves, groaning in agony.
Every time magical energy gathered, the core precisely collapsed. It was a ghostly technique. A level of magical skill beyond ordinary interference, something unimaginable.
Could this be called a counterspell? Even a mage who held a professorship at the royal academy shook his head.
How could they explain to their lord that this mysterious mage, focusing solely on dispelling, was nothing short of a miracle?
Should they say that if a mage of this caliber had participated in the magical battle from the start, it might have been their heads exploding and their blood spilling instead?
The dragon’s head slowly rose. From a great distance, a piercing gaze was directed precisely at him. Zigismund was startled by the chilling sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time.
On this land where gods and demons had vanished, the closest thing to perfection was now revealing its murderous intent toward him. The sensation of facing a predator—no, the sensation of facing the most absolute predator created by natural law.
The dragon’s terror, that mythical fear, gripped Zigismund’s throat.
-*Crack!*
A trickle of blood flowed from Zigismund’s mouth. He forced himself to swallow the blood, biting his tongue to mask the pain with agony. As a shiver ran down his spine, Zigismund barely regained his composure. Then, he pushed his bloodied lips into a smile.
“Come, ancient wraith. Prove your courage. Roar and breathe fire to your heart’s content. And when you finally meet your end at your limit, you shall become the most precious offering to Him.”
As if reading his lips, rage filled the dragon’s eyes. Its mouth slowly opened. Liquid flames dripped from its jaws.
The distance was too great for the dragon’s breath to reach, and between them still stood over twenty thousand soldiers. The narrow, long path made the physical distance feel even greater.
Would the dragon really fall for this provocation? Zigismund watched with anticipation. Capturing Altberth and sacrificing all those humans there would be less valuable than the life of a single dragon.
But the dragon soon lowered its head.
[It is not yet time. Do you truly think so? Very well. As always, I shall follow you.]
The dragon whispered low and then lowered its head, spewing flames. In an instant, the entire area near King’s Gate was engulfed in flames, melting away.
“Haha, buying time again?”
Even if they destroyed the entrance, there were still twenty thousand men here. At this very moment, reinforcements were arriving from the rear.
It would take only half a day to clear the flames and the entrance, and the enemy forces were laughably insufficient to defend Altberth’s outer walls.
Cowards delaying death. Losers who missed their chance to shatter most bravely and brilliantly. Zigismund hummed and sat down, sipping wine.
* * *
Strictly speaking, King’s Gate isn’t the only path to Altberth. It’s the only paved road large enough for a massive force to pass through, but there are plenty of mountain paths and narrow trails for small groups or individuals.
Hunters’ paths and foresters’ trails, though too rugged and rough for war, were more than enough for individuals.
And of course, the royal family of Dane was well-versed in such paths. Any noble would have at least one personal escape route prepared in their territory.
And through one such path, a group had reached the plains below Altberth and was now heading toward the rear of King’s Gate.
“Your Majesty, we…”
“Yes, go and assist Eric. You have already been more than loyal to me.”
“Glory to the royal family.”
“Eternal glory.”
As the two turned their horses toward Altberth, only one person remained. He slowly guided his horse toward the dragon’s feet.
The dragon had already noticed him approaching from afar. The man dismounted and knelt before the dragon.
[How can a king and a paragon of knights kneel so disgracefully?]
As the dragon teased, the man looked up into its eyes and laughed heartily.
“What does it matter if this is my last courtesy, Great Mother? Having witnessed the final moments of the Great King of Dane, I hope you remember me as a knight who lacked nothing.”
[I did not see that child’s death with my own eyes…]
The dragon smiled gently and bowed its head to meet the knight’s gaze.
[You were a knight who never once fell short of your ancestors.]
The knight smiled contentedly, nodded, and lifted the helmet at his waist, placing it on his head. He drew his sword, kissed the blade, and stepped forward.
“I will hold this position. Please watch over my son and my people.”
The day after the Battle of King’s Gate, when Phaeirn’s army cleared the rubble of the collapsed walls and finally resumed their advance.
They saw a knight standing in their way.
The fallen king raised his sword against the backdrop of the royal castle. In the early morning light, the sunlight slid down the blade.
* * *
Fernandez, who had watched the scene from beginning to end, quietly closed his eyes and whispered.
“O King, O King. Rest in peace.”
With the same heart he had when receiving the knighthood from Dane three years ago.
* * *
“Hmm… what to do.”
At that moment, Freya sat cross-legged, laughing awkwardly. An urgent guest had arrived, but there was no way to convey it. Flowers were blooming wildly around Fernandez’s neck, but there was no response.
“Uh… um… the goddess has done enough!”
Freya grumbled and nibbled on the snacks brought by her attendant.
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