Chapter 560: Act 307 – The Wrathful Surge IV
At six o’clock in the morning.
The Vanguard Camp of the Black Blade Legion—
A piercing magical alarm swept through the entire camp in an instant, like a landslide or tsunami. The black-armored knights, fully armed and clinking with accessories, rushed out of the resting area, heading straight for their mounts.
Dragons were spreading their wings one by one.
Viscount Kuztar Poleman lowered his monocular telescope; the southern sky was darkened, filled with countless raptors weaving through thunder and lightning, resembling a scene from the apocalypse.
“It’s the Druids.”
“The southerners are in dire straits.”
He remained silent, mounted his steed, gripping the nearly five-meter-long dragoon spear, and raised his left hand high. A deafening roar erupted from the camp in an instant:
“Black Blade Legion, First Dragoon Squadron—”
“Departure!”
“Departure—!”
Giant beasts soared into the sky one after another, their outspread wings blotting out the sun. The logistics personnel on the ground watched their knights ascend, as if a vast formation was being established in the sky in the blink of an eye.
“Dalit, don’t drop the ball at a critical moment!” the ground crew called out.
“Get lost!” shouted one of the knights in the sky, laughing. The young man raised his head; ahead, beneath the rain clouds, thunder rolled amid a golden-red tempest, thousands of raptors barreling toward them.
“It’s the arrow hawks!”
“—Watch out, they’ve accelerated!”
The voices above shouted.
“Everyone, form the battle formation!” came a serious voice from the magic crystal.
“Received, regrouping.”
“The first attack cluster is expected to arrive in thirty seconds.”
“Twenty seconds.”
Dalit looked up, his eyes filled with combative fervor; the Black Blade Legion had been waiting here for a long time, and at this moment, everyone felt the blood in their veins boiling.
Viscount Kuztar Poleman gripped his dragoon spear, heart as hard as iron, silently calculating the timing.
“Ten seconds.”
“Eight seconds.”
“Two seconds.”
“Engage—”
“For Erluin!” At that moment, the sky above Ampere Seale seemed to ignite with the massive sound of battle, rolling with fury.
The massive black dragons intermingled with the countless raptors, and in an instant, a stench of blood filled the air, their outspread wings cutting into the storm of feathers, and the carcasses of birds fell like raindrops.
But the dragon knights were also ensnared by the tremendous resistance; the formation of the first strike was disintegrating in a flash. Alarmed roars, clashes, and shrieks merged together—knights in the front were violently ripped from their saddles, and the dragons, unable to bear the burden, screamed as they tumbled down.
Like black meteors—
Warfire spread and burned.
—
The buzzing discussions in the hall suddenly fell silent, leaving the solemn and majestic Loxes Palace under the arching dome in eerie stillness, time freezing at that moment.
“Charles, is that you?”
Bud Norbert, the commander of the Highland Knights, stood tall; his face was confident, and his voice, though not loud, reverberated through the hall.
A stir of murmurs followed.
Everyone exchanged glances.
“Commander Bud, did you say that name?” an envoy asked in disbelief, standing up from the Golan-Elsen seats.
“Commander Bud, you can’t be mistaken?” another senator joined in, this man was a confidant of Duke Vieiro, and Brendel had previously met him once during the game.
Others were also murmuring, and most people’s attention momentarily focused on Charles. “Ah!” cried the countess, suddenly startled, her expression akin to seeing a ghost as she looked at the young mage: “Ah, how did I not notice… it really is so similar!”
“Similar to what? What happened?” Brendel, puzzled, found it amusing, as the recently performing Viscount Begning had turned into a clown.
But the current situation was somewhat beyond his expectations.
He involuntarily turned to look at his mage servant, as if getting to know her again: “Charles, it seems you’re quite well-known, can you explain?”
“Ha,” Charles replied dryly with a laugh, “Lord, I think this is just a misunderstanding.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Really.”
“Then you better explain it to them.” Brendel suddenly paused as he heard the sounds of battle outside the hall. He quickly blinked at her, indicating that they could discuss it later.
The battle had begun.
Charles immediately understood her lord’s meaning, turning back to address the commander of the Highland Knights: “Commander, I think you might be mistaken?”
Another silence fell in the hall.
The sudden quiet from the previous commotion felt quite natural—
“Misunderstood, is it?” Knight Bud smiled nonchalantly, his brow raised.
He wanted to say something more, but before the words left his lips, the entire hall trembled violently.
Bud halted, gazing up in confusion.
Everyone instinctively looked up; the sound was clearly coming from above—what happened? Almost in an instant, a second earthquake struck, but this time it was more severe, and most were caught off guard, falling to the ground.
“What’s going on?”
“What happened?”
“Is it an earthquake?”
The hall was thrown into chaos, and with a loud crash, suddenly, a large hole broke open in the crystal dome of Loxes Palace, fragments of crystal raining down as a cold wind rushed in, followed by a massive object crashing down with a loud thud.
“Ah!”
“Help…”
In an instant, the storm from outside poured in, but the hall was left in a cloud of dust. The nobles were almost frozen in fear, and screams echoed as one.
Only Brendel caught sight of that thing—the corpse of a dragon lay in the center of the hall, its neck snapped—it was a dragon rider from the Black Blade Legion.
Almost simultaneously, a calm yet powerful voice of Duke Anlek sounded in his ears:
“Break out!”
Everyone was stunned, but quickly reacted.
“Temple Knights, intercept Makarolo!” This was Merros’s voice.
“Capture Princess Grifian!” Viscount Begning screamed.
Brendel also snapped into action; he quickly shielded Dierphir with one hand while loudly commanding: “Charles, get to the princess!”
Pandemonium immediately erupted in the hall.
—
Dalit was covered in blood.
He peered through the half-destroyed visor, the world appearing almost blood-red. Countless raptors flew around, and the battlefield above was a desperate battleground—
And in the center stood a great druid clad in a wooden cloak, appearing like a deity, every spell generated from his hands forming wooden spears or rock spikes that sent large numbers of dragoon knights plummeting from the sky.
The great druid, golden upper-tier.
Chilled, Dalit thought; if it weren’t for the sounds still coming from the magic crystal, he would nearly tremble. The cold and callous slaughter was rapidly consuming everyone’s fighting spirit.
“The third and fourth squads form an advance formation!”
“It’s Viscount Poleman; he’s breached!”
“Guard unit, cover the assault!”
The roar sounded from the magic crystal, and the dragon knights were currently regrouping in mid-air, making their final stand. Dragons were not suited for long aerial battles, especially under heavy burden alongside their riders.
“Damn those southerners!” Dalit gritted his teeth.
But this was the final strike; ahead, Viscount Kuztar Poleman’s dragon surged forward, showcasing the power of the golden mid-tier, akin to a comet in the skies. The dragoon knights were filled with nothing but fervor, all following behind—
The arrowhead was formed, the encirclement in sight. The dragoon knights faced heavy losses, but the enemy was also at the end of their rope.
The scales of victory had tilted.
“Look below!”
“Reinforcements, reinforcements are coming—!” yet again, an inspiring voice echoed from the magic crystal.
Dalit turned his head; a sea of red lights burst up from the harbor of Ampere Seale. The knights of the Temple of Fire stationed at the harbor had moved; the Temple of Fire had joined the fray!
Suddenly, he felt an urgent rush of excitement, such exhilarating combat.
But were the enemies truly worthy opponents? Perhaps. Dalit’s mind was swirling with chaotic thoughts; he unwittingly glanced to the flank, and then his vision locked onto that direction—
West of Ampere Seale.
Toward the Anlek Mountains.
A cluster of black dots was swiftly approaching.
“Left flank, left flank has identified a large number of unidentified air forces! Repeat, all units be advised, a large number of unidentified air units have been spotted on the left flank!” The voice from the magic crystal became stammering: “Wait! No, not right, they’re also dragoon knights?”
“Reinforcements?”
Everyone froze; where did these reinforcements come from?
But only Dalit’s pupils constricted intensely—he had excellent vision and was far ahead, recognizing the origins and markings of the opponents. They were not reinforcements… that was…
“Enemies, enemy attack—!” He suddenly seized the magic crystal and shouted harshly: “It’s the Southern Army! It’s the Southern Army’s dragoon knights! Prepare to engage!”
In that moment, he suddenly realized that the knights of the Temple of Fire were not there to support them.
They were there to confront the Southern Army…
But why had the Southern Army appeared here… Goddess Martha!
—
Amidst the pouring wind and rain.
Nostar stood on his mount like a spear, letting the storm lash against him and the lightning illuminate his eyes, yet his heart was as still as an ancient well.
He instinctively touched his cheek; the injury sustained at the Loop of Trade Winds had left a permanent scar, but he quickly relieved himself—scars were the marks of a warrior.
At least, he was back with the Southern Army.
He glanced back, and alongside him was a dragon carrying an equal number of treants as archers. The other party nodded in response to him; once comrades now again prepared to stand shoulder to shoulder.
But now, the target was no longer just the wolf disaster.
Yes, the kingdom had abandoned them.
But the Southern Army could not abandon their homeland—
Nostar raised his spear, pointing forward: “Dragoon knights, heed my command—attack formation—target, the Black Blade Legion!”
“For Erluin, advance!”
A massive arrowhead formed in the air.
“Southern Army, advance!”
—
Everyone understood that the civil war in Erluin had officially begun.
Amidst the swirling dust, Brendel met his first opponent, a Temple knight. When he saw the other party, they were currently engaging with Nemeses, who was actually retreating step by step.
But she couldn’t afford to be negligent for even a moment, as Princess Grifian was just a step behind her.
Seeing this, Brendel acted without hesitation, directly stabbing forward; his swordsmanship was consistently fierce and savage, and this strike was no exception, almost devoid of any noble courtesy, akin to a sneak attack.
The knights of the Temple of Fire were all elemental practitioners of high caliber, but finding themselves in such a relentless fight left them helpless. They had to parry in response, and with a clang of metal, their swords collided, each being forced back.
Nemeses finally seized an opportunity to retreat a step; she covered her mouth, coughing blood, gasping for breath, and immediately turned pale as she looked at Brendel:
“Whose swordsmanship… taught you that?”
“Let’s talk about it later.”
Nemeses bit her lip but nodded.
The Temple knight had already noticed Brendel; in fact, the other party clearly recognized him, and the cold glint in the eyes behind the metal mask flashed ominously. Brendel instantly felt the air around him subtly stagnate, and his movements slowed.
“Be careful, his element is likely related to wind,” Nemeses promptly warned, her tone chilling yet oddly concerned.
That voice ignited a spark within Brendel.
It truly felt like it.
Truly reminiscent of the senior.
If only the senior were still here…
If only she were still in this world…
Senior.
Brendel couldn’t help but close his eyes; for a fleeting moment, he felt his perception extend boundlessly along his sword. While cloaked in darkness, all the scenery seemed to be right before his eyes.
One dot, one line.
A world constructed of laws.
An imposing wall rose before him.
The Wall of Elements!
A tremendous shock surged through Brendel’s heart. He suddenly opened his eyes, and what he saw was entirely different; in the deepest part of his sight seemed to burn a silvery flame, countless laws, meanings of the world, and the ultimate fates of all beings twisted toward infinite directions.
How was this possible?
He raised his sword.
“Wind element, bind.”
“The lowest tier element.”
“Do you think this can bind me?”
“Just a bug.”
An immensely confident voice, as if it towered above all things. Brendel swung his sword with one hand, as the Temple knight’s great sword approached, their swords collided as if Brendel casually flung out a spark.
The Temple knight’s sword flew from his grasp.
The knight was aghast; he never thought such a freak could touch the Wall of Elements in battle; Brendel’s sword was not his own strength, but rather wielded the power of the laws themselves.
As he awakened, that sword was born from the world of laws.
Uncontainable.
But the Temple knight was, after all, one of the top warriors of the Temple of Fire, and the moment he lost his sword, he immediately regained his composure, withdrawing like lightning.
Brendel leveled his sword, making a horizontal slash.
The sword tip missed the opponent by mere millimeters.
But it was precisely like that.
“Ah—!” The Temple knight suddenly let out an unbelievable shriek, clutching his chest with one hand; a shallow cut had opened on his breastplate, blood gushing forth.
Brendel lifted his head, a surge of joy within, his eyes flashing with a fierce light: “—A guaranteed hit!”
—
(PS: A guaranteed hit! Please support with monthly votes!) (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to cast your recommendations and monthly votes; your support is my greatest motivation.)
