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Chapter 615: The Siege of Saint Theo
Northern Aether Plain, City of Saint Theo — the second-largest city within the Ducal Territory, named in honor of the saint Amanatara of old.
The sky above was unnaturally clear, a vast expanse of endless blue with not a single cloud in sight. Yet, beneath that serene canopy, a heavy gloom pressed down on the hearts of its people.
No one had expected it. In just a few short days, the Empire of Ashen had shattered their defensive lines like dry stalks underfoot.
Iron Beasts roared across the earth, Two-Headed Dragons screamed through the heavens, and the relentless storm of artillery fire turned the land into a shattered wasteland, riddled with craters. Under such devastation, the remaining soldiers fled the city, seeking refuge wherever they could.
On the towering city walls of Saint Theo, a man clad in gleaming silver armor, his white wings spread wide, stood with fury in his eyes. “Ten thousand soldiers—gone in three days! By the heavens above, Amanata! We are the Valiant and Fearless people of Fadalan! Even if you threw five thousand lambs into the field, it would take three days to catch them all!”
He was Kalen Ferguson — a loyalist who had followed Duke Walter in his uprising, and the Divine Marquis garrisoned in Saint Theo. These Divine-Blooded nobles had been dispatched by Duke Walter to defend key cities, while he himself held firm in Collins City, facing the Empire of Ashen’s fiercest assault head-on.
But no one could have predicted that before their defenses were even fully set, the Empire had already launched a lightning strike — advancing at a speed that defied belief.
“Lord Kalen,” a calm voice spoke beside him. “You need not despair. We are not yet defeated. The true turning point isn’t the common soldiers — it’s men like you, Divine Offspring, and the powerful existences Duke Walter has summoned from the very peak of the Material Realm.”
A man in a flowing white robe, staff in hand, stepped forward. Zalan Alvis — envoy of the City of All Arts, sent as reinforcements. He raised his silver scepter, and before them, the scene unfolded: the Ember Army crushing the soldiers of Aether in brutal fashion.
“The Empire of Ashen’s forces… are far more ruthless than I imagined. To think that in just a few decades, such power could rise.”
Kalen stared into the distance, his face grim. “A century ago, the Faldran Empire rose under King Amannata’s blessing. I fear…”
“Wrrrroooom—”
A sudden, piercing scream tore through the air above — a high-frequency shriek that grew louder with terrifying speed, shattering his words.
Kalen and Zalan turned their gaze skyward. So did the people within the city, their faces twisted with confusion.
“Did you hear that? What was that sound?”
“Amanata’s Blessing?”
“Could it be the Empire’s army? But… why is it coming from above?”
Far in the distance, a streak of dark dots emerged against the sky, cutting through the air with a low, thunderous boom. They grew larger, closer — a wave of approaching doom.
With his Divine-empowered golden eyes, Kalen saw the truth: Wyverns.
A horde of monstrous Two-Headed Dragons, their broad wings forged of steel, their claws gripping obsidian metal spheres. Each bore a Half-Dragon Rider on its back. They plunged through the sky, slicing the air with their iron wings, leaving jagged white trails across the blue expanse. Their target: Saint Theo.
“Enemy Ambush!” Kalen roared, wings flaring as he launched himself into the air. He drew his golden longsword, raising it high. “Bowmen and crossbowmen — take aim! Bring them down!”
Soldiers scrambled to man the heavy trebuchets atop the walls, drawing their bows — but it was too late.
With their specially crafted steel wings, the Wyverns glided at impossible speeds — living, leaping bombs of destruction. In an instant, they were above the city.
Their shadows stretched long and dark across the ground, like harbingers of death. The people — men, women, children — strained their necks, staring upward in horror, their voices trembling.
“What… what are those things?”
“What do they want to do?”
To those who had never known the New Era War, the sight was incomprehensible. They could only feel fear, awe, and dread — staring up at the sky as if at a nightmare made real.
On the backs of the dragons, the riders laughed wildly, shouting in exhilaration.
“Come on, enjoy a barbecue!”
“Eat my bomb!”
Without hesitation, they pressed the release.
One by one, bombs dropped from their claws — falling like black rain.
“Sssssssss—”
The shriek of spines pierced the air, echoing like the wail of death itself.
A storm of death arcs streaked through the sky — each bomb carrying devastating power, descending upon Saint Theo with unstoppable force.
“Boom!”
A deafening explosion erupted, fire surging into the heavens.
Smoke choked the air. Dust billowed. Flames reflected in the haze, blurring the world into a nightmare.
Houses trembled, then collapsed in a roar of rubble and debris. Thousands of citizens were buried beneath the ruins.
The statue of Saint Theo in the central square was shattered into fragments. Fire spread across the ground, and thick smoke swallowed the city whole.
“Gods above…”
“Help me! I’m trapped under the stones!”
“Ah! My arm!”
“By Amanata, please — send a miracle! Save my child!”
Panic gripped the streets. People ran blindly, screaming, crying, fleeing in terror.
Those caught in the blast were charred beyond recognition. Some lost limbs, howling in agony. Others were unrecognizable — mere smoldering heaps.
A mother cradled her child’s scorched remains, kneeling in the ashes, screaming into the sky in utter despair.
In that moment, life felt so fragile. The stench of gunpowder, the acrid scent of death — it clung to every corner.
People screamed. They wailed. They prayed to their gods, begging for a miracle — but no miracle came.
The dragon horde — more accurately, a regiment of the Empire of Ashen’s aerial forces — completed their bombing run. They climbed swiftly, vanishing into the distant sky.
All that remained was a burning ruin, and an endless tide of death and sorrow.
Kalen hovered in midair, wings beating slowly, his golden eyes scanning the wreckage below — the people crawling through the ruins, crying out in pain. His expression was one of grief and fury.
“Damn Empire of Ashen… I will make you pay.”
He ordered his subordinates to disperse across the city, to rescue the wounded and calm the terrified citizens.
In the absence of any warning, any preparation — the attack claimed over a thousand lives. Countless structures collapsed.
But worse — far worse — was the psychological toll. The trauma inflicted on the people was immeasurable. Their sense of safety vanished instantly, like the shattered statue of Saint Theo.
“Gods above…”
“It’ll come back… they’ll come back…”
Whispers of despair filled the city. Phantom hums echoed in people’s ears. Instinct took over — panic spread like wildfire. Chaos reigned.
Kalen returned to the city tower, his face grim.
“Zalan… do we have any defense against such attacks?”
Zalan gave a wry smile — not quite a response.
“An old scholar once said: The Empire of Ashen will redefine war. It will make war faster, more efficient… and more bloody. We thought it was alarmist. But now… it seems he was right.”
Kalen exhaled heavily, looking out over the ruins. “If this continues, Saint Theo won’t hold.”
Zalan paused, then spoke. “Lord, you must evacuate the people to stronger fortresses — or have them take shelter in underground dungeons. And I can work with my colleagues from the City of All Arts to weave a temporary arcane net. It can intercept the bombs mid-air.”
Kalen lifted his longsword, wings flaring as he soared into the sky. His voice was like thunder.
“If those filthy monsters show their faces again, I will cut them all down.”
Zalan and several other mages in white robes raised their scepters, chanting incantations. Above Saint Theo, a shimmering web of light began to form — threads of glowing energy weaving together, creating a vast, pulsing net that enveloped the entire city.
People hid in underground dungeons or in the sturdy halls of the Amannata Church, praying desperately for divine protection.
Then — the earth trembled.
A low, rumbling growl echoed from afar. Dust and debris fell from the ceilings. People screamed, scrambling in terror, trembling with fear.
“Boom—”
Kalen beat his wings, rising once more to the city wall. His face, once serene, now bore a grim expression.
“Damn Empire of Ashen…”
On the horizon, a wall of charcoal-black smoke surged forward, blotting out the sun. Massive Iron Beasts — mountain-sized — roared and thundered toward Saint Theo.
Behind them, war chariots rolled forward — each packed with giant cannons, rifles, and Imperial soldiers. Their wheels spun, kicking up dust, leaving chaotic tracks across the plain.
Some chariots blared trumpets, their horns blaring a grand, imposing march. A deep, commanding voice rang out across the city:
> “We are the Army of the Empire of Ashen — the Supreme, the Victorious in every battle! We serve the Emperor of the Ashen Flame — King Kai Xiusu! We have come to liberate the people of the Northern Aether, to build a fairer, more reasonable world!
>
> Aether people — your Divine-Blooded nobles have waged war for selfish desires, treating you like grass and ash. You do not deserve this suffering. I urge you — see the truth. Surrender now, and you will face no further harm.
>
> The Empire does not promise immediate safety. But we guarantee your lives will no longer be threatened — if you surrender. If you submit to King Kai Xiusu!”
The words echoed through Saint Theo. In the dark corners of underground shelters, in the crowded halls of the church — faces twisted in fear, rage, or silent contemplation.
“Here we go again…”
“The Empire’s coming… I don’t want to relive that nightmare.”
“Surrender… if we surrender…”
On the towering wall, Kalen gripped his longsword so tightly his knuckles turned white. His perfect face was now a mask of fury.
“Disgusting! Utterly despicable!”
“They’re twisting right and wrong! We are the protectors of the Northern Aether — the true heirs of Fadalan! And they? Just degraded dragon servants — ruthless, shameless invaders!”
From the sky, the piercing shriek of wyverns returned — the Dragon Horde circling above the Imperial army, waiting for their next strike.
“Not again…”
“Eternal Amanata — please, save us!”
The sound of death’s lament struck the people like a hammer. Memories of the previous assault flooded back — their blood ran cold. Some screamed and collapsed. Others fainted on the spot.
Kalen raised his sword high, hovering above the city.
“Citizens! Do not panic! Do not fear! Do not listen to their lies! We are the people of Fadalan — favored by the sun! As Divine Offspring, Duke Walter will protect you. I will protect you. Victory is not far. We will drive these brutal dragon servants from the Northern Aether — and we will make them pay!”
“Boom!”
A deafening explosion split the sky.
From over a kilometer away, a steam tank fired. The shell arced through the air with deadly grace — and struck the towering city wall with a thunderous impact. The entire wall shuddered. Debris rained down like a storm.
But then — the runes carved into the wall flared to life. A shimmering barrier erupted across the surface, pulsing with light. A ripple passed through it — and the explosion was absorbed. The wall remained unbroken.
Kalen’s eyes burned with fury. He pointed his sword toward the enemy.
“Damn it — shoot those iron hulks to pieces!”
On the walls, supernatural soldiers strained every muscle, spinning the trebuchet wheels with all their might. The Sun Divine Trebuchet groaned under the strain — its massive bolts, thick as a man’s arm, loaded onto the firing rack. The three pairs of six-meter-long bow arms bent backward, coiling with unimaginable force.
“Fire!”
“Sssss—”
With a sound like the tearing of heaven, dozens of glowing bolts lanced through the air — trailing streaks of sunlight, like white lightning. They tore through the sky, forming radiant arcs, streaking toward the distant steam tanks.
These were relics of the old Faldran Empire — weapons forged to slay dragons and giants. Their range reached two kilometers — enough to bring down an adult Red Dragon from the sky.
“Boom!”
A blinding flash. One bolt pierced a steam tank like a divine spear. The explosion tore the machine apart, turning it into a flaming wreck.
But these weapons were rare — precious. Only the Archbishop of the Amanatara Church could inscribe the rune arrays that powered them.
Across the entire City of Saint Theo, only twenty-five Sun Divine Trebuchets remained.
And they were about to face over a hundred steam tanks, two hundred heavy cannons, and three hundred bomb-dropping dragons — a firepower tsunami that would drown the city in fire.
(End of Chapter)
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