Chapter 616: The Fall of City Wall
"Not bad. These weapons truly are relics from the Faldran Empire era—capable of effortlessly destroying our tanks. But since that’s the case, we won’t hold back either."
Great Goblin stared at the aerial feed relayed by Wyverns, his voice cold and mocking. "Just as King Kai Xiusu once said—‘Punish one to warn the rest.’ Now, the City of Saint Theo is that chicken awaiting slaughter. I’ll make every single Aeserian witness the fate of the Rebellion Empire."
His words rang with ironclad authority, his milky yellow eyes flashing with feral light. The scaled, crimson face of the Goblin Officer twisted into a snarl of ruthless determination.
This was Arturo Redspine—Commander of the Fourth Regiment in the Blitzkrieg Operation, the siege master of Saint Theo, and a Marquis of Dragon Blood with a reputation etched in blood. A loyalist of Duke Dolo, a key member of the Empire Military Faction, and one of the most fervent voices of the Extreme Hawk Faction, Arturo would not miss such an opportunity.
With a swift, decisive motion, he drew his military blade and raised it high into the air, letting out a thunderous roar that echoed across the battlefield:
"All units—FULL ATTACK! Turn this city into an ashen wasteland!"
The Great Goblin’s fearsome visage dripped with saliva, his golden officer’s insignia gleaming proudly upon his shoulder. His roar was amplified by the Magic Communication Device, broadcasting through endless electromagnetic waves—reaching every tank, every war chariot on the field.
Before the echo faded, the entire battlefield erupted.
The ground trembled violently, trembling as if the earth itself were in agony. Towers of flame and choking smoke shot into the sky, and the air was thick with the scent of burning metal and death.
The battlefield was alive with fury.
Boom—
Over a hundred tanks fired in unison. The recoil was so powerful it cracked the earth, causing sinkholes to form beneath their treads. Black smoke billowed from the cannon muzzles, shrouding half the sky.
Flames streaked across the heavens in a continuous line, shells trailing thick smoke as they tore through the air. They formed a dense, interlocking net of firepower, converging on the towering, fortress-like City Wall of Saint Theo.
Boom!
An instantaneous explosion rocked the city. The shockwave was so violent it made the entire structure sway as if caught in a storm. Flames surged upward, threatening to engulf the city whole. Thick, black smoke blanketed Saint Theo like a funeral shroud.
"Amanata… Is this truly the end?"
"How can we stop this? I never wanted to be part of this war!"
"Damn it…"
The citizens of Saint Theo looked up, paralyzed by terror, watching as the sky turned to smoke and flame—nature’s own apocalypse unfolding before them. Panic-stricken cries filled the air. The people had lost all reason. Chaos ruled the streets. Order had collapsed.
The protective barrier around the city flickered violently under the impact. Cracks spread like spiderwebs across its surface. The wall shook violently—so much so that several soldiers lost their footing and plummeted, crushed into bloody pulp.
Kalen stood atop the City Tower, Longsword raised, his jaw clenched in fury.
"Warriors! Do not retreat! Break their lines!"
Soldiers beside the Sun Divine Trebuchet strained with every ounce of strength, turning the massive cranks, loading colossal bolts. But in the thick smoke, they couldn’t even aim. Arrows flew into the haze—useless, swallowed by dust and fire. Their efforts were like whispers against the thunder of the Empire’s artillery.
Kalen turned to the group of mages, his voice urgent.
"Zalan, sir—can you and your fellows repair our Protection Ward?"
Zalan’s face was grave. He shook his head slowly, sighing.
"With our current strength, we can barely maintain the Shining Net above the city. We have no reserves left to sustain such a complex ward. The Ashen Empire’s assault is far beyond anything we expected. I fear… we won’t last much longer."
Kalen narrowed his eyes.
"So you’re saying I should abandon this city? Hand over Saint Theo—the sacred city of the Faldran Empire—to the Ashen Empire? Run like a cowardly mouse into the shadows?"
His voice rose, sharp with anger. Golden eyes blazed with fury.
"Kalen, sir—now is not the time for pride. Step out of your past illusions. Look around you."
Zalan lifted his staff, pointing toward the sky, now choked with smoke and flame. His voice was heavy, burdened with truth.
"The fall of Saint Theo is inevitable. There is nothing we can do to stop it. Preserve your strength, Kalen. Do not throw yourself into a reckless, futile charge. The only chance we have to turn this tide… is at Collins City."
Kalen knew Zalan was right.
Even he—self-proclaimed descendant of the Divine—could not withstand the sheer force of the Ashen Empire’s artillery barrage. The Sun Divine Trebuchet could bring down a dragon, but it could not stand against an iron-clad army of armored beasts, a coordinated storm of destruction.
Yet, he could not accept it.
In his heart, Faldran was not just a nation—it was conquest, victory, glory. They were meant to conquer the world. How could they now become the conquered, losing their homeland?
After a long silence, Kalen spoke, voice low but resolute:
"Zalan… I cannot abandon Faldran’s ancestral soil."
Boom!
Another deafening explosion. The wall shuddered. The Ashen Empire’s specially designed anti-magic penetrating shells finally pierced the barrier.
Then came more—dozens of shells, one after another, detonating in rapid succession.
Cracks spread outward in concentric rings. They split, multiplied, and spread across the entire shield—like a spiderweb fraying under unbearable strain.
Crack!
A sharp, brittle sound echoed through the air.
The Protection Ward—built over decades by dozens of high-level mages—collapsed.
"No! Evacuate! Now!" Zalan’s voice cracked with alarm. Even he hadn’t expected the barrier to fall so quickly.
The next instant, the Ashen Empire’s mortars roared to life. Shells arced through the sky like vengeful stars, guided by precision, descending upon the soldiers on the wall.
Boom!
Flames erupted across the wall. Debris flew. Dust choked the air. Soldiers screamed as they were swallowed by the explosions—too slow to escape.
Kalen spread his wings and leapt into the air. He raised his Divine Energy Sword, slashing through the air, severing dozens of shells mid-flight, detonating them before they could strike.
But it was a futile effort.
The Ashen Empire’s barrage was relentless, a rain of fire with no blind spots. Though he saved a dozen soldiers and held a segment of the wall for a moment, the bombardment rained down on every defense structure in the city.
The once-mighty wall was now riddled with gaping wounds.
Then—swoosh!—a horde of dragons descended from the sky, their steel wings slicing through the air with a sound that made hairs stand on end.
Kalen surged upward, sword raised high, screaming with every fiber of his being:
"Faldran people—never retreat!"
But against the overwhelming tide of two-headed dragons, he was small—too small.
Shink!
A torrent of golden flame erupted from the blade. The fire split the dragon horde down the middle. Several Wyverns shrieked as they fell, exploding mid-air.
Others twisted and dodged, circling above the city, dropping deadly bombs in perfect formation.
Boom! Boom!
Dozens of bombs were intercepted by the mages’ Shining Nets—exploding in midair, sending flaming shrapnel raining down like a storm of death.
Houses ignited. Panic-stricken civilians ran, only to be struck—some torn in half, heads sliced clean off.
The bombs that slipped through exploded in the city, reducing both people and buildings to ash and smoke.
Survivors collapsed in the ruins, staring up at the sky—no sun, only black smoke. And in the haze, the silhouette of Death.
"God… what have we done to deserve this punishment?"
"Purgatory… this place was always Purgatory!"
"We bear sins. King Amannata has abandoned us. This is His wrath!"
In the burning wasteland, the people descended into madness. The past order was gone—utterly destroyed. Only despairing cries and wild, frenzied screams remained.
"No… this shouldn’t be happening."
Kalen hovered above the ruins, watching the once-glorious city now reduced to rubble. The screams of dragons. The thunder of artillery. The scorching wind biting at his skin.
He flapped his wings slowly, his perfect face clouded with confusion.
"King Amannata… have you truly abandoned us? Walter… if you were here, what would you do? Am I really to abandon this city—become the deserter I despise most?"
His presence in the sky made him a beacon. He had already slain over a dozen dragons and intercepted hundreds of shells.
The Ashen Empire’s artillery targeted him immediately—armor-piercing rounds, anti-magic shells, converging from all directions, determined to bring down this angelic warrior.
The Empire’s player army stood just beyond the city walls, a hundred meters away. Some raised staves, chanting incantations. Others drew magical bows. Some brandished the latest Arcane Sniper Rifles. Others hurled forbidden magic bombs.
To them, he wasn’t a terror-stricken divine warrior—no, he was experience points. A living, breathing XP farm.
"Take him down!"
"Haha! Kill him! For the Empire!"
From all directions, attacks rained down—luminous arrows, flaming spears, toxic darts, anti-magic shells, freezing ice spikes—too many to count, too fast to dodge.
Boom!
A cataclysmic explosion tore through the air. Space itself seemed to crack. A blinding flash of light and smoke engulfed the sky.
Had he died?
"Did anyone get XP?"
Then—two blinding white beams burst from the smoke, piercing through the haze. A second explosion followed—so powerful it vaporized several players.
"Foolish mortals!"
The smoke parted.
Kalen stood there, sword in hand, eyes blazing with divine fire. His white wings flared, dispersing the smoke, shaking off ash and dust. A hurricane swept across the earth.
"Who gave you the right—to challenge the blood of a Sun God?"
He roared, raising his Longsword high. The intricate carvings along the blade flared to life, glowing with piercing divine energy.
A column of crimson-gold flame erupted into the sky, reaching the clouds. Then—meteor showers of fire rained down from above, like divine punishment from heaven.
Dozens of players charging toward the city were reduced to ash in an instant.
This was the Angelic Offspring of Sacred Fedran—the warrior who once followed Sun King Aragon I in conquering the multiverse.
"Long Live Faldran!"
Kalen’s cry echoed, but it was drowned beneath the roar of artillery and the thunder of explosions.
The deaths of the players did not slow the Ashen Empire’s assault. If anything, the bombardment intensified. Bombs and shells came faster, more densely. Explosions erupted in endless succession.
Boom—
A deep, ominous sound came from behind.
Then—screams. Panic. Chaos.
"It’s falling! The city wall is collapsing! It’s coming down!"
Kalen turned.
Dust and smoke swallowed the horizon. The wall—once proud, unyielding—crumbled under the relentless assault. Saint Theo’s City Wall had fallen.
The city screamed in agony. For hundreds of meters, the wall collapsed in a thunderous cascade. A massive dust cloud rose, burying soldiers and citizens beneath tons of rubble.
"Kalen, sir—run! To Collins City! This place is no longer safe!" Zalan used a flight spell to reach the Divine Offspring, his voice frantic.
The other mages had already evacuated via group teleportation before the wall fell. To them, the city’s fall was already a foregone conclusion. No matter how many tanks they destroyed, no matter how many soldiers they killed—none of it could stop the Ashen Empire. Their last hope—defeating the Red Dragon.
"We… failed?" Kalen hovered, wings slowly beating. His eyes were dim.
He stared at the ruins of Saint Theo. Then turned—toward the charging Iron Beasts, the Wyverns. The golden light in his eyes flickered with doubt.
Boom!
Another explosion—this time, mere meters from him.
But the invisible Divine Energy Shield around the Angelic Offspring held.
Zalan, trembling with urgency, activated a teleportation spell. His form began to fade.
"Kalen, we’re not done! We will win! Faldran will triumph—but not here! Duke Walter needs you!"
Finally, Kalen clenched his teeth. A spark of unwavering resolve ignited in his gaze.
"We… will win."
With one arm raised high, he pointed his Longsword toward the heavens. A blinding light erupted from the blade. His form began to fade.
In that instant, a storm of shells rained down on the spot where he had stood—detonating in a massive explosion.
But Kalen was gone.
The Iron Beasts charged across the earth, belching steam and smoke, racing through the ash and ruins of Saint Theo—unopposed, unstoppable.
They had conquered the city. Or perhaps… completely destroyed a city that once shone with radiant history.
New Era 1789, July 15 — The Strategic Stronghold of Northern Aether, City of Saint Theo, fell.
That same afternoon, City of Calvin, City of Faring, City of Asher, and four other major cities succumbed in rapid succession.
Three days later, Bertrend, Mitchell, Graywood Keep, and seventeen more cities fell to the Ashen Empire’s forces.
By July 30, within just nineteen days, the entire Northern Aether—except for Collins City—had been conquered. Nearly all vital territories now lay under Ashen control.
The Blitzkrieg Operation stunned the world. The powers of Feiansuo Continent had barely reacted when news of the fall of every Northern Aether city arrived in waves.
And the great Duke of Northern Aether—once the legendary Wings of Faldran, Walter Graham—now stood at the last bastion, holding the remnants of his army in Collins City, awaiting the final battle.
"The Ashen Empire has thundered onto the stage of Feiansuo Continent with lightning speed and brutal force—declaring its existence, and ringing the death knell for the old Faldran order."
— Chronicles of Feanso, Todd Brown
"His Majesty Wilhelm told me not to worry… but I’m already considering a southward advance. Damn it—those proud Faldran people are still drowning in dreams of glory. They don’t understand the true terror of that Red Dragon. They’ll pay for it."
— Luton's Journal
(End of Chapter)
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