Part 1 –
A land of green unravelled as far as they eye could see. Far beyond the stone walls of ruined castles scattered both near and far across these plains were the mountain ranges of the neighbouring regions. The horizon could not be found no matter how far one looked.
A dark history plagued these lands, and they were laid bare for the world to witness. Forts of the ancient kingdom that had once stood to touch the skies laid buried beneath the bloodshed of the vassal kingdom.
The grass was not greener across the Great Plains. If anything – many saw them weep with red dew from the blood of the past. But no one would remember the blood of the present, for the Undead left nothing behind and turned all to black.
Smoke still rose from some of the distant ruins. Settlements the size of districts back in Truebirth were vanquished in only a single night. What sort of monster existed amongst the ranks of the Undead?
Just how severe was this Undead menace?
It wouldn’t matter now. There was no turning back for the thousands that marched into borders of Palvel. The ground shook, and the landscape seemingly gave way to the brave soldiers who gazed upon the untouched walls of the city.
Not even the three airships above were able to confirm any signs of battle or resistance. Like the reports had always gone – the inhabitants had seemingly vanished without a trace. Scouts equipped with spyglasses confirmed the barren state of Palvel.
The Undead were undoubtably fortified within the city’s deepest recesses. But this was something they assumed from the very beginning. This was simply confirmation.
The army of adventurers and soldiers donned in grey, black, and white followed their commanders in shimmering green and deep black into Di-Lock territory. The entire army descended upon a great hill onwards to the walls of Palvel in a glorious march, led by the Queen of Truebirth, and the King of Pathfist.
They were organized and spread evenly into eleven distinct divisions. Hardly an army given their numbers, whereas Pathfist were known to possess armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands.
But this was all they could afford.
Pathfist was already engaged in a war up north against Di-Lock, more so than the Undead. However, some of the Greater Black Knight present could only wonder if they were merely fighting was left of Di-Lock given the severity of these blasphemous monsters.
For all they knew Di-Lock could have already fallen to the Undead.
As a result, Truebirth could not fight on a true theatre of war against the Undead, hence the formation of the divisions. Each were manned with healers chosen and trained briefly under Talia, and mages straight from the Adventurers Guild, volunteers, and gifted students from the Institute of Magic. These made up the rear lines, who would support the armed warriors in the front
It was by no means a sophisticated formation. However, it was one of their very best for the situation at hand. The front protected the back, and the back supported the front; as simple as that.
Each were led by a single Greater Knight, and at least 20 White Knights. They were the vanguard – the spearheads of each division. It would take a true monster to vanquish a devout Greater Knight. Additionally, within these divisions were parties of Adventurers who had no distinguished role other than to fight.
At least one of them, alongside a White Knight and a dozen regular knights were to carry and protect the explosive canisters until they were needed. They lagged on chameleon-back, trudging behind these heavily defended weapons.
An orchestra of metal, engines and battle chants erupted as dozens of blue smokes fired all around the perimeter of Palvel. Amongst them was a golden signal – one that belonged to that of the Heroes and their supervisors.
A loud roar spread throughout the men at the sight of these signals, and with them emerged metal siege engines over the hill they descended upon, dragged by dozens of chained giant chameleons. These machines bared incredible resemblance and function to a ballista.
However, these were far larger. It was unfair to directly compare them by size alone. They rose to nearly 10 meters high and were as long as 30. Arrows did not fire from these machines of great power. Instead – it fired magic.
Or more specifically – a projectile imbued with magic.
This was a Sirclio; a mana and mechanical driven machine so powerful that they would tear themselves apart after a single use. Ten were dragged over the hill, as did many more chameleons to prevent them from rolling forward.
Steel and large quantities of limeite and cobalt were the foundation of these machines. As such – they were by no means cheap. In fact – these were the only ten that Truebirth possessed.
Truebirth was, after all, a nation that lacked a history of war particularly against humans.
The purpose of the Sirclio were to puncture a hole for each division to infiltrate the city at different positions. But none were to be separated too far. They needed close contacts with each division no matter what, less they’d be overwhelmed one by one.
Anoma’s division were to engage at the very mouth of Palvel with the strength of thousands compressed into the spirit of 50 men and women, all donned under the banner of the Greater Knights.
“So it’s true. The Undead are all located inside.” A Greater White Knight spoke from the rank that followed Anoma.
“At least for now. Observe how much darker the grass has become. We’re still a kilometre away from the city.” Anoma spoke, glancing down at the grass through her visor.
“This is the doing of their presence... All from just existing?” An adventurer in gilded armour inquired in shock.
They were not alone with this reaction.
This was the first time many had seen the decaying effect that the Undead had on all life. With each few meters the grass moved down a shade of black, eventually turning to a form akin to soot closest to Palvel.
Black particles of the dead lingered in the air like a barrier around its walls. Not a single breeze had swept through these lands in some time. Weeks perhaps. Only now did they suspect that the smoke from the distant ruins were not from blazes but were the remnants of withered biomass. A cancer to the blessed lands of Colight.
“The favoured lands of our Gods. The blessed Great Plains. Have they not been sullied enough by Di-Lock already?” A Greater Black Knight spoke with vitriol.
“Channel that anger into strength, brother. The Undead could not care less of your sentiments. We can only communicate with them through the battlefield. Their language is bloodshed” King Ectarod reminded.
“Those monsters don’t speak. They only devour.” Anoma stated nonchalantly. “This must be odd for you knights of Pathfist. Have you ever heard of an invasion that went unhindered?”
“Never. Even the smallest village would round up enough men to throw into the slaughter. I won’t lie to you great leader Anoma and our great King of the North – the silence is ominous. Our brothers and sisters have never set foot into dead battlefield.”
“Dead is right. There is no orchestra. Just silence. Our hearts are not used to this. War should never be so hushed… Hm. It’s time. We shall rally into battle!” Ectarod commanded, right before they rallied a burning flag overhead.
A war horn roared from the airships above, and at once, the airship designed by professor Prostranstvo moved rapidly towards the city, its engines ripping through the stagnant air.
“The foes of today will be the worst we’ve fought! Soldiers! Brave adventures! Students of great courage! We approach the walls! Set ablaze your weapons and spirits! We will emerge victorious and secure our future!”
His cry swelled the hearts of thousands as war hammers and many other bludgeoning weapons were raised and set alight, much like their eyes. Dwarves, humans, Elves and Demi-humans shouted with a singular voice.
A chorus of thousands of voices coursed through the scorching air. The King of Pathfist roared once more at the sight of such indomitable courage.
“Their numbers will be great! But they lack spirit! They cannot quench our flames! The Undead are weak to it! Secure our history! Protect our beloved! The Children of Balance smile upon us, for the Exrenity and the Spirit of Balance will join us in our triumphant victory!”
* * *
The Sirclio sieged the southern gate. Metal rods weighing hundreds of times the weight of ordinary siege weapons plunged into the charcoal grass effortlessly. The roots that held the soil together were destroyed, and the ground sifted unstably like sand.
Each wheel of the machines sunk to varying degrees, making it difficult to properly take aim at the city walls, let alone reposition. A struggled wail sounded from the chameleons that failed to pull the Sirclio any further. Where they stood was where they would be fired.
Each were spread in an arced line with a gap of roughly 100 meters between each Sirclio and their respective divisions. A crew of 20 men across each machine gruellingly turned a wheel which began to pull back a web of rope under extreme tension. The ropes included a woven blend of metal coils, allowing it to withstand extreme tension compared to ordinary rope.
The lattice shell of the machine moaned as it bent to the immense tension. If the rope were to snap now it would undoubtably result in a massacre. One could imagine the scene of a sickle harvesting wheat.
“Keep pulling! Don’t stop until it latches on!”
“PUUUUUUULLLL!”
“Steady! Don’t let go until it latches! We’ll all lose our arms if the wheel rebounds!”
A thunderous clank followed. The machines were primed and ready to unleash devastation upon the city walls. Another crew hauled a massive limite ball into chamber just at the very end of the Sirclio.
This limeite ball was infused with powerful [Sixth Tier] magic; [Rupture Catalyst]. Parallels to a mana overload could be drawn to the way this magic worked. Like a person’s mana capacity, this magic would drain nearly all available mana from the catalyst, obliterating it in the process.
The sheer strength alone was enough to take down a wall and [Barriers] up to the [Sixth Tier], provided this city had one. The magical nature would allow it to bypass [Magical Barriers], and the sheer penetrative power to shatter through [Physical Barriers], let alone [Hybrid Barriers].
Without [Rupture Catalyst] the impact alone would not be enough for thousands to push through with any meaningful formation. This was why the magic needed, regardless of the cost.
The devastation it was capable of was only second to explosive powder. More costly, but less so regarding lives. Why was this so? Why didn’t they just utilize explosive powder to break down the walls?
The operator could barely keep a hand ready at the release latch. Every inch of metal on the Sirclio was heated to the point where it could scald flesh, and the man felt its heat even through his metal gauntlets. Soldiers battled through the combined heat of their flaming armaments and the machines; some barely standing to its unbearable resemblance to standing at the mouth of a blast furnace, and others finding it oddly comforting.
Anoma and Ectarod’s Greater Knights moved towards the main gates and began to layer it with pre-chanted papers containing [Melt]. She raised a hand overhead, gathering the war cries of thousands just as the remaining 2 airships cruised over, releasing a war horn that signified the start of battle.
She did not need to say another word. Everyone knew what must be done. It was ingrained into their hearts, souls, and flesh. A roar of her own was unnecessary.
With a single swing – the movement of thousands began, and the brave voices of twice more filled the air of the devastated Great Plains.
Anoma stood still and devoured their cries with all senses available and etched them deeply into her heart.
She knew it would not be so loud afterwards.
The Sirclio operators released the latches simultaneously. Balls of green shot across the skies like streaks of light, almost in the image of a shooting star. In less time than one could even begin to comprehend their speed they had already punctured through the city walls with devastating effect.
Metal shrapnel was ejected from the Sirclio following their total annihilation. Bits of pieces weighing tens, perhaps even hundreds of kilograms crashed mostly in the direction of the city walls. It was miracle that no one – not even the operators – were injured. A blessing from the Gods no doubt.
The limeite balls were deeply entrenched within the walls. Moments after impact a light rivalling the afternoon sun itself emitted from each ball. An explosion of heat consumed the surrounding brick and stone with temperatures soaring as high as the sun.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Liquid rock instantly pooled as the walls melted into large openings tens of meters across. Even from where they stood the combined heat of their flames was not even an ember in comparison. The cataclysmic destruction of the limite balls resulted in an effect closely reminiscent of a mana overload.
This was called a catalystic shock; an ill-known phenomenon which had only been recently discovered in the last hundred years. It involved overloading a certain catalyst by demanding more mana than what was stored, resulting in a catalystic shock. The very structure of the catalyst would then be obliterated as every droplet of mana was torn and converted into pure energy, which then escaped into its surroundings like an explosion of heat.
To answer the previous question – The reason why they didn’t use explosive powder was because of the number of causalities it would certainly rack up in comparison. Debris would fly and kill men amongst their ranks.
[Rupture Catalyst] – These thermal bombs were far from conventional and were superseded by other means, such as group chants or pre-chanted papers to achieve the same thing but at an astronomically less price.
Each catalyst needed their own unique imbuement of [Rupture Catalyst]. Handcrafted, brainstormed, and studied. Even limeite from the same vein needed vastly different imbuements, each usually taking months if not years to achieve. Under normal circumstances a catalystic shock should not ever occur.
At best one would not be able to perform their magic, and at worst the catalyst would shatter like glass and the individual’s mana capacity would be at the mercy of whatever magic they dared to conjure; the latter being similarly rare.
Ten gaping holes lined the southern walls, each with a bright-orange outline. The surrounding brick and rock were distorted to comedic degrees, seemingly melting like ice, or like paint dripping from a canvas.
Before long the heat became bearable, and the liquid rock solidified with the aid of the Dwarves who used [Molten Solidification] – a [Fourth Tier] magic used to cool molten metals and rock.
All was accomplished within the span of minutes, and by then particles of light began to fall from the airship of Truebirth, snowing across the city in a spectacular display that would undoubtably be depicted in holy scripture and in future recounts of their war.
Talia was ready.
The [Snow of Light – Mana Efficacy] was a large-scale buffing magic for any living being that could use magic and acted as a weaking magic to the Undead who were naturally weak to light-based magic. In combination to their flaming weapons – the Undead did not have much of an advantage aside from their numbers.
The terror factor was all but forgotten at this point. The brave cries of the soldiers in white and black warded such fears into the depths of oblivion, as they led them with weapons raised and spirits engulfed with everlasting courage.
Pathfist’s airships ploughed through the western and eastern airs above the city. Intricate magical circles began to form around its hull like wings as the mages on board collectively chanted [Fifth Tier] fire-based magic. Only few individuals could perform such powerful magic alone, hence why a crew of mages was required.
[Fire Maelstrom]. This was the name given to the flaming balls of magic which fell upon the city like hellish rain. A singular magical circle cried out these tears of red along the underside of both of Pathfist’s airships, setting whatever structure alight as they passed overhead with thunderous presence.
Fired alongside this were other fire-based magic, mostly by individuals that stood stronger than the other crew members, mostly consisting of higher-ranking Adventures ranging from the C to A-Rank.
[Fireballs], [Flamelight], [Blazing Streaks], [Scorched Trail] – these were but a handful of the magic that hailed down upon the massive city.
Despite its size being less of that of Truebirth, which ranged into the double digits of kilometres squared; Palvel was still within the same realm of size. A scorched world tactic was required further up north to quell the Undead, whilst the forces within the city focused on eradicating them in the south.
Only once the flames had vanquished could they finally move in and cleanse Palvel from their filth. Afterwards the city would be set alight once more.
And again.
And again.
This was the sort of enemy they faced.
Finally, the main gates collapsed into a heap of glowing scrap. And with her sword set alight, she marched through the undefended walls offering a final prayer and kissed an intricate pendant.
Through the haze of heat and steam, she emerged at the forefront of the streets of Palvel like a Goddess followed by her angels of black and white. But to the putrid figures that burst through doors and windows in seemingly every direction – it was obvious that the Undead saw them as nothing more than food.
Anoma did not need to speak. Neither did Ectarod. Her expression remained unchanged beneath her visor. And neither did the Greater Knights fear this threat. In battle there was but only one language that was spoken, even to creatures as mindless as the Undead, and in wars as insignificant as those between insects.
This language was bloodshed.
* * *
As expected, the Undead were indeed dwelling within the structures of the city, lying in wait as if expecting them to arrive. The scent of thousands of delectable mana of the living drew them out of hiding.
Bony hands dragged bodies of indescribable deformation out of sewers, as legs barely thicker than a stick kept them standing. They staggered as they walked, visibly irritated by the light and particles of the [Snow of Light] which burnt by mere proximity.
A swarm quickly formed on the main streets as they began a painfully staggered march towards their prey, displaying a sight that could just barely be called grotesque.
The regular soldiers donned in grey nearly froze at the sight of the Undead as they oozed from seemingly every crevice. But their hesitation, alongside some of the Adventures, were merely temporary. Maces, warhammers, flaming blades and all sorts of weaponry shattered through the necrotic seams of the Undead like nothing.
All it took was the act of one quell their fears.
A symphony of cracking bones, screams, and rendered flesh filled their senses as they pushed through, breathing in the scent of burning flesh. The vanguard put their poor souls to ease with one fell swoop, crushing them to complete immobility before they were set alight and thrown off to the side of the spanning streets.
One soldier managed to bisect and Undead from head to toe with a halberd. The body plopped disgustingly as its organs flooded out like black worms. Believing the Undead had perished, he turned his back to the gutted corpse.
Suddenly, the blackened intestines lunged at his throat and strangled him. The shock left him unable to fight back, his metal fingers slipping against the slimy membrane as they tried to latch onto the organ which boasted impossible strength.
Soldiers nearby quickly attempted to slice the organ off, but at that moment, it tugged him backwards into the cavity of the deceased Undead. He fell into its putrid remains as a halberd came down and sliced his leg clean off. His screams failed to slip through the clutches of the Undead as his vision waned.
A boot stamped beside his head and he could suddenly breathe again. Who stood above him was one of the White Knights of his division. Before he could utter his thanks, the man easily picked him up with a single hand.
He did not even look at the soldier. His eyes were instead focused onto the Undead, which flailed beneath the weight of his foot as it was set alight by his magic.
“The Undead cannot die unless every limb is burnt to ash!” The Greater Knight scolded before the man was taken away by a group which specialized in recovering the injured.
Soldiers and adventurers who were proficient in healing magic weren’t usually trained in combat. At least not to the same extent as regular soldiers. Adequate wouldn’t even begin to describe their strength. This was why they were located further back in the division, safe from the flames and the maws of the Undead.
“Take him to the healers! Quickly! Move – move out of the way! Stop the bleeding else he’ll die!” One of the men within the recovery group yelled as they dragged him through bodies of varying states of decay. The man still could not yet comprehend the loss of his leg.
No. It was not that he could not. He simply refused to believe it. What he saw through the gaps of the men who flocked forward was his foot. As it burnt to cinders through the flames of the White Knight’s magic, he watched it squirm and explode with blackened mucus through the exposed bone, which had become the mouth of the creature.
He heard its wails through the chatter of battle as if it were all silent. If the healers were to miraculously regenerate his leg, he would never be able to see it the same again. [Healing] magic could only heal wounds of the body, after all.
The mind was an entirely different beast; and his was left scarred as he whispered for the mercy of the Gods. His only weapon now were his prayers.
* * *
The recovery groups were vital in this battle. Every biomass handed over only strengthened the Undead. To die amidst battle was the worst outcome by far. A dying soldier was better off being killed and to have their corpse set alight than to suffer through the process of becoming an Undead.
A battle of attrition was an impossibility against an opponent that revelled in death.
Each swing of a White Knight’s weapon easily felled up to 10 Undead at once; their heavy weapons of war swinging in an incredible arc. Most White Knights were equipped with two-handed war hammers, maces, and metal clubs. Each swing was the equivalent of the strength of 10 regular soldiers. They strength inspired all into glorious battle as they marched forward; but none could compare to the Greater Knight that led their division at the forefront of the battlefield.
These men and women were like one-man armies.
The Greater White Knights pushed through the main streets of Palvel with unrelenting prowess, shredding and burning through the Undead with speed that should not be possible with the amount of weight they donned. [Fire] magic fired from the palms of their hand, incinerating hordes of Undead like mere insects. The opposition did not have an answer to the overwhelming flames.
Temporary barriers of flames brighter than the sun allowed them to gain their footing with each few metres they glorious claimed. The Undead arrogantly stumbled to their demise in futile hopes of devouring their flesh. Buildings burnt all around them, the flames spreading fast like a wildfire as mages embedded deep within the formation focused their efforts in shielding them from the heat and smoke.
[Wind] magic and multiple [Hybrid Barriers] were vital in their survival. A long column-like formation of barely visible [Barriers] followed them with every step similar to that of a tortoise-like shield formation. But these were not fully sealed.
Given the nature of how many [Barriers] were erected by how many people – chinks in its defence were inevitable, just like regular armour and shield formations. In fact, one of the greatest ways to deal with pesky formations was to unleash either [Lightning] magic, [Ice] magic, or of course; [Fire] magic. No formation was completely safe from all-consuming wrath of fire. Even the smallest chink would lead to the gruesome death of multiple shield-bearers.
Soldiers and adventurers that strayed too close off the main streets were either burnt to unrecoverable degrees or were crushed by collapsing debris. That was if they were lucky.
Arrows pointed to the skies. Atop the broken walls and roofs stood a grand line of archers, each equipped with a flaming arrow. Once the flames had subsided at the frontlines, and the Undead had regained the footing – the leading Greater White Knight raised a fist and took exactly 5 steps back.
“Stand back! Let the archers release their arrows! Take your waters and tend to your bodies while we have time now!” A White Knight commanded. “Keep the flames ongoing on the streets edge! Do not let the Undead swipe us from the sides!”
“Do not let them through the siiiiiiidddddes!” Another one relayed.
In truth there was not much of a need to focus on the Undead between each division. By now they had already been run down to an insignificant number by the flames and only needed to focus on the onslaught ahead. Only the divisions on the outer ends needed to worry about the Undead breaking through their ranks both east and west. This was also the case for Anoma’s division which was isolated from the rest despite being in the centre of them all.
But even so – the Undead were still no match for them. The debuffs of Talia’s magic combined with the light of the sun, and the lick of the flames made the battle appear more like a one-sided massacre.
A dozen Undead mere meters away from the Greater Knight were impaled by a storm of flaming arrows. The [Hybrid Barriers] caught all loose arrows that would have struck him and his men directly, simply hovering above them in dangerous bundles. The unrelentless volleys continued, and with the swing of his arm, the division began to move forward, finishing off the remains of the Undead with the soles of the boots.
The archers repositioned their aim after each volley, and after the tenth they quickly joined the main body of the division. Their arrows could no longer reach the forefronts any longer. Mages donned in glorious robes straight from Institute of Magic to Adventurers replaced them atop the walls. A different sort of bombardment commenced as a choir of chants began amidst the echoes of destruction.
An esteemed mage led them with their voice as a golden construct of magical circles formed a giant arrow of light. The circles moved like a tensioned bowstring, surrounding the arrow shaft as the tip pointed to the smothered skies. Symbols written in Ecloman alphabet glowed a bright white just as they came to end their harmonious chant.
“– an arrow to piece despair – a rain to cleanse darkness – [Rays of Hope – Inundation]!”
The arrow shot straight into the skies and disappeared with the glare of the sun. Seconds later a monsoon of light fell onto the Undead. It was as if the sun’s rays were being physically manipulated to vanquish the blight that was the Undead. It hailed in a circumference at approximately 50 meters across, rending the Undead to puddles of living tar-like flesh and bone, solidifying quickly into a mineral not too dissimilar to coal.
They were petrified to death in a sense. [Rays of Hope – Inundation] was a large scale [Sixth Tiered] magic. Only a handful could cast such a powerful magic, let alone large-scale magic on their own. This was why numerous mages were required, as the chant of a single person could not possibly be enough to draw in such vast quantities of mana from their surroundings. It also did not help that the mana was not nearly as plentiful as they were used to.
Large scale magic was also known as siege magic, or field magic; not because of the size of the magic at the tail end, but because it required many people to cast due to the immense mana and subsequent catalysts required.
Theoretically, it could be done by a single person, but the amount of time needed would leave them starving to death. Additionally, in the case where the magical circles were destroyed, their combined pool of mana capacities would serve to catalyse the magic. That was if the magical circles did not explode with the amassed mana already.
One could already see why including more people was more than just a failsafe. It considerably reduced the risk of a catastrophic mana overload amongst them all. It was particularly foolish to allow seemingly random adventurers to join any large-scale chants. A single mischant was all it took to end the lives of a thousand talented mages in a fate that even Gods dreaded: the mana overload.
This was no exception.
Thankfully, Cardinal had thoroughly prepared them for this exact occasion. These individuals were only second to the mages aboard Truebirth’s airship. Every word was etched into their minds, and the fear of failure certainly helped to keep them in line. Out of a hundred thousand candidates only a thousand were taught these near forgotten large-scale magic from Truebirth’s ancient past, dug up through the endless archives within the Institute of Magic.
Large-scale magic was normally only used aboard airships for two main reasons. The first was flexibility. It allowed rapid mobile deployment of destructive magic across the battlefield with negligible drawbacks. Simply dropping magic on top of the enemy was vastly easier than accurately sniping the enemies from afar.
The second was the mitigation of vulnerability. During their long minutes, to sometimes hour-long chants none of them were able to move, let alone defend themselves if the enemy decided to attack them directly. Stray arrows, counter magic and flanking enemies spelt all but disaster for every person involved with the chant, often resulting in their own magic backfiring on them to destructive effect.
The airship simply removed them from the face of the battlefield, mitigating this almost entirely. At that point the only thing left to fear were other airships.
But this situation was different. Almost a blessing in some way. Not only were the airs uncontested, but also their backlines. The Undead lacked any means of attacking their backlines directly, granting them all the time in the world to prepare their magical bombardments.
Once the golden rain subsided – the men moved in to claim more of Palvel’s ruined streets. The bricked roads were eroded to blackened clay and mud, shattering easily underneath the weight of thousands of marching feet. A battle cry of many more tore through the air as cladded arms swung and struck the lowly Undead down with ease once again.
Overwhelming a single soldier was nearly impossible for the Undead. If one was grabbed, then another two came to their aid. If one was struck down dead, then a thousand Undead were killed in their honour. Casualties were thankfully at an unexpected minimum. The ferocity and prowess of their men and women were far more effective than they anticipated.
Little by little the streets became theirs, and within only thirty minutes each; division had claimed about a hundred meters into the city.
But the battle was still far from over.
The prelude had merely begun.