Chapter 255 - Bottom of the Sky

The princess’ army was the first to move. Men flooded out of the forest in droves, forming a line along the main path that spanned twelve men across and almost a thousand long. It was a full division, a combination of land and water-based forces. But though it marched on the gate, there was no one to sound the alarm, for the guards joined the end of the line as it passed through the wide open doors. They exchanged a few pleasantries with their compatriots as they traded their spears out for the axes and claymores they favoured. It was only recently that the groups had started getting along on passable terms. While they did not necessarily treat the pirates and other lowlives as equals, they would at least address them with some degree of respect. For they were all united under a single banner, and as the guards understood, they were all fighting with the princess’ honour in mind.

With the crisis at hand, the queen was not so foolish as to rely on those whose allegiance was uncertain. She had her own watchmen sitting atop the ramparts, ready to sound the alarm. But they were silenced before they could make their reports. Cadrian sky knights descended upon them from above. With dark, stormy clouds to hide their brilliant white wings, they appeared only as the distance was closed. Their wings carried them like arrows, driving their bodies towards their targets with all the force of a furious god. There were no weapons involved. There was no point. Anything they used would surely have broken. Just like their bodies.

Every time a soldier landed, he would share his target’s fate. Both attacker and victim would be turned to mangled balls of flesh and bone, barely recognizable as their innards and blood mixed and mingled. But while the locals were unprepared for the sudden, brain-bending pain, the centaurs welcomed it with open arms. It was neither pain resistance nor masochism that drove them to seek it, but the knowledge that they could endure what their foes could not. Gritting what was left of their teeth, they forced their bodies to turn from paste to slime and slime to flesh. The anguish that coursed through their bones was magnified a thousand times as they paid the price of an artificial reconstruction. An untrained man, even one stoic enough to remain unflinching in his gelding, would simply lose consciousness and perish before his body could heal. But every Cadrian missile regained its function after its use and returned to the sky. Ready to be launched and flattened again.

The few Vel’khanese scouts missed on the first wave panicked when the second descended upon them. They pumped their legs and pushed their fins. But even with all their stealth skills active, they were readily caught and destroyed.

Splat. Splat. Splat.

The sound rang throughout the night.

Until there were none left to hear it.

The only survivor was a single female erdbrecher. The fishnet-laden elite danced through the air, evading missile after missile as a trail of invisible platforms formed right under her feet. At a glance, it appeared as would a wingless reproduction of the concept of flight, but the common rogue skill was nowhere near as performant. It came with too many limitations. She was limited in both velocity and direction. If either value dipped outside an acceptable range, the spell would immediately be broken and she would fall to the ground like any other wingless creature. The weakness telegraphed her trajectory. It was obvious, even to the untrained eye. And yet, the Cadrian meat missiles continued to miss their mark.

It was not a result born of their incompetence. Their aim was true. But her agility was too far in excess.

Not even by coordinating their strikes could they catch her. They launched themselves from the castle, twenty at a time, with each predicting a slightly different path, only to plaster themselves into the buildings and streets. Even a turn of only one degree would throw a man too far off to hit her.

She soon made it onto the castle’s grounds. A particularly confused group of guards, tipped off by the thundering crashes, tried to stop her at the rampart, but she bolted past them and entered the building through an open window. She maintained her speed as she dashed down the hall and flung herself down a familiar path. Three turns later, she burst through an old, creaky door, and into a musty room with the sweat still pouring down her brow.

“Bad news,” she said, with a series of tired trumpets. She didn’t bother standing on ceremony, even though she knew that the boss would’ve preferred it. “We’re un—”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence before falling silent, her eyes wide and her nose twisted into a knot.

“What is it, Ayla?” The older erdbrecher, Emelia Braun, set down the pen she had in her trunk and turned towards the baffled rogue.

Ayla shook her head and straightened her nose, snapping to attention before she finally started to speak. “We’ve got two problems. The first is that we’re under attack, and the second,” she pointed her springy nose at the window behind the clan’s matriarch, “is that the dungeon’s back on the move.”

When the older erdbrecher looked out the window, she caught the sky in the midst of its descent. Every cloud in the circular formation dropped at once, falling from its lofty height and threatening the city beneath it. The winds almost seemed to grow more powerful as they advanced, churning up the waters and throwing the harbour into a state of disarray.

With just that one move, the navy found itself half-gutted. The sailing vessels were blown away, thrown in random directions by the spiralling winds. The smaller ones were especially impotent. They were even sucked into the sky, accompanied by captain and crew alike as they were consigned to their final destinations. Most of the heavier ships were still anchored, but with their sails ripped to shreds and random objects impacting their hulls, they too were rendered useless. The devastation worsened when the storm advanced on the capital. It continued to fall, drawing closer and closer and closer to the sand. And the people that lived on top of it.

It was not difficult to imagine the hellscape that would follow if it was to drop just another ten feet. But whether it continued to descend or not, the end result was the same. It would soon collide with the castle.

“What do we do?” asked Ayla, with a frown.

“The same thing we’ve always done.” Emelia grabbed her gear from all over the room and armoured herself in a thick layer of metal and magic. “We fight.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, boss? Things aren’t exactly looking up, and frankly, I think the princess has probably got a more legitimate claim to the throne than the queen.”

“That certainly may be so, but it was not the princess that purchased our services.” The last piece she equipped, after shouldering a dozen weapons, was a helmet heavy enough to throw most grown men off balance. It was shaped perfectly to fit her elephantine skull, with places for her tusks and a flexible protector for her nose.

“I know, bu—”

“Ayla.” The older erdbrecher’s tone was harsh at first, but it softened when she began to speak again. “We are mercenaries. We may sell our loyalties for gold, but even then, we have our pride. Whatever our employer’s intentions, we cannot betray them once we have received our payment, lest they violate our terms.”

The rogue paused for a moment before lowering her head. “I understand.”

“Good.” The matriarch patted the fell assassin on the shoulder and twisted her lips into a smile. “Now let’s go tell the queen what you saw.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The calf still had her doubts, but she lowered her head and followed the matriarch down the hall. Regardless of how the battle ended, she would have to think and observe. So that one day, she too could grow wise enough to lead the herd.

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Two key political figures watched over the battlefield from atop their trusty steeds, their faces twisted into irritated frowns. One was a knight among knights, a seasoned veteran of great renown, and a battlefield terror with a hundred years’ experience. The famed warrior was dressed in an eye-catching suit of armour. There was not a hint of the man’s flesh available beneath his platinum defense, polished so carefully that it shone even with the stars clouded.

The other was his master, an unbreakable will that had pulled itself from the very pits of hell, a villain that would readily kill in cold blood following just a few choice words. The civilian killer was dressed in an outfit befitting a murderer, an old wizard’s robe atop a formal suit, dark red tie and all.

They were avatars of death that only fools would dare challenge. But they were pursued nonetheless by fortresses of wood and stone. The turberus-drawn warships entered with their cannons blazing; to strike the pair down would be to secure certain victory. But despite the impending peril, neither responded to the hailstorm of bullets. There was no need. The storm was their shield and the blizzard their sword. The captains that braved the winter’s final act fell before them, their efforts as meaningless in death as they were in life.

“Uhmmm… guys? I know you’re half acting ‘cause there’s people watching, but you probably shouldn’t just keep standing around. Claire’s getting really mad.” The fox that voiced the warning was a passenger, a wayward wanderer that had happened to share one of the figures’ mounts.

It was precisely the aforementioned flying horse that was the problem. Outwardly, she showed not even the slightest hint of annoyance. But dwelling within her chest was a flame of vengeance, fueled almost entirely by her allies’ inaction. She was being forced to work, to maintain the ice storm that spanned the dungeon’s exterior, while no one else on her head showed even the slightest hint of remorse.

When the addressed squid failed to respond, Claire opened one of the eyes on the back of her head and stared at her. Her irritation further blossomed as she determined that Arciel was completely unapologetic. The expression plastered across her face was one of amusement, a smug grin that rubbed her stretched equine podium in all the wrong ways.

“Would it kill you to cast a spell or two?” she grumbled, with her eyes narrowed.

“It may,” said Arciel, with a triumphant, teasing giggle. “I must conserve my mana so that I may duel the whore, per your condition.”

“That doesn’t mean do nothing. You could at least take down a ship or two.”

“The minute that I spend recovering the mana spent is a minute during which I am vulnerable. Whatever would I do if she was to engage me right there and then?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Stop being ridiculous. You already know that isn’t going to happen.”

“If things go according to plan,” said Lia. Like the vampire, the catgirl was aboard the H.M.S. St. Claire. She was sitting in the captain’s seat, her hands on the mane that doubled as the flying submarine’s bridle.

“They will.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” mumbled the cat. “Everything went wrong the last time I tried attacking a powerful royal.” She grabbed the squid’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It isn’t too late to back out.”

“If one of you doesn’t have cold feet, it’s the other,” grumbled the lyrkress. “Just kill her and be done with it. It’s not that hard.”

“Yeah! Remember all those times you guys killed the leviathan? That’s gotta be way tougher than some dumb leech,” said Sylvia.

“Yes, but that was with all of us,” said Lia, “and we barely squeezed out most of our wins.”

“Sure, but it was also over a thousand. I wouldn’t be so worried,” said Matthias, as Marcelle floated over. He was the only one on the second mount. To Claire’s dismay, the manatee was by far the better option for the situation at hand. She was not only more mobile but also a much smaller target. In fact, none of their attackers had bothered firing on the flying blob after she easily outran the first few waves of bullets.

But while she was certainly an outstanding stealth craft, the sky cow wasn’t without her weaknesses. For one, she was practically unarmoured. She had padded her health to some extent, thanks to the levels she had accrued as Matthias’ horse, but she was still liable to go down in a single hit. More importantly, she lacked the lyrkress’ firepower and relied almost exclusively on her rider to deal anything beyond the slightest semblance of damage.

“There is also the matter of my equipment,” said Arciel. “Every piece has been enchanted specifically for resistance against the whore’s techniques.”

“I know, it’s just… this is how I lost my sister.” Lia moved her hand to the sword on her waist and squeezed its handle. “She had a plan, and gear too, but we underestimated our opponent.” The cat took a deep breath. “She was killed before she had the chance to enrage.”

“You need to stop worrying,” said Claire, as she narrowed her eyes. “Keep it up, and I just might throw you off my back.”

“Please don’t. I’m still not sure if I’m over my fear of heights.”

“You’re not. I just heard your heart skip a beat.”

“Oh, shush.” The catgirl leaned forward and buried her face in the longmoose’s mane. She tightened her grip as well, just to make sure she wouldn’t slip off. “It’s all your fault. I never would’ve been scared of heights if you never dropped me for fun.”

“I doubt that,” said Claire, “with how cats behave.”

“Oh yeah! I remember hearing a bunch of stories about cats climbing trees and then getting too scared to go back down,” said Sylvia.

“T-that’s ridiculous,” said Lia.

“She stuttered,” said Claire, as she twisted her lips into a grin.

“Mhm, she totally did,” said Sylvia.

“It is an irrefutable fact that cannot be denied,” said Arciel.

“S-s-so what?” asked the cat.

“Figure it out yourself.” The moose giggled as she suddenly changed her trajectory. Her body shot straight up like an arrow, just in time for her to avoid a wave of cannonballs fired from the flank of a half-broken ship. She retaliated in kind by lifting her tail and firing a blast of ice. The magical beam tore through the hull and sent what was left of the vessel plummeting out of the sky.

Frankly, she was impressed it had made it that far to begin with. She was above the cloud formation that housed Skyreach Spire. And because the winds around it were so violent, the only way to reach her was to conquer the storm. But alas, neither the intrepid sailors nor the valiant flying turberi existed any longer; both parties had already been converted to logs and experience.

The dungeon was effectively their ride. The barrier around the castle was already active, thanks to a certain erdbrecher’s report, and there were few ways to breach it with a head-on attack. The defensive matrix was tough, even more so than the one that surrounded the city.

They would not have been able to circumvent the defense had Vel’khagan been built atop a ley line. Without a particularly well-suited concept, one could only pierce such a barrier by overpowering the magical vein itself—a feat with which even an aspect would struggle.

Fortunately, the Vel’khanese capital was nowhere near as secure. With a battery fueling its shields, there was only so much punishment it could take before crumbling under the stress.

Hence the dungeon.

The spiral winds were the perfect weapon. They would assault the barrier until it broke; even the most expensive collection of magical accumulators would quickly be depleted if subjected to such extended violence.

They did at least make an attempt to minimize damage to the city. They kept the vacuum from touching the ground, suspending it roughly fifteen meters above the streets beneath it. Most homes were fine, but anything over five stories, namely the various seaside resorts and attractions, was summarily deleted. Of course, there were few such buildings to begin with. Stockier structures with elevated floors fared much better than the more traditional, landlocked alternatives seen outside the walls.

The rich were the only ones to invest so heavily in foreign architecture, and even they considered it wasteful spending. Their accountants depreciated anything without a traditional construction over three years instead of the usual fifteen. Still, the structures often fell before losing all their value. Olga’s hotel was one such example. The entire building had been ruined by flooding and rebuilt at least six times over the course of the past decade.

It was not just the winds that posed a threat. The monsters lurking within the storm did as well, but most stayed close to the dungeon and attacked only the ships and warriors that joined them in the air. The more aggressive beasts had been yanked away from the ground and deported back into the sky, where they could feast upon the sailors torn from their broken maidens.

The queen’s airforce had wholeheartedly dedicated itself to stopping the dungeon’s advance. Valiant mounts, carrying warriors and mages on their backs, took to the skies with their eyes set on the tower, spells and weapons at the ready. But every transport was frozen and ejected from the heavens before anything could be accomplished. Though most were unaware, their efforts were almost entirely pointless.

Neither Claire nor any of her allies had been able to inflict any lasting damage. The average soldier had no hope of emerging triumphant.