Armad’s world of Nagirinki had expanded significantly since his cultivation level reached 10,000 years. Now, its vast terrain could comfortably accommodate a horse-riding competition, before reaching limits that Armad had yet to explore. The power within this world had also grown; it could now amplify Armad’s strikes by an additional 10 percent. If Armad’s base attack bore the force of 100 years of cultivation, Nagirinki’s influence would enhance it to the equivalent of 110 years.
Conversely, the world could diminish the potency of his adversaries’ assaults by 9 percent. Thus, an enemy’s attack intended to carry the full brunt of their power would be reduced to a mere 91 percent effectiveness against him. If this trend persisted, it was conceivable that in time, his enemies’ strikes might not affect him at all, a prospect that filled Armad with anticipation.
Despite this, Armad encountered a plateau in his cultivation journey; his level stagnated, unable to reach the prestigious rank of Pre-Deva despite the continuous consumption of cultivation-enhancing pills. Nevertheless, his world did not share this stagnation, for it continued to burgeon in both might and magnitude. The world now measured a grand 600 kilometers across, dwarfing the previous span of 500 kilometers, and Armad held an unwavering belief that it would not be long before it expanded further to 650 kilometers.
As Armad walked, the strength of his world of Nagirinki was palpable in his every stride. His skin had taken on a resilience that spoke volumes of the world's strengthening embrace. Among the ranks of warriors on the wall, some had achieved the formidable Deva level, surpassing Armad in raw power. Yet, none could match the ominous aura that Armad exuded, making him appear the more fearsome on the wall.
The sight of Armad leaving the room, infused his weary troops with a newfound vigor. His gesture was simple yet commanding; he raised his hand, signaling them to partake of their energy-boosting pills. The soldiers complied, and as the pills took effect, the weariness that weighed on them from their extended vigil evaporated. Energized, they rose, revitalized. Ai, too, commanded her legion with equal authority. At her word, her troops retrieved their herbal elixirs and drank deeply. The effect was immediate; the once-fatigued soldiers were now filled with a renewed strength that coursed through their veins. They began to rhythmically beat their chests with their weapons, a prelude to battle until Armad interceded. He intended to ensnare their adversaries in a ruse, convincing them of a weakness that did not exist.
Meanwhile, at a steady pace, the enemy's forces advanced. Five Devas led the charge, their presence bolstered by troops of Core formation, formation establishment, and Condensation cultivators. Their vast numbers moved as a tide toward the town's defenses.
Armad's mind weighed the strategic vulnerabilities of his town. It lacked the natural fortifications of Triba, nestled as it was atop a hill. This geographical disadvantage left the town vulnerable to direct assaults, lacking the advantageous high ground for ambushes or defensive maneuvers. Armad pondered a solution, considering the excavation of defensive trenches around the town to simulate the protective advantages of a hillside. Such a strategic adjustment would complicate any enemy advance, potentially turning the tide of battle in his favor.
However, thoughts of relocating to a more defensible location briefly crossed Armad's mind. Yet, he swiftly dismissed the idea, recognizing the political ramifications such a move would entail. The Council of Wilberforce would likely oppose such a transfer, potentially even conspiring against him should he attempt to relocate. Faced with these political realities, Armad refocused his attention on the imminent threat approaching his town.
The approaching army radiated a formidable confidence, their might at its peak. It had been less than an hour since they broke camp, and their steps were buoyed by the knowledge that they would find their adversaries drained by the tedious wait. Their plan was brutally simple: catch the town’s defenders off-guard, strike swiftly, and leave nothing but carnage in their wake.
As they drew near the town, the flickering soot lamps that dotted the battlements were not unexpected. These beacons confirmed that the town troops were alert and ready, yet this revelation did little to dampen the spirits of the approaching force. They had anticipated such preparedness and had incorporated it into their grand strategy. With steady resolve, they closed the distance until a scant 200 meters separated them from the imposing walls. Then, with a sudden ferocity, they commenced a thunderous display—spear butts pounded against the hardened earth, creating a rhythm of war that resonated with their roars. This was psychological warfare at its most primal, a tactic designed to paralyze the heart and soul of the enemy before physical weapons could take their toll. The wisdom of the Kings’ Legion was clear in this approach: instill fear before the clash of steel, and victory was nearly assured.
High up on the ramparts, Armad observed the display with a critical eye. The maneuvers below could very well be the handiwork of the King’s Legion, notorious for such stratagems. Yet, another possibility nagged at him—the possibility that the regional kings had galvanized their forces, drawing upon their own doctrines and cultivation academies. Still, Armad’s instincts told him that such coordination was unlikely without a hidden conductor directing the symphony of war. And he was resolute in his determination to expose this mastermind. Once the battle concluded, he would tolerate no sovereigns; their dominions would be subsumed into his burgeoning empire.
The enemy’s martial performance continued for a full five minutes, their spears striking the ground as if to challenge the very earth itself. Then, as if on cue, a phalanx of two thousand soldiers advanced in lockstep, two Devas at the fore. Yet among the ranks, Armad spotted an anomaly—another two Devas, who seemed to be masquerading as common foot soldiers. The reason behind this peculiar tactic eluded him. Was it a deliberate deception, aimed to make him miscalculate the true strength of their command? Or was there a more profound strategy at play?
Stolen story; please report.
On the town walls, Armad’s troops played their part in the grand theatre of war. They slumped and sagged, the very picture of a force succumbing to exhaustion—a veneer carefully crafted under Armad’s strict instructions. They merely awaited the signal, a moment when the enemy, buoyed by overconfidence and the sight of apparent weakness, would encroach just close enough. Then, with the precision of a well-honed blade, they would unleash their ambush, a counterstroke designed to exploit the arrogance of the foe and shatter their advance in a single, decisive blow.
The Two thousand enemy soldiers advanced on the town, while the remaining eight thousand spread out in a strategic maneuver to encompass the town’s entire front. Among the vanguard, several soldiers delved into the depths of their magical bags, drawing forth ladders, meant for scaling the town walls.
However, Armad had no intention of allowing them an easy ascent. He waited until they were a mere fifty meters from the fortifications before issuing his command. “Now!” he bellowed, “everyone, release your explosive devices.” Atop the wall, five thousand of his soldiers each retrieved a circular object and hurled it at the enemy with the force of a stone, while their comrades loosed volleys of arrows.
The attacking army, having anticipated some form of counterattack, had prepared a contingent of five hundred to step forth. These soldiers activated their cultivation arts, conjuring a cultivation shield that enveloped their ranks. Behind this ethereal barrier, they raised physical shields to guard against any arrows.
Arrows that met the magical shield simply disintegrated, but the circular devices exploded upon impact, releasing a thunderous noise and a cloud of dust and debris. Though the barrier absorbed the brunt of the blasts, the strength of the explosions sent a hundred men reeling backward.
Believing they had mitigated the threat, the enemy was unprepared for another fifty of the explosive devices that rained down upon them. This time, the barrier could not withstand the onslaught. The devices shattered the magical defense and, amidst the chaos of fire and smoke, claimed the lives of a hundred soldiers.
The bombardment of explosive devices continued relentlessly, appearing innocuous as they arced through the sky only to erupt violently upon contact. In moments, the battlefield was pocked with craters, and soldiers were torn apart by the blasts.
Realization dawned on the two thousand warriors—they had been lured into a trap. The weariness they had observed in the town’s defenders was a ruse; in truth, the defenders were poised and ready, unleashing a relentless barrage upon them.
With the magical barrier destroyed, a deluge of arrows descended upon the beleaguered troops. Armad was acutely aware of the limited supply of explosive devices at his disposal and judiciously managed their use. He knew these two thousand were but a fraction of the larger force lying in wait behind them—ten thousand strong, not to mention the additional forty thousand reserves and the formidable Devas of the Battalion. This initial skirmish was merely a test; the real battle still loomed on the horizon.
Recognizing their dire situation, the enemy soldiers retreated toward the safety of their main force. Yet, even in retreat, they were not spared from the relentless assault of the explosive devices and arrows. Of the two thousand who had attacked, only two hundred survived; the rest lay dead on the field. The defenders of the town, resolute and unforgiving, continued their offensive, determined to annihilate the enemy's force.
The 8,000 troops who had refrained from engaging in the fight stood as a somber testament to the carnage they had witnessed. The brutality of the killing weighed heavily on their spirits, knowing that joining the fray would likely lead to a similar fate.
Armad, however, possessed a keen understanding of the strategic complexities of warfare in this era. He mused on the tactics employed by the enemy, the King’s Legion, recognizing their penchant for calculated strikes and patient maneuvers. While he considered waiting for the enemy battalion to assemble before unleashing the explosive stones, he knew all too well that the Legion would not commit their full force at once. Their strategy dictated a gradual weakening of defenses before delivering a decisive blow. With this in mind, Armad resolved to use the explosive devices to eliminate as many foes as possible, knowing that time was not on his side.
A mutual disdain was exchanged in the volleys of the two opposing forces. The 10,000 soldiers that had marched to besiege the town were now reduced to 8,000, their numbers dwindled by the initial clash. They knew another assault would only deepen their despair, eroding what little confidence remained. Yet, defying the logic of retreat, they encamped on the spot, rather than rejoining their larger force of 40,000.
Observing their actions, Armad was convinced that these troops were under the direct command of the King’s Legion. It was their hallmark to persist in battle without retreat, to either emerge victorious or be carried back lifeless. He anticipated they would send a messenger to report on the explosive devices. He steeled himself, prepared to thwart whatever strategy the Legion might deploy next.
Witnessing the withdrawal of their adversaries, his men erupted in premature celebration. Armad retreated to the strategy chamber atop the wall with his commanders. After a brief discussion, He distributed cultivation enhancement pills to them, urging discretion. He placed his trust in these warriors, his most loyal allies, knowing they would perish with him if it came to that. Thus, he resolved to cease concealing his strategies, beginning with the distribution of these pills to them and eventually to all his battalions. A leader’s strength must be reflected in the might of his armies.
As such, he resolved that these cultivation pills, the existence of which should remain a secret, would be given out. If the King’s Legion were to learn of them, they would stop at nothing to eliminate any trace, fearing the threat it posed to their dominance.
As commander Silaini departed the chamber, his face etched with surprise. In all his years, he had never seen pills that could so swiftly enhance one’s cultivation. Could these have originated from King Ayrion’s palace? Yet, until this moment, they had been unknown to him. Had the King’s Legion provided them with clandestine aid? No, it seemed unlikely. Thus, he surmised that it must be an unspoken gift from his king. But why had such aid been withheld until now? But where did he get the pills? The most important thing is that, do the pills work.