Armad’s expression was one of deep betrayal and confusion. It was a bitter irony that the very individuals who were now part of his assailants were the same ones appointed by his father, King Ayrion, to be his protectors. It seemed inconceivable to him that while the entirety of the king’s legion might abandon their duty for his brother Ikenga, these few should have remained steadfast. They were under a direct royal command to safeguard him under any circumstances, yet here they were, defying that order. The king’s legion, it appeared, had grown so audacious in their strength that they no longer felt the need to adhere to every edict issued by their monarch. Armad was left pondering the absurdity of protectors who would so readily conspire with an enemy to bring harm to their charge.
Torn between seeking his father’s intervention to punish these traitors and asserting his authority, Armad wrestled with his options. To seek retribution through his father would be the expected course of action, yet it might also signal his dependence and weakness. Alternatively, taking matters into his own hands by executing the turncoats would send a powerful message of his strength and self-sufficiency. If he were to ever rule his empire, he needed to demonstrate his readiness to face challenges without reliance on his father’s might. The insubordination he faced from these members of the King’s Legion was not merely a setback but a crucial test of his resolve and capabilities as a future sovereign.
After letting these thoughts simmer, Armad decisively addressed his loyal commanders, Silaini and Nusi. His voice carried the weight of command as he spoke: “There is no path of retreat from this confrontation. This is the ground upon which we will engage our foes. You must dispel any trepidation concerning the potential devastation of Tiriba. The battle that lies ahead must be our singular focus, and we must resolutely seek victory. Should Tiriba be reduced to rubble in the fray, we possess the resilience to reconstruct. What truly constitutes a town is its people, and if we emerge victorious, we will possess the means to revive Tiriba, and even expand it by claiming the lands of our adversaries. Therefore, let us not be preoccupied with the fate of Tiriba at this juncture, but rather concentrate on ensuring our survival and prevailing in this conflict.”
With a heavy heart, Armad turned his back on his commanders and directed his attention back to the ongoing battle, unleashing his fury upon the enemies that continued to assail them.
Commander Silaini, his face a mask of stoic resolve, remained silent, acknowledging Armad’s orders with a solemn nod.
Meanwhile, Nusi’s expression was fraught with concern as she lowered her head, her mind racing with strategies to save both the prince and the town she had come to defend. Her presence in this world was a tapestry of enigmas, woven together by a destiny that beckoned her to protect it from the looming threat of Ururu. She alone was privy to the knowledge of their anticipated arrival and had committed herself to thwart their schemes. But now, as the specter of death cast its shadow over her, she realized that the life of her unexpected ally—the one who had empowered her to confront Ururu—was also hanging in the balance. Nusi understood that the opportunity to safeguard the town of Tiriba, and perhaps shape the destiny of an era that is yet to come, was on the verge of slipping from her grasp. Faced with the mounting adversity, she pondered the cruel twists of fate and how they seemed to conspire against her most fervent intentions.
As commander Silaini stood atop the great wall of the town, he was well aware that holding the wall had become futile, as the enemy forces had already reached its base. The remaining common soldiers feared descending from their high vantage point; their numbers were too few to confront the mass of the enemy below, and to do so would be tantamount to embracing their demise. However, Silaini was no ordinary soldier. As an echelon bender with the ability to soar through the skies, he could launch a formidable aerial assault on the enemy battalion below.
As he surveyed the field below, his resolve hardened. With the grace and ferocity of a predator, Commander Silaini launched himself into the air, transcending the confines of the wall. With a mere gesture, he conjured an arsenal of 500 ethereal spears, each one shimmering with latent power. As they descended upon the enemy, they exploded upon contact, each detonation sending a deadly wave of shrapnel to ravage the ranks of the invaders. Every thrust from the commander’s hand spelled doom for hundreds, his power a harrowing spectacle of death from above, crippling the enemy’s advance.
However, such a display of might would not go uncontested. The enemy, too, had their echelon benders, warriors of the sky capable of challenging Silaini’s aerial supremacy. Within moments of his initial attack, an enemy echelon bender rose to meet him, shattering the brief illusion of Silaini’s uncontested dominance.
Commander Silaini had anticipated a confrontation with the commander of the King’s Legion, the reputed leader of his adversary’s forces. Yet, to his surprise, it was not the commander who soared to challenge him, but the King of Fida himself. This was no ordinary foe; the King of Fida was renowned, a peerless echelon bender who had reached the zenith of his art, known as the Peak-of-Deba. The kingdom of Fida, under his lineage, had once been an expansive empire, its dominion stretching across the surrounding towns. Its decline had given rise to the independence of these towns, but the legacy of its power remained, embodied by its current king, a warrior of immense prowess.
As Commander Silaini turned to face this unexpected challenger, he couldn’t help but ponder the whereabouts and intentions of the King’s Legion commander. It was unusual for a leader of such stature to abstain from battle unless the situation was dire or unless he harbored ulterior motives. Silaini knew that underestimating this absence could prove fatal.
Despite the immediate threat posed by the King of Fida, Silaini’s strategic mind did not neglect the commander of the King’s Legion. He remained ever watchful for any sign of his involvement, aware that the tide of battle could turn on the actions of a single individual. And he was not alone in his vigilance; Armad, also shared Silaini’s focus on the absent commander. Their eyes, though not aligned in purpose, both sought to discern the role that the King’s Legion commander would ultimately play in the battle that raged below them.
Despite the potential threat posed by the commander of the King’s legion. Armad remained undeterred, continuing his relentless assault on the enemy forces without reservation. With a sense of urgency fueled by the heat of battle, Armad quickly accessed his dwindling reserves of explosives. He grasped the last of his stockpile, the bombs that he had been conserving, and with a determined fury, he began to launch them toward the teeming mass of his adversaries. The bombs rained down with precision, and in a remarkably brief interval, Armad had unleashed a barrage of 50 bombs that wreaked havoc in the enemy ranks. The gruesome aftermath was visible as far as the eye could see; enemy soldiers were dismembered, their body parts catapulting through the air in a macabre display of Armad’s ruthlessness.
Regrettably, the effectiveness of this explosive onslaught was short-lived. Armad’s arsenal had been significantly depleted, the bombs having been largely expended in the fierce engagements that preceded this one. All that remained of the weapons he had painstakingly acquired from foreign merchants were the swords, which he had previously distributed among his troops. However, these swords were not in the hands of every soldier; the supply had not been ample enough to arm the entire army. Despite this limitation, the warriors who wielded the blades did so with lethal proficiency. The enemy, desperate to breach the fortifications, found themselves stymied at the top of the wall, unable to advance. From their elevated positions, Armad’s soldiers executed the Moving-Sword-Strike—an advanced technique imbued with the essence of Pure Cultivation. This was not a mundane spell, easily disrupted by magical walls or white amulets. It was an unstoppable force, cleaving through magical defenses with ease, and it played a pivotal role in halting the enemy’s progress.
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The numerical superiority of the enemy could not be ignored, however. While the Moving-Sword strikes were devastating, the enemy’s sheer mass allowed them to adapt and press forward. A contingent of their force cleverly circumvented the zones protected by the swordsmen and managed to find a foothold on the wall. Here, crafty earthbenders among the enemy ranks had sculpted makeshift steps, exploiting the gaps in Armad’s defenses. These vulnerabilities were a direct consequence of Armad’s forces being far outnumbered. To maximize the impact of his limited troops, Armad had chosen not to disperse his forces thinly along the wall but to concentrate them in key positions. This strategy was born out of necessity; the ranks of his army included many inexperienced fighters who had yet to be tested by the fires of war.
Further complicating the situation were the battalions from Ai, who lacked the advantages of cultivation, and the local town militia, whose loyalty Armad questioned. The latter was a particular concern, as Armad feared that they might defect if they found themselves isolated from his direct oversight. This lack of trust in parts of his army forced Armad to keep a close watch over his troops and to make strategic decisions that prioritized the reliability and effectiveness of his combatants. In the face of such adversity, Armad was compelled to balance the immediate tactical needs of the battlefield with the strategic imperative to maintain the cohesion and morale of his forces. This delicate balancing act was crucial to holding the line against an enemy whose advantage lay in their overwhelming numbers and relentless pressure.
As the battle raged on and Armad’s troops were still fixated on defending the central section of the town’s wall, Armad became aware that danger was swiftly approaching from elsewhere. On a less guarded portion of the ramparts, enemy forces had already made their ascent. Approximately 300 soldiers had not only scaled the wall but had also unsheathed their weapons and were now stealthily converging towards the middle, where the town’s battalion was stationed. On another front, an ominous wave of another 600 adversaries was closing in. The impending clash was shaping up to be a brutal surround assault, threatening to overwhelm the town from every conceivable angle.
Amid this impending doom, Armad was calculating his next move, trying to conjure a strategy that would lead to the survival and triumph of his forces. His mind raced as he considered the limited options available to him.
In his desperation, he turned to the system. “System, is there nothing you can do?” he uttered aloud, more to himself than to the system, not expecting it to reply.
It is often in the depths of adversity that one comes to realize the true extent of their needs and the superfluities of life. In that defining moment, Armad recognized that the system was not just a tool, but his edge, the very thing that set him apart from others and bolstered his courage against the insurmountable odds posed by the King’s legion and his numerous foes. Had it not been for the system’s support, Armad would likely never have embarked on this perilous battle. It was this same system he now turned to as the complexities of war compounded around him.
To his profound surprise, the system responded, shattering Armad’s belief that it was a one-sided relationship. He had neglected the fact that they could communicate telepathically, and in the heat of battle, his shout went unheard, drowned out by the clashing of steel and the cries of warriors. Apart from Nusi, no one was close enough to hear him, and she was far too preoccupied with her strategic calculations to pay heed. She was intently working with her mortar and pestle, mixing a medicinal concoction that was different from previous preparations, as evidenced by the unique smoke wafting from the mixture.
“There is a way,” the system’s voice resonated within Armad’s mind, instilling a glimmer of hope in his heart.
“The system offers you a technique,” it revealed further, piquing Armad’s curiosity.
Upon hearing this, Armad’s expression turned from one of desperation to confusion and then to cautious optimism. “Can I truly purchase a technique from the system?” he thought to himself. The notion that the system could provide him with something beyond medicinal aid was a revelation. Until now, the system had been his ally in matters of healing and knowledge, but never had it offered a technique, a tool of war that could turn the tides in their favor. Armad quickly banished these thoughts, recognizing the urgency of the situation and the need for immediate action.
Without hesitation, he asked, “What kind of technique can you offer me, and at what price?” There was no time for bargaining or reflection. He knew all too well that every boon granted by the system came with a price. In the past, it demanded sustenance in the form of food in exchange for medicines and a heavy tribute to human lives for the sharing of its arcane knowledge. Armad understood that the price for this new offering would be significant, but he was prepared to pay it. Every moment spent in deliberation was a moment lost in the fight for survival. With the enemies closing in, Armad awaited the system’s response, ready to strike a deal that could potentially save his people and secure victory in the face of overwhelming odds.
The system delayed for approximately 10 seconds without responding. This delay only added to Armad’s growing frustration. Despite his strategic onslaught from all angles, the tide of the battle was still turning against him. Through his peripheral vision, Armad observed with dismay as the enemy forces managed to breach the town’s fortifications. They had ascended the walls and reached the position where his battalion initially stood their ground. Now, parts of his army were locked in brutal combat with the enemies. But the grim reality was that his troops were at a disadvantage; they were outnumbered by the enemy, who continued to swell in ranks. The situation was made even direr by the caliber of the assailants who had reached the pinnacle of the walls – they were not ordinary soldiers, but elite benders. Some ascended the steps with daunting speed, while others took to the skies, attempting to gain the upper hand by achieving aerial superiority.
Armad was painfully aware that if the current scenario persisted, he would soon witness the decimation of most of his forces. Elsewhere, another battlefront was witnessing similar scenes of intense confrontation. Although his troops had not yet been outmaneuvered, Armad was under no illusion; it was only a matter of time before they would be forced to retreat.
Turning his attention back to the silent System, Armad’s voice was tinged with urgency and a hint of desperation. “System, I am listening,” he said. “What techniques are at your disposal, and what price must be paid for their use?” he asked once again, hoping for a response.
The System maintained its silence a while longer, which could only be interpreted as it pondering the appropriate techniques to offer or calculating the cost of such knowledge.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to the Armad, the System’s voice broke the silence. “There are two techniques that you are capable of harnessing, given your current level of cultivation,” it intoned. “The first technique is known as ‘Robot,’ and the second is termed ‘Cultivational Thread.’ These are not arbitrary techniques; they have been discerned from the intricate patterns of your spirit and the unique essence flowing through your veins. The System can awaken one of these latent abilities within you. However, each technique comes with a price that must be reconciled. Which one do you wish to activate?”
Armad’s mind raced. The revelation that these techniques were embedded in his bloodline meant that the System had not concocted them from thin air. This suggested that, given enough time and introspection, he might be able to conceive and refine such techniques on his own. The System’s role, then, was to expedite this awakening process, a notion that did not arise from sheer happenstance. Yet, the lack of explanation left him in a quandary – how could he choose without understanding the full capabilities and applications of each technique? In the heat of battle, the right choice could mean the difference between victory and defeat. If the techniques proved irrelevant in the current strife, then their worth would be nullified. After all, a technique unapplied in the moment of need was as good as non-existent – especially if he failed to survive the onslaught.
“I demand a detailed explanation of each technique,” Armad stated, his voice laced with fury. He felt it was the System’s duty to provide comprehensive information about the techniques upfront, without the need for explicit requests. “Or is it the case,” he added with a biting edge to his words, “that even an explanation carries its separate price?”