High Fort stood atop mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
Beneath its mighty walls, human and demon dead were piled indiscriminately, the dark-red blood soaking the earth already congealed.
Among them, the especially massive gray-green troll corpses were particularly conspicuous, lying like hills beside shattered siege engines.
In this meat-grinder of a siege, even trolls famed for regeneration fell like harvested wheat.
The human defenses painstakingly built below the walls were riddled with holes after wave upon wave of assault. Several key points had nearly been torn open multiple times.
In the end, only relentless magical bombardment from the rear magic towers had barely held the line and forced the demons back once more.
Now, craftsmen and mages frantically repaired the fortifications with this hard-won breathing room bought by lives.
But Alama knew this was no long-term solution.
Facing simultaneous assaults from three demon armies, even High Fort, famed for impregnability, was like a lone boat in a storm, under unprecedented pressure.
Worse…
Alama’s hand pressed hard against his left waist. Between his fingers, tendrils of ink-like shadow energy tangled with soft healing white light, sending waves of piercing pain and icy numbness.
This was the bitter price of his carelessness.
He remembered Sigmund’s hateful fat face.
That treacherous bastard had deliberately played the indulgent glutton, reasonably retreating again and again in prior clashes, successfully lowering Alama’s guard.
Until the last pursuit, when he revealed his fangs!
Ambushed by three demon dukes, one of whom was the unfamiliar Velariss.
Velariss’s attacks were bizarre. In the chaos, she had emerged from his shadow and literally bitten a chunk of armor and flesh from his waist with her teeth.
If not for the loyal Ironwood Knights shielding him with their bodies, and Sigmund inexplicably muttering “where’s the honey” before leaving alone at the critical moment, Alama might truly have died in that ambush.
He now understood why Sigmund had spared no expense sealing the border.
But he couldn’t understand.
According to all intelligence, the infamous “mad demon” Velariss should still be on the eastern front facing the dwarves of Bronze Mountain.
How had she appeared out of nowhere beneath High Fort to ambush him with Sigmund?
Had something happened with the dwarves?
The mystery was soon solved.
An intelligence officer rushed up. “Lord Alama, urgent report from the dwarves! A massive elemental uprising has engulfed a quarter of their territory in war. They’re fully occupied and can no longer contain the Empire!”
Alama demanded, “Elemental uprising? When did it start?”
“About half a month ago!”
“Half a month?!” Alama’s voice rose in fury. “Why is such critical intelligence only reaching us now?!”
The officer’s face was helpless. “My lord, you know the Scarecrow Abyss lies between us and the dwarves; it blocks all magical communication! The dwarves also sealed the news at first. By the time our scouts learned the truth and tried to report, they ran into an interference array the elves suddenly activated across the entire border! In the end… it was only thanks to the Puchis’ no-fall trait that they barely crossed the abyss. The report only arrived last night!”
“Dwarves! Elves! At this critical moment of life and death!” Alama slammed his fist on the table, making the map scrolls jump.
But anger quickly gave way to deeper thought.
“No! If the dwarves have completely lost threat, the Empire’s eastern border pressure drops sharply. They could have sent far more troops here… Why only Velariss’s single ducal force?”
Unless…
Alama’s face changed dramatically. He spun and sprinted toward the communication room.
He had to warn Brennus on the northwestern front immediately; danger might be coming!
Yet the moment he yanked open the door, he collided with another messenger crawling frantically inside. The man’s face was ashen, shaking like a leaf, as if doomsday had come.
“Lord Duke! Disaster! The northwestern front has been crushed!”
“The west saw a demon war beast! Sword Saint Airaven slew it, but when it died, the hidden blood-clan prince Visarius struck from within! Lord Airaven is gravely wounded! The army routed. Duke Brennus is leading the remnants… already retreating to Threehill City!”
“Threehill City?!”
Alama felt blood rush to his head, aggravating the pain in his waist.
Threehill City was only days from High Fort; it was practically the last proper defensive line.
If Threehill City fell, High Fort would be caught between two armies with no hope of holding.
Once High Fort, the northern gate, was wide open, imperial armies could pour straight in. The flatlands ahead had no more natural barriers. The United Kingdom’s fall would be all but certain.
Even now, vast southwestern regions, though not yet flying demon banners, were effectively lost; the demons simply hadn’t bothered occupying them while chasing Brennus’s remnants.
But it wasn’t checkmate yet.
Alama took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the pain.
He swept his gaze over the two terrified faces and asked in a hoarse but clear voice, “What about Oath City? Any word?”
“Y-yes!” The messenger handed over a transcribed note.
Alama scanned it quickly.
Besides Brennus’s defeat, it detailed arrangements for remaining forces.
In short: the situation had reached do-or-die. The United Kingdom was throwing everything in.
Grand Duke Lorenzo of Oath City was personally leading legions and mage corps, marching day and night to reinforce High Fort.
Brennus’s remnants would receive full Church support.
It didn’t specify how one knight order and priests could stop the demons, but Alama had no choice but to trust they could help.
The note’s final line was Grand Duke Lorenzo’s near-pleading tone: “Until reinforcements arrive, High Fort… must hold!”
“As if you needed to tell me…”
BOOM!
The ground shook. The demons were attacking again.
Back on the walls, Alama locked eyes with Sigmund across the field.
That guy, clearly believing victory assured, stood boldly between the armies, casually eating honey from a jar spoonful by spoonful!
Alama clenched his fist. He would never surrender easily!
He drew his sword and pointed it down at the enemy, voice ringing across the walls:
“All forces! To battle!”
(End of Chapter)
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