CHAPTER 203: LEGENDS TAKE THE STAGE

Scorching rays burst forth from the heads of the Destroyer golems emerging beneath the walls of Selwyn. The beams, fired from multiple robots in synchronized patterns, crisscrossed the field and carved molten furrows into the earth as they swept toward Aleisterre's army.

"Deflect the beams! Magicians, cover us!"

The battlefield had descended into chaos far beyond the realm of orderly command. The soldiers fought independently, holding their lines with nothing but grit and instinct. Only the commanders, watching from above with a bird's-eye view, could still issue strategic commands. For everyone else, survival was down to teamwork and reflexes.

The ice-covered earth erupted. A thick wall of frozen stone surged from the ground as mages raised layered stone barricades, each nearly two meters thick, to intercept the laser beams before they struck the formation.

However, the power of those beams was monstrous. Within seconds, the temporary walls melted under their assault, crumbling into slag as the radiant lines of energy tore toward Aleisterre's army.

Selwyn's defenders, well-prepared for this maneuver, had already pulled back in advance—leaving behind only a few Deathsworn warriors to slow Aleisterre's response. Selwyn's aim was clear: to trap Aleisterre in the path of destruction.

"Barrier sigils! Shield formations! Redirect the impact—now!" a chorus of voices rang out among Aleisterre's vanguard. In an instant, their latent powers flared to life. These frontline warriors were no mere recruits, but full-fledged knights. The variety of defensive potentials they wielded transformed the battle completely.

Layered one atop another, their potentials formed overlapping shields—some visible, others shimmering like mirages in the heat.

The deadly rays penetrated several layers of shielding before ultimately veering off-course, their trajectories warped by the combined potentials in play. The damage to Aleisterre's formation was negligible.

Seizing the moment of opportunity, Aleisterre's heavy cavalry began surging forward from the rear.

Their warhorses whinnied, strengthened by the fighting spirit transmitted from the riders. With a sharp halt, hooves slammed into the snow-packed ground, and powerful muscles flexed, hurling the armored knights from their backs.

These warriors, clad in enchanted, rune-inscribed plate armor, were Aleisterre's finest. As they soared through the air, the sword sheaths crafted with mechanical precision ejected their massive greatswords directly into their waiting hands.

In a shimmer of magical circuitry, the runes etched into each blade flared briefly, infusing them with force. Dozens of knights raised their swords high, and with a single cry, brought them crashing down in unison.

Cones of force blasted outward and lifted a flurry of snow into the air, turning the battlefield white and blinding both friend and foe.

Shockwaves visible to the naked eye raced across the ground, rippling toward Selwyn's retreating forces. In mere seconds, they made contact.

"Gah! What the hell?!"

"My leg—watch out!"

"Hold your ground! Don't let it spread!"

Enchanted Strike: Forcequake—a martial technique that converted the user's impact into a rolling, physical shockwave across the terrain. Though not inherently lethal, it shattered bones and toppled soldiers, leaving disarray in its wake.

The goal wasn't destruction, but disruption. The scattered, dazed soldiers of Selwyn, combined with the swirling whiteout from displaced snow—this was precisely the opening the greatsword knights needed.

Through the falling snowstorm, their blades, still glowing faintly, cut into the fray. No one had seen them approach.

One sweeping strike, fueled by sheer force, cleaved through the first unfortunate soldier from Selwyn—armor, flesh, and bone all split from collar to hip.

The blade continued onward, meeting a hastily raised longsword. Metal screamed against metal.

The Selwyn soldier howled, veins bulging and knuckles white as he strained to withstand the blow—but Aleisterre's knight did not relent.

Behind the slits of his helm, the knight's gaze sharpened. Through the snow, a sound caught his ear—a distant whistle, rapidly growing louder.

A heavy boot lashed out mercilessly, slamming into the gut of a Selwyn soldier caught off and sending him hurtling backward into the swirling snow. He collided in mid-air with another Selwyn warrior attempting a sneak attack. Both crashed to the ground in a tangled heap.

The first soldier, struck square in the abdomen, hacked violently and spat blood, while the one behind him groaned, pinned beneath his comrade and too dazed to rise. They were mere knights-in-training, without the resilience of a full-fledged one.

Before either could recover, a heavily armored Alaisterre warrior surged forward. Without pause, he raised his greatsword and brought it down in a sweeping arc, cleaving through both men in a single, brutal stroke.

Amid the cacophony of explosions, screams, and the clash of steel, the knight's keen senses caught a rapidly intensifying whistle through the air.

Something was approaching. It was fast and large. Without hesitation, he yanked his sword free from the corpse of a foe and raised it, one hand gripping the hilt, the other bracing against the flat of the blade. No time to dodge—he had to block!

A colossal bolt, thick as a man's wrist, was fired at him from one of the ballistae atop the city walls. The bolt crashed into his blade with a thunderous impact.

Roaring, the knight lowered his stance, sliding backward over the snow-covered ground under the sheer force of the blow. He was pushed back over ten meters before the momentum finally dissipated.

He breathed heavily, feeling a sharp ache bloom through his arms. His strength had taken a significant hit.

He summoned his fighting spirit, letting its energy flow through his limbs to dull the weakness. Not yet. The battle was far from over.

Just as he charged forward again, a searing beam of heat split through the snowstorm, cutting a path straight toward him. He was directly in its way.

The enchanted ray, fired by a Selwyn Destroyer-class automaton, swept across his chest. Not even his heavy armor could withstand its devastating power. Molten iron splattered from the impact point, revealing a gruesome wound beneath—charred flesh, exposed viscera, and blackened bone.

Death was certain. With the last reserve of his formidable strength, the knight hurled his greatsword toward the enemy lines. Then, his shattered body collapsed.

The greatsword spun through the air like a thunderbolt, decapitating an unfortunate Selwyn soldier before embedding itself deep into the capital's city wall.

Beneath the wall, a magician operating the Destroyer automaton wiped cold sweat from his brow. The sword had nearly cleaved him in two.

Recovering quickly, the mage resumed his control over the war machine. He redirected the automaton's fire toward the densest concentration of Aleisterre's troops—cutting down some Selwyn soldiers caught in the crossfire, but inflicting even greater losses on the enemy.

Moments later, several of the floating Magician's Eyes flickered and went dark, moments after they displayed something blue zipping through the air and shattering them.

The mage frowned and muttered under his breath, a chill creeping down his spine. Something was wrong. He took a step back, placing the Destroyer-class automaton between himself and the danger. Its formidable defenses would shield him—or so he hoped.

But that was a mistake. High above, drifting silently through the storm, descended a cluster of dull, crystal spheres. They glowed faintly, hidden amidst the flurry—almost invisible.

A closer look would reveal poorly crafted low-grade mana crystals that pulsed with astonishingly dense magical energy.

Though they lacked physical power, even a slight touch from them could destabilize the magic patterns in fragile constructs.

A rain of these crystals struck the ground, bouncing off the Destroyer's armored plating. Some shattered on impact.

The mage stared, baffled by the strange crystals. Their purpose eluded him.

Yet instinct urged him to step away, and he commanded the Destroyer to reposition as well.

He realized his mistake too late.

The moment he transmitted the command—sending out a faint magical signal—the crystals responded.

The crystals activated upon absorbing just a trace quantity of mana.

Aleisterre knew that Selwyn had access to a significant number of Destroyer-class automata, thanks to their early alliance with the gnomes. Naturally, Aleisterre had prepared countermeasures.

The circuits inscribed upon the mana crystals flared with light as they overloaded in an instant. They cracked open, releasing focused magical shockwaves. One such crystal alone didn't necessarily amount to much—but dozens, perhaps hundreds, unleashed together? The shockwaves overlapped and amplified into something far more dangerous: a resonant magical echo.

The echo rippled through the air and struck the Destroyer. Its thick armor was useless against this kind of internal disruption. The resonance penetrated deep within, reaching its mana core.

Then came chaos. The core, destabilized by the sudden resonance, overloaded. Its internal mana pathways shorted and detonated.

Quite some time ago, the professors at the Stevenson Academy of Magic had dissected a captured Destroyer and designed a precise countermeasure against it: these crystal spheres. Rather than penetrate their armor, they turned the automata's own power against themselves.

The Destroyer exploded in a blinding flash of arcane fire. The magician nearest to it was vaporized—no bones, no ash, nothing left.

Nearby soldiers suffered a similar fate. They were either obliterated or left scorched, stunned, and bleeding, their bodies stricken by the concussive shockwaves.

"What—? Gah!"

One Selwyn soldier was unlucky enough to be struck by flying debris. A chunk of armor tore through his thigh, shattering bone and severing muscle. He collapsed clutching the wound, horror in his eyes as he turned toward the blast site.

There hadn't been an enemy bombardment. How could such a devastating explosion have occurred?

And more importantly—would the wall hold?

His gaze shifted to the capital's stone bulwark. The explosion had left a massive crater in its outer layer, exposing something white and twisted beneath: bone.

Selwyn's necromancers had long since fused skeletal structures into the stone ramparts, giving the walls an unnatural resilience and a degree of regenerative strength.

What might once have cracked and collapsed now held, if barely.

"Thank the gods..." He breathed out in relief—only to glance back at the battlefield and freeze.

The snow had fallen, revealing the true scale of the clash.

Aleisterre's forces had already advanced to a frightening extent. Supported by powerful magicians, the heavily armored vanguard pressed forward with terrifying momentum. Selwyn's defenses crumbled before them.

"H-How...? I thought Selwyn's soldiers were far superior!"

The battlefield offered no pity to those slow of thought.

A fireball dropped from the sky and detonated beside him. His body was reduced to cinders, leaving behind only melted snow and fading flame.

"Charge! Push through!" The Aleisterre army, with spells bolstering speed and strength, surged with overwhelming force. It wasn't just because of numbers alone—rather, its army was composed of elite soldiers drawn from the kingdom's capital and heartlands. Their ferocity turned the tide.

Just as the Aleisterre front pressed beneath the city walls, a thunderous howl tore across the battlefield.

Dozens of soldiers were ripped apart in an instant, eviscerated by talons too fast to see. Blood and viscera splashed across the snow.

The unseen beast rampaged through Aleisterre's ranks, carving a gory trail of slaughter.

And above it all, a black sun hung suspended in the stormy sky.

Selwyn's legends had entered the fray: a giant beast, and a black sun.