Chapter 130 - Defiance (Patreon)

<---Chapter 129 - Siege Economy| Table of Contents |Chapter 131 - Mage--->

"Hail to the heroes of Ocra!" Civilians cheered as Masir and his men were lauded with praise and song from the euphoric citizens, their belief buoyed by the resolution of the fort's garrison that showed the Yual war machine could be stopped, just as it had been in the war of independence. Countless, witless conscripts were showered with kisses from aspiring ladies seeking security, along with petals dispersed from the rooftops. The award ceremony was grand, with Mornero using it all as an invaluable propaganda victory.

Though the state-run and city-run publishing industry had no shortage of valor, the Versians were acutely aware that Ocra could be the first major city to fall, and certainly within the targets of Count Leon. As long as the fortress network stood strong, any foray into Versia could be hampered by continuous skirmishes and forays. The stern resistance of the Ghosts and other Forts had won time, delaying the Yual forces tremendously.

"It is thanks to our prior preparations and defensive strategies that such a victory was capable. Versian solidarity is invincible, and it is you, the people of Ocra, who have carved out this resounding success!" Mornero announced at the front of the temple, addressing a crowd gathered in front of him while Nest bodyguards covered him from all angles. The surrounding rooftops were littered with undercover Nest guards, all ensuring that whatever happened at the Grand Exhibition did not happen again.

"With this defense, the Yual advance has been halted." Mornero clenched his fist as light capturers filmed him from various vantage points, recording it to be disseminated to the rest of the state. "Our enemies will not rest till they see us capitulate, and I swear on the colors of Versia that I shall never surrender, just as your stoic defense has not! With the time bought by our valiant garrison, we will attempt to resupply Ocra as quickly as we can!"

Through the ceremony, Mornero earned immense goodwill from the people, and the loyalty among the citizens to the Versian government increased rapidly. Newspapers and publishers wrote fanatically about the award ceremony and the valiant conscripts, waxing lyricals about how simple men voluntarily 'left' their civilian life in order to fulfill their duties as soldiers, promoting devotion, courage, and resolve, as well as the greatness of Mornero and of course, the efficiency of Harrison Industries and their construction of the forts. "If it were not for our genius of the decade building the forts, we would not have survived the first day!" A patriotic journalist exclaimed.

"As a reward for his valor and courage, Sergeant Masir is hereby promoted to fort commander of Fort 5. He has demonstrated remarkable talent and tenacity in the face of unfavorable odds!" Mornero concluded the ceremony by pinning an officer badge on Masir's sleeve and conferring a military salute to fanfare.

Masir smiled and returned the salute, happy that he got the position that he wanted. Furthermore, he could now travel freely between Ocra and the fort, meaning he did not have to risk his life. He accepted the position, and soon after the award ceremony, he returned to the fort, where his surviving men cheered him on, lifting him up and having a feast with the mammoth hog meat from Desham, smuggled in on resupply wagons that were attempting to rush into Ocra now. New conscripts from Ocra were also replenishing the ranks, mostly forced onto the refugees who still dwelled in new slums behind the city walls and did not have the means to leave Ocra. The fort was now bolstered to have five hundred conscripts, three dozen of them marked as logistical and medical workers, along with another hundred laborers.

Despite the assurance from the President and military command of the stalwart security of Ocra, supplies still became a critical issue. Reports of ambushed supply convoys began to skyrocket as Yual skirmishers continued to envelop the city, cutting road after road. Much of the supplies intended for Ocra were lost to the enemy, putting a dampener on the initial wave of joy at the award ceremony. Still, the city no longer held back supplies from its outer lying forts, resupplying all eight forts, though it was barely enough to persist for two weeks.

The trickle of supplies being hauled by workers into the fort despite the grandeur of the ceremony only showed how bad the situation was for Masir's men. "This is a farce! Didn't they say they were going to resupply faster?" Wez complained as he paced the commander's office in Fort 5 furiously, having recovered from the battle.

"If the field army lingers in Ocra any longer, the city could only last for maybe a month. They are stealing too many resources from the garrison." Culo remarked as he went over the inventory of goods that were now afforded to the fort. He had learnt of General Verian's plan through Masir, but found it suspicious at best. Now that the ruse has failed on her end, what is the next step?

As the days wore on, the fort continued to conduct an active defense, sending out forward squads to ambush and deter any Yual scouts trying to poke at the defenses of the perimeter. The raging wildfire began to wear out, and observers once again began to report that the Yual army was advancing once more, its divisions spreading out. Small scuffles and firefights were still occurring throughout the forest as Culo and Masir continuously tried to slow down the impending advance in the hopes of helping Ocra survive longer. Each day was filled with death and wounds, supplies steadily dwindling as the garrisons remained on high alert. A flurry of labor dispatched from the city continued to build more and more fortifications, with even more trenches and interlocking defense established, creating overlaps between artillery fire. Point defense turrets were set up on every fort, reducing the impact of the barrages at the expense of rapidly consuming arcite fuel.

However, a week after the award ceremony, a piece of startling news was announced throughout the city, the movement catching even Culo off-guard. "The field army has already retreated!" A garrison commander exclaimed with shock. Civilians were caught completely off guard when an order to evacuate was delivered that very morning, offering only a handful of slots on the baggage train trailing the field army. When the city's garrison went door to door that same morning, almost none of the civilians were packed. Many had to rush, only packing a few clothes in a bag before being herded out on foot, desperately trying to catch up with the wagons that were already fleeing.

Not everyone was allowed to evacuate, only those rich enough to pay the extreme prices for the slots to the garrison to allow them to flee the city. Many paid for their children, sending them off to an unknown fate. Countless missed the evacuation, either having no money to pay or were refugees dodging garrison patrols, afraid of being drafted up to be either labor or essential workers. By the end of the day, only a quarter of Ocra's original population had left, the rest were now officially trapped. Rumors abounded among the remaining conscripts and city dwellers, predicting anything from a cataclysmic defeat to a year-long siege. The city commanders who were also left behind began to reassure the city at large, issuing posters and light-thrower films, reminding them of the valiant defense. "General Verian has requested us to serve as an anchor of Versian defense! We will draw the Yual forces to us while our field army reorganizes and prepares to strike back in full force! Hold the lines! Anxiety and despair should not be in a Versian's heart, especially one of Ocra. For the fortresses of Ocra remain strong and powerful."

Damaged cannons and hospitalized casualties from the first battle, who were too ill to evacuate, were the only reminders of the field army when they left. Half-empty storehouses and depots marked the field's army evacuation of supplies, leaving the entire city with only a month's worth of supplies in total, following regular rationing protocols. The field army's departure was too large to miss. With the news of the field army leaving Ocra, Yual forces began to be far more bolder, pushing harder against the active defenses run by Culo. Within three days, reports of forces from Kregol were beginning to encroach upon the perimeter from the west, merging up with Count Leon's forces and beginning to encircle Ocra in its entirety, cutting off every single land route and waterway route into the city. A few Yual divisions broke off, chasing down the field army in the hopes of inflicting some damage, but for the residents of Ocra, it was as if darkness had now truly enveloped the land.

The continued barrage only intensified as the bulk of the Yual forces began to approach the city, coming within firing range. As Culo peered over the edge of the fortress, the divisions of Count Leon seemed to stretch out all across the horizon, flags flying the Yual Dominion's and Count Leon's colors dominating the landscape as they spread out, forming a blockade of Ocra. Each day saw the inching forward of lines, skirmishes becoming more brutal over advantageous terrain. Each fort commander had their men sortie out to try and resist the advance, but it was a futile effort; the main Yual forces were far more well-supplied and trained compared to the forward assault force.

The nerves of the men were wracked with fear and tension, and every hour, they heard the reports of more and more Yual forces crossing the lines. [We lost forward observation post D3!] A scout reported to Culo over the arctech radio. [No response from the squad stationed there!]

"Understood. Have squads deploy to the foxholes along the south to stall the advance." Culo had no more emotion left to give for conscripts who died under his command, merely removing another stone piece from his map that marked the squads in his control. Even he was starting to wear thin, the harrowing ordeal taking its toll on everyone in the fort. However, there was still hope that they could weather the storm. While the field army was no longer around, they were not the only combatants in this war. "Any word from Desham?"

"Last I heard, they have dispatched an expeditionary force into the Keru Forest. That was two days ago." Lisa replied.

Culo sighed. "We have bought so much time for them. Let's hope they arrive sooner than late-"

[Enemy! Enemy approaching! Two divisions!] The same scout from before blurted out into the radio with urgency.

Two divisions?! Culo had originally felt that the number of men under his control was enough to fend off any assault, but for Count Leon to dedicate two entire divisions meant he was outnumbered four to one. "Radio the other forts, ask for assist-"

[Fort 2 under attack by two divisions! Requesting reinforcements from the city garrisons!]

[Fort 8 is being pushed by forces from Kregol! We need help, now!]

[Fort 6, under attack! We're taking heavy losses, our point defense turrets were taken out!]

"Rally the men, now! Man every damn gun!" The fort kicked into action, just as the never-ending barrage of artillery shelling picked up in intensity, overwhelming the fort's point defense turrets. Green arcia bolts lanced across the sky from the fort's rooftop, but failed to intercept a few that made their way through. Conscripts cowered in foxholes and trenches alike, showered in dirt as they scrambled to mobilize, grabbing their gear and weapons, preparing to face the enemy.

Ahead, the same sight greeted Culo from beyond the now burnt-out forest - armored wagons, Yual soldiers, and Yual knights, except this time, he could not see the end of it. We held out before, we can hold out again! "Men of Ocra, to arms!"

The fighting lasted the entire day, the burning fires caused by the siege glistening in the distance. Yual forces continuously rotated throughout the day, keeping up the pressure, but despite the intense fighting, the perimeter of Ocra was unable to be broken even after twelve hours. As night began to fall, the Yual forces retreated, replenishing their ranks and restoring their ammunition from supply camps set up all along Ocra. Patrol squads scoured the perimeter, checking the now burnt forest floor for any signs of movements, though ash and singed leaves were all that remained. The lights of the Raktor camp flickered in the distance, with sounds of chatting and laughter as the Yual soldiers rested for the night. Despite the stringent nature of the job, the patrolling Yual guards were far from enthused about their roles, their arctech handheld lanterns casting a glow across blackened stumps that were the same everywhere.

"I heard they were delivering alcohol tonight." One of the patrollers remarked to his partner, trying to relieve their boredom as they patrolled on the opposite side of the camp, away from Ocra.

"To the officers, you mean? Fuckers flouting the prohibition law just cause they are outside of the empire!" His partner scowled.

"No, I heard it was being delivered to everyone, regardless of rank!"

"What?! Then we better get going!" His partner started to run, only for him to be grabbed back.

"Are you fucking insane? We can't just abandon our post like that?"

"Idiot, no one would give two shits if we're gone. Who the hell is going to attack us from this direction - we have the entire Ocra encircled! If anything, anyone making it through our blockade to come around this side would have to encounter others first."

"But what if the field army-"

"Argh, you're hopeless, I'm going to-" The partner's words were interrupted by the sudden rustling of twigs and bushes littered around the forest, trees swaying slightly as though a wind had passed through, branches creaking. The pair quickly shone their lantern in the direction of the sound, though they could only seen whittled bushes and leftover foxholes from the Ocra's garrison attempt at active defence.

"What was that? Is it the field army?!" The patroller panicked, but his partner grapsed him by the shoulder firmly.

"No idea, but get your weapon ready."

They exchanged nods, carefully raising their Aspis MK1 repeaters, scanning the area, and moving up to a suspicious foxhole, peering inside only to see unburied Versian conscripts, his bloated body mangled and eyes wide open in fear, flies already starting to sprout from his punctured skin.

"By Yual..." The patroller cursed under his breath, averting his gaze. They continued to sweep, but did not find anything else suspicious. "Must have been a rat or squirrel or something."

"Yeah, let's get back on our route so we can drink. Maybe we can finish before-"

A sudden shadow fell onto his partner, an engraved blade driving straight through the top of his skull all the way till it reached his lungs. Before the patroller could react, the shadow kicked off his partner, pulling out the blade and slicing at the patroller's neck with precision. The two dead corpses barely hit the floor, the shadow catching them before they fell. They were thrown mercilessly into the foxhole, joining the bloated Versian conscript as starving maggots squirmed over, ecstatic at the new delivery of meat.

The shadow flicked the blood and strings of meat off the engraved blade, twirling it in her hands before she sheathed it, breaking into a sprint. She moved from burnt tree to tree, keeping herself hidden as much as possible. Avoiding other patrol squads, she kept her body low to the ground, trying to discern their patrol pattern. Waiting with patience at a ditch just a few dozen meters away from the camp's fenced wall, she observed the movements carefully.

As soon as she found an opening, she sprinted forward, her steps light and making minimal sounds before leaping over the fenced wall and landing quietly on the other side. The brightly lit camp was a stark difference from the darkness of the forest, with arctech lanterns set up continuously along the makeshift streets separated by tents. Right now, she found herself directly behind one such tent, filled to the brim with crates and supplies. She snuck around to the front, making sure no one noticed her as she entered the tent.

Within the tent were countless crates of uniforms and other essential goods. Soap, underwear, gas masks, helmets, and garments were all packed tightly into their various containers, along with a simple table in the middle where the soldier in charge of logistics was clearly missing.

[Sasha, progress?] A voice came over the telepathic channel, entering her brain directly.

[Found a logistic tent. Unsure of how many.]

[Read off the supplies list.]

Sasha grabbed a list on the table and read it off to Kyle, who jotted the information down.

[Good. You have an hour before the patrol squad's disappearance is going to be reported. Get moving.]

Sasha nodded slightly, reaching into a pouch on her belt and taking out a modified arctech explosive, the engravings far different from the usual ones used. She found the very center of the crates, stuffing the explosive deep within its contents before changing out her own clothes for a uniform. It was hard to find one that fit, with most of the uniforms designed for larger men, but she eventually found one that wasn't too bulky. Putting on a helmet, she stuffed her white hair underneath its bulky exterior, preventing it from being spotted beyond. Her face already had Haui's makeup applied, masking the veins on her mouth and engravings on her neck.

Just as Sasha was about to leave the tent, she suddenly heard footsteps approaching the tent, along with angry shouting. She quickly dived into the crates, finding a hiding spot in an empty crate and closing the lid. She breathed slowly, making sure she did not make a single sound, while the source of the footsteps got closer and closer.

“What the fuck did I say about skiving? You’re part of the damn military now, you understand? Not part of the skiving unit! This entire fucking row of logistics tents will be even more important than your wife for the next few days, you hear me?!”

“SIR, YES, SIR!”

“Don’t even try to skive halfway through – I’ll be back.”

Sasha bid her time, listening to movements outside the crate before she was sure there was only one soldier in the tent, the soldier having been admonished for abandoning his post.

"Fucking stuckups, I won't be able to drink anything if I'm stuck here!" The soldier grumbled as he sat down behind the table, before noticing something weird about the tent. "Strange, don't remember that crate being there."

He got off his seat, moving forward closer and closer to Sasha's crate. The moment he was within range, Sasha lunged out of the crate, pushing the lid off and grabbing the soldier's head with both hands. In a single powerful twist, she cracked his entire neck, severing the spine with force as he collapsed haplessly onto the ground; Sasha used her arms to hold the body and prevent it from alerting anyone outside.

Hiding the body in the crate, she peeked out of the tent, observing her surroundings before leaving quickly, trying to map out the camp from within. As she walked briskly through the tents, a few passing Yual soldiers looked at her funnily, mocking her. "Look at that terrified soul, wearing a helmet even in camp." One of the soldiers laughed while Sasha brushed past him. "Don't you know the helmet makes you dumber?"

Sasha ignored the taunt, not that she could reply to him anyway. She moved along, making herself as inconspicuous as possible, finding even more logistical tents and planting arctech explosives within the next hour. Thankfully, most of the soldiers that would have been around were enticed by the alcohol in a large tent at the very center of the camp that served as a mess hall. Despite the chance of other soldiers spotting her out, Sasha lingered around the edges, carefully picking up stray conversations from the rowdy soldiers.

Unlike the despair faced by the Ocra Garrison, the Yual soldiers had a far higher morale than ever, knowing that they had the upper hand. "I tell you, they will crack by the end of the week!" A Yual knight swirled a flask of alcohol, drinking heartily as he lazed on a wooden bench in the middle of a large mess hall tent. Here, Yual soldiers ate well-prepared rations and were better equipped, having a continuous, uninterrupted supply line from Raktor to the Keru Forest.

"Yeah, those Versian idiots don't stand a chance. Fort 4 will be the first to fall." Another Yual knight nodded his head in agreement. "Even if those stupid flying trees come back, we'll be ready for it. We even got a mage from the Duke; there's no way we're losing!"

"Have any of you talked to the mage? I never seen one before." A wide-eyed Yual recruit spoke up, part of the knight squad, though he was relegated to handling the logistics instead.

"Of course, you haven't seen them; most don't get to see them ever in their entire lives! There's only a handful in the Yual Dominion - I heard they are able to see and feel arcia energy directly!" The knight slapped the recruit on the back heartily. "You weren't there at the frontlines; the sheer power he wields can change the tide of the battle in an instant."

"Then shouldn't we be using him to crack the siege? We're losing men to the frontal assault." The recruit asked confusedly.

"That's why you'll always be a recruit, kid. You never show your trump card unless you absolutely need it! Maybe tomorrow, Count Leon will decide to bring him out to end the siege faster!"

[Sir, there's a mage in Count Leon's employ.] Sasha immediately reported.

[Use the modified arctech radio, and get it into Count Leon's tent.]

[Understood.] Sasha could already spot Count Leon's tent from afar, a well-embellished and adorned one flying his house colors. A dozen Yual knights stood guard outside his tent, forcing Sasha to keep a wide berth to prevent being spotted. As she racked her brains on how to proceed, she noticed a series of carts being hauled towards the tent from the mess hall, kegs of alcohol, and cartons of food being brought for Count Leon and his generals.

She nonchalantly walked up to a cart at the mess hall that had yet to be loaded up, placing the same modified arctech radio Kyle had used in the Grand Exhibition into a carton of food, stuffing it right into the grain to prevent it from being detected. Leaving quickly and watching from a distance, the modified arctech radio began to pick up the conversation in the tent directly to Kyle.

Despite the clearly favored position and lively mood of the camp, the atmosphere in Count Leon's tent was far more tense. "What do you mean that the Duke is refusing to send me more mages! The pride and honor of Raktor is at stake here!" Count Leon roared, flinging a glass of wine that shattered as it hit a wooden pillar holding up the luxurious tent's fabric, the red wine spluttering over a ancient oakwood table, staining the battle plans and maps.

Two servants scrambled to clean up the mess, while Count Leon's five generals were all muted in silence, not daring to speak up and earn Count Leon's ire. However, eventually one of the generals began to speak up, risking his life. "Before the beginning of the war, you had an agreement with the Duke that there would be no war-"

"And I'm supposed to adhere to that when Harrison attacked me first?! He framed me for the death of General Javel, painting me as a warmonger! Fuck the Duke's agreement, I had an agreement with Harrison, and he broke it first!" Count Leon slammed the table, causing pen and ink to rattle violently. "If any other count were to be attacked like this, they would have collapsed immediately, and their Duke brought to court in Tryas!"

"Still, the Duke's letter is still an official request to cease the war and come to terms-"

"There will be no terms with that Versian backstabbing bitch!" Count Leon shot back. "Not until I hold his entire country in my grasp and squeeze the life out of him myself! Do none of you remember that we were almost captured in Tenar just two months ago?!"

"But without the Duke's mages, just the one we have now is barely enough to end the war. In the last war of independence, Versia alone had two mages. If they were to come out..." Another general offered his opinion, emboldened by the first.

"No one has seen them since that war, and they haven't appeared even for the Grand Exhibition. I suspect they might not be on good terms with Harrison and President Mornero." A third general countered.

"Of course, they are not - these traitors have barely an ounce of noble blood in them, no matter what they might claim! They have violated every code of honor and deal I have offered them. This was supposed to be a simple matter that I was willing to overlook in exchange for territories at the border, but they struck first! Forget it!" Count Leon waved his hands angrily. "Duke or not, this war will be considered our own then."

"The Duke will not be pleased." An unknown man spoke as he entered the tent, wielding a strange staff shaped like a lamppost, a small little flame burning at the top while he strode in. His face was eerie, as though he had suffered countless burns before, the skin red and rash-ridden while he barely had any hair left, the top of his head smooth. He wore a mage's garments: long flowing robes that were purple and yellow, the colors of the Duke. However, beneath the robes was a heavy metal armor, much like an arctech knight's. The five generals immediately stood up and bowed, but Count Leon did not, merely glaring at the newcomer with anger.

"Not pleased that his Counts are standing up for their own pride? Ridiculous." Count Leon scoffed.

"Ignoring the Duke's request could lead to a dispute in Tryas, for which you will be summoned too." The mage spoke slowly and calmly, treating the Count as if he were a petulant child.

Count Leon squinted, his voice simmering with rage. "Then so be it. Let the other nobles laugh at him for letting Versia trample all over his domain like a coward!" He spat before rising up and closing in on the mage. "And don't forget your role - you are now under my employ, and you are a mage, not a noble."

"I understand." The mage replied stoically, before his eyes glinted with arcia energy, spotting something strange in the cartons of food that had been delivered. He could see arcia energy being transmitted outwards, far into the distance beyond the camp. Without saying a word, he suddenly rushed forward, closing the distance to the carton in just two strides before smashing the sharp end of his staff into the carton, revealing the damaged arctech radio, fizzling out.

[Sir, the radio has been spotted!]

[Get out. Now!]

The camp surged into a frenzy as reports of a possible intruder began to spread throughout the ranks, forcing the half-drunk soldiers to scramble about. Sasha hurriedly hid in a tent, pulling an arctech device with a single button. Before the soldiers could organize themselves, she hit the button, triggering the explosives in the countless logistics tents, depots, and storehouses.

A ring of fire erupted from the various locations, surging and engulfing the flammable tents and nearby wooden structures. Some tents held flamethrower liquid used by the armored wagons, bursting out in sparks that shot across the night sky. The fire should be good enough to damage the supplies. Sasha began to plan her escape, but she could suddenly feel the hairs on her neck stand up as the temperature around the camp suddenly began to plummet, a cold gust blowing through, much unlike the weather just a minute before.

Sasha didn't look back, running towards the same part of the fenced wall that she entered from, the fire raging all around her. Her movements were like a blur as she pumped her legs as fast as he could, rushing past stunned soldiers, rooted in confusion at the sudden ambush attack. As she reached a large bonfire, which was once the first logistic tent she had entered, she spotted a strange phenomenon shooting out above her, arcing along the air. Strange, it's like a thread of ice...

The moment the thread of ice hit the bonfire, it was as if the flames were sucked into a vacuum, the sudden temperature drop causing the threatening flames to dissipate, the heatwave evaporating like it never existed. Sasha turned back in horror as all around the camp, threads of ice were arcing towards each of the burning tents, putting them out one by one in a cascade. A majority of the supplies had survived the fire, forcing Sasha to retrieve another explosive from her pouch, planning to spark another fire if she could.

As soon as she threw it toward a nearby tent, yet another thread of ice shot towards it from afar, touching the explosive midair. Within a split second, the explosive froze instantly, the water vapor in the air around it encasing it in ice as it clattered onto the ground. Sasha didn't have time to think, her instincts kicking in as she quickly ducked before a thread of ice shot past her head, slamming into the fenced wall behind her, frostbite spreading rapidly along the wood.

She quickly unsheathed her falchion, swinging it at one more thread of ice, attempting to cut it down. Instead, the thread of ice wrapped around the blade, the undeterred cold spreading rapidly through the metal and causing it to plummet in temperature. Her hand began to chill, the gnawing cold spreading into her fingers, though she did not let go of the sword, immediately blocking a frontal strike of a lamppost staff.

The impact of the staff smashed against the now brittle runic falchion, the metal unable to hold together as it snapped in two, sending Sasha tumbling back across the floor, while more threads of ice snaked across the air, trying to hit her as she rolled away, dodging the incoming attacks. She hurriedly recovered into a fighting position but soon found the ice also spreading from the base of the staff, frosted lines darting straight at her with seemingly no end. Before she could evade the attack, the frost captured her boots, ensuring them in ice as the cold began to seep into her feet, rooting her down with no chance of escape.

Sasha was not out of hope yet, using her empowered engraved arm and imbuing herself with strength. With a clenched fist, she pummelled the ice blocks around her boots, breaking them apart and freeing her. She looked up only to see the end of the lamppost staff aimed right at her guts, nailing her and causing her to gag, keeling to the floor.

"Interesting, to have engraved your own skin. Not many can survive such a procedure." The mage remarked as he grabbed Sasha by the arm with an armored gauntlet that was burning red hot, the metal on it and his sabatons glowing as though it had just emerged from the furnace. The heat began to sear onto Sasha's arm as she uttered a pained wail.

She kicked upwards in desperation, only knocking into more heavy armor hidden beneath the purple robe garments. "Useless. And here I thought you would have been a mage hunter." The mage sighed and released her to the ground as a squad of Yual knights approached from behind. "Restraint her and bring her to Count Leon."

Yet just as the Yual knights were about to move, the mage suddenly sensed an imminent attack, a projectile hurtling towards him. He quickly waved his gauntlet, three thin threads of ice lancing out towards it and attempting to freeze it in midair. Unfortunately, the ice was too slow, forcing the mage to draw a circle with his gauntlets, freezing the immediate air around him to form a thick, concentrated cylinder of ice aimed in the direction of the projectile.

The projectile crashed into the cylinder, its kinetic energy driving apart the ice as the mage summoned more and more ice to stop it. Finally, the projectile came to a rest, before it exploded into a ball of flame, engulfing the Yual knights and the mage in their entirety, releasing a billowing cloud of smoke and soot from the blast. While the Yual knights were thrown off their feat, the mage held firm, his robes incinerated by the wave of flames and revealing the full knight armor he wore underneath. As the cloud of smoke and superheated water began to dissipate, the mage suddenly spotted a lone suit of armor wielding a long-barreled rifle, far different from the usual arctech knight armor.

The surface of the armor glistened with blue and green engravings interlocked between the seams, tracing all along the metallic black surface before culminating in a spine of arcia energy that spanned the entire backplate where a sword still in its sheath had been slung. The edges and cuts of the armor were distinct and unique, unlike anything the mage had seen before in his countless decades of battling at the frontier. Countless basic arcia crystals were embedded in various sections of the armor, protected behind dense plates. As the wielder of the armor took a step forward, the sheer weight of the metal cracked the ground slightly, an air of domination erupting forward as two slits in the helmet showed amber eyes that locked onto the mage.

The mage shot a thread of ice towards the armor, but instead of freezing the target as expected, the wielder only unsheathed the sword in an elegant swing with speed, the exosuit arm accelerating, lightning crackling along the edge of the blade as it immediately vaporized the thread of ice. Immediately, the mage's eyes flared up, trying to sense the arcia energy around his opponent. The sight frightened him, and he could see large quantities of arcia energy pumping into the armor. "Who the hell are you?"

The wielder grinned as he readied his lightning sword, assuming a fighting posture against the mage. "Just a ghost of Versia."

<---Chapter 129 - Siege Economy| Table of Contents |Chapter 131 - Mage--->