Chapter 56
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Chapter 56: Urban Warfare
The Crimson Flame Legion chose to penetrate a single direction rather than attempt encirclement.
Heavy Knights formed a siege formation at the front while Pikemen thrust long spears from behind, launching a powerful assault on the outer fortifications. The Elves, unskilled in construction, had built flimsy defenses. Combined with their severe numerical disadvantage, the western sector of Elvin Town swiftly fell.
Crimson soldiers flooded the streets, advancing methodically instead of pursuing recklessly. They maintained formation while systematically clearing and demolishing buildings on both sides.
The legion resembled a steel Behemoth—jaws agape with razor fangs—poised to Consume Elvin Town and Midi’s army before grinding them to bones.
Then, unnoticed, the fog came.
Silent rain followed.
The white fog limited visibility to twenty meters. The black rain devoured all flames and light.
The crimson-and-gold commander’s flag vanished.
The synchronized stomp of steel boots grew disordered.
Spears and swords wavered where they’d once held steady.
Frantic orders rose in waves.
From rooftops, alleys, ruins, and weathered windows, longbows creaked. Daggers slid silently from sheaths. Glowing beast-eyes and gleaming Spinning Blades materialized from shadowed lanes.
As the Crimson Flame Legion pushed deeper into Elvin Town, Elves began their counterattack through the white mist and black drizzle.
Dozens of skirmishes erupted simultaneously.
Clanging steel, war cries, death shrieks, barked commands, and panicked shouts merged with magic’s scorching winds. Arrow feathers sliced fog trails. Gunfire flashed like fireflies. Light and Shadow, sound and silence, smoke and blood—all wove into Elvin Town’s new tapestry.
Every crossroads, bottleneck, and high point became contested ground in this instant urban inferno.
Outnumbered Elves faced a Crimson Legion hobbled by fog-disrupted communications. Both sides exploited weaknesses mercilessly. Each fallen Elven warrior cost two to four Crimson lives—a brutal arithmetic of carnage, devoid of strategy or legend, where existence burned like kindling.
Yet one force ripped through enemy ranks like an Unstoppable Force—Midi’s Nightblade Leopard Cavalry.
"Follow my sword." The black-haired boy issued his trademark order before charging ahead.
Though ever mindful of his commander role, Midi embraced his warrior’s heart. In this battle of inches, his greatsword’s pressure mattered most. Not just his power, but his cavalry’s united strength.
Formations became death traps in these streets. A concentrated strike could shatter Crimson ranks, drowning them in fog and shadows. Midi’s three hundred riders weaved through alleys—a living greatsword hewing Legion formations.
The black-haired boy’s towering greatsword intimidated foes, and none withstood his charge. Wherever he surged, blood paved paths for his leopards.
Rounding a corner, they faced Heavy Knights shielding roaming gunslingers. Midi charged without hesitation, Focused gaze locking onto the opponent.
An intense rain of gunfire erupted. The Blood Fang Panther leapt impossibly high, claws scrabbling walls before twisting midair to land behind the Knights amidst gunslingers.
Gunfire choked to silence.
Nightblade riders closed in. Spinning Blades arced like metallic tides against tower shields. Midi pressed the assault, dismantling the squadron through sheer force.
Amidst the erupting sword light and surging aura, the team finally collapsed. Midi, who had charged into the battle formation, was drenched in blood from head to toe, his entire body stained crimson.
Another minor victory. The accumulation of countless small triumphs could tilt the scales of war toward final success. Yet after analyzing battlefield reports through magical communications, Midi’s calculations contradicted the victory before his eyes.
For every victory gained, multiple defeats occurred elsewhere.
Perhaps not complete failures – trading one life for three or four could be considered a tactical success. Yet even with such exchanges, the Elves would still collapse first.
Midi fought alone. The Nightblade Leopard Cavalry numbered merely three hundred. In this meat-grinder of a battle, they couldn’t alter the tide.
The icy winter wind pierced through the mist, chilling Midi’s blood-soaked frame. His once-flowing black hair now hung in stiff, clotted strands, mirroring the turmoil in his heart.
What to do? Tighten formations for defense? If encircled, neither fog nor black rain would aid them.
Push the cavalry harder? They already moved at maximum speed – any faster would exhaust the elite warriors before harming enemies.
Summon Devil’s Vine? Without forests, Alice’s limited magic must be conserved. She’d already drained herself controlling Elvin Town. Midi needed her to retain enough power to escape if necessary.
Eliminating options one by one, Midi reached his conclusion.
To break the enemy before being broken, he must kill their commander.
Though disrupted, the enemy command structure still functioned. General Red Fox’s mere presence boosted the Crimson Flame Legion’s morale.
Eliminate him to shift the balance.
Porter Seth, the level 40 Great Swordsman known as General Red Fox.
Midi stood at level 28. Though his physical attributes rivaled a level 35 Demon Swordman, the Red Fox likely possessed similar enhancements. Worse, the general wielded "Shadow Blade" – a legendary sword steeped in blood.
Level 28 versus 40. Even with Super Transmuter abilities, twenty years’ rebirth memories, and second awakening experience, his chances remained slim – below fifty percent.
Yet hesitation had no place. Had he not returned through reincarnation precisely to conquer these invincible foes?
"Alice, locate General Red Fox. Where’s the command flag?" Midi activated his collar pin’s magical communications.
No response came from the Mist Sorceress.
"Alice?" Midi frowned, unease coiling in his chest.
Before he could react, the mist began dissolving rapidly. The black rain ceased as abruptly as it started. Even the dark winter clouds over Elvin Town vanished, leaving clear skies.
Sunlight bathed the battlefield in warmth and clarity.
Midi’s heart froze colder than midwinter.
Half a kilometer away, a white cat fled across a rooftop. A blade-tipped whip snapped like a living serpent, slicing through its form. No blood flowed – only white mist sprayed from the wound.
The crippled cat collapsed, twitching helplessly. This was the Fog Demon "Feast of Night" – one of the Mist Sorceress’s mightiest Summoned Beasts.
Its attacker, a white-haired woman in black armor, twirled her snake-like sword with casual cruelty.
On Elvin Town’s highest clock tower, a black cat recoiled from a dark-glowing cross strike. Shadowy tendrils bled from its form as it smashed against stone walls – the Night Demon "Shadow Cloak" forced into retreat.
Before it stood a gray-haired woman in identical black armor, her sword radiating soul-numbing magic waves.
Both Summoned Beasts lay crippled.
Their temperamental mistress could offer no aid. Behind the Mist Sorceress, a silver-haired figure moved faster than sight. A needle-thin blade pierced through Alice’s back, its glittering tip emerging from her chest in a spray of crimson.
A death rose blooming.
