Chapter 211

Chapter 211: Flames of Destruction

The bombs from the Vanguard ships paled in comparison to Earthly stone bombs, their power far weaker.

But they compensated with sheer numbers, difficulty to intercept, and specialization against legions.

Dozens of Vanguard ships dove at full speed, releasing payloads from their bellies in precise maneuvers. By the time these steel-shelled explosives followed their trajectories into the Imperial army’s rear where Necromancers hid, the ships had already climbed steeply, effortlessly evading anti-air fire. Magic and heavy arrows fell short, useless against such speed.

Like meteors, the bombs arced into enemy ranks.

Black Mushroom Clouds erupted across the Delos Empire’s formation. Elite knights in full armor shattered like glass, while flimsily protected Necromancers fell like wheat to shrapnel and shockwaves.

“Lord Wiseman, we must tighten our formation!” A seasoned Imperial general urged, his face grim. Though hardened by countless battles, even this veteran trembled now—both the Earthly stone bombs’ devastation and the silver Vanguard ships defying logic shook his resolve.

Aerial combat lay beyond his understanding. How could these tin cans fly so fast? How could they drop bombs with such accuracy? Fear of the unknown gripped him, driving rigid decisions.

“Form an iron wall!” he nearly ordered, though reason screamed it’d fail against sky-borne attacks. Had he commanded this, Midi’s single bombardment would’ve reduced a thousand Imperial soldiers to ash.

But the army answered not to this earthbound general, but to the deranged genius—“Hand of Nightmare” Wiseman Newton.

Wiseman stared at the man, tapping his temple. “Are you brain-damaged? You think Heavy Knight armor stops these bombs? That turtling under tower shields helps?”

The general flushed but stayed silent.

“Full counterattack!” Wiseman barked, mockery replaced by bloodlust. “Let’s see if your toys outmatch my Earthly stone bombs!”

As explosions rocked the field, the battle spiraled toward mutual annihilation. Neither Midi’s brilliance nor Wiseman’s madness could control it now.

The weapons were too potent. Earthly stone bombs erased armies in blasts. Vanguard ships, forged from Sky City materials, rendered traditional warfare obsolete—armor, swords, spears meant nothing against energy-core weaponry.

Post-awakening, practitioners’ enhanced personal strength would diminish such machines’ dominance. But in this pre-awakening era, capped at level 50, these weapons decided wars.

No unawakened practitioner survived Vanguard bombardments, let alone Earthly stone hellfire. Tactics—defenses, feints, breakthroughs—crumbled. Fleeing to castles merely delayed death by seconds.

When wisdom and skill fail, one option remains:

Attack. Attack. Attack.

Despite the staggering casualties this assault would inevitably bring, the alternative was total annihilation. To prevent their own destruction, they had to destroy the enemy first. Attack remained the only option.

Under Midi’s orders, the Vanguard ships swarmed like blood-crazed sharks across the sky, unleashing torrents of destruction. Cannons roared as trails of Magic Beams crisscrossed the heavens, forming an all-encompassing net that struck down every airborne creature—Undead wyverns, Floating City’s winged beasts, even unlucky birds.

Yet gaps persisted in this fiery web.

The Delos Empire refused to remain passive against these unreachable attackers. Wiseman swiftly abandoned all ground forces—not just the Undead cannon fodder, but even the Melee Fighters.

While these sacrifices distracted Midi, the elite Necromancers concentrated their power on the Undead wyverns. Of the two hundred wyverns converted by the Imperial army, Wiseman had originally intended most as specimens for the Alchemist Guild, reserving only a few for Earthly stone bomb attacks.

But with Midi dominating the skies, the "Hand of Nightmare" unleashed every last wyvern. Though inferior to Blue-scaled wyverns in battle strength—unable to spew icy mist and clumsy in flight—these Undead creatures fought relentlessly until their wings shattered.

As two hundred wyverns ascended, they formed an impenetrable barrier. Necromancers drove the red-eyed beasts into a tight formation, shielding bomb-carriers behind layers of expendable bodies. Lacking long-range attacks, the wyverns hurled themselves physically at the Vanguard ships.

Even the shark-like ships struggled to target accurately through the wyvern swarm. Necromancers exploited this chaos, sacrificing wyverns to ram and destroy over ten Vanguard ships. Worse, two bomb-bearing wyverns breached the defenses.

Twin explosions erupted below. Mountainous light pillars tore through the battlefield as pure magic imploded, scattering debris and shockwaves.

A single glance told Midi his main force of three thousand had been halved. These weren’t ordinary troops—they were level 50 Dragonkin elites, future cornerstones of his army, now vaporized in moments.

Though anguish and anger surged within, Midi’s obsidian eyes remained blade-cold. War demanded this ruthlessness—every victory paved with corpses. Even a reincarnator couldn’t soften war’s cruelty. The only path was to shed emotions, act decisively, and end this swiftly.

Diving his Vanguard ship like a meteor through the chaos, Midi tore toward the Empire’s shattered rear. There, standing atop an ancient altar, a black-robed figure gripped a dragon-eye staff, his robe snapping like a battle flag in the scorching wind—Wiseman Newton, the Hand of Nightmare.

Sensing the threat, Wiseman looked up as the silver ship plummeted.

“Time to finish this, Wiseman Newton!” Midi snarled, a falcon striking from the skies.