Chapter 212

Chapter 212: Aerial Duel

Seeing the Vanguard ship diving with unstoppable momentum, Wiseman didn’t retreat. Instead, he flashed a long-awaited grin.

“Since Mr. Midi lacks patience, I’ll entertain you. The Empire isn’t without flying vehicles,” the renowned Necromancer declared, tracing intricate runes in the air.

Pure magic shimmered across the runes’ surface. The ground shuddered, lifting Wiseman and his altar as the earth split open. A colossal beast cloaked in jet-black scales burst from below.

Two heads crowned its form—one wolf-like, spewing scorching gusts, the other lion-shaped, teeth crackling with lightning. Its serpentine tail lashed, tipped by a spike glowing eerie blue.

The beast stretched over fifteen meters long. The ancient altar on its back seemed tiny, and when its four wings—each spanning twenty meters—snapped open, they whipped up a shadowy gale that blotted out the sky.

This was no Undead nor Sky City native. Its twisted, multi-attribute horror screamed of the Empire’s Alchemist Guild and their grim laboratories.

A magical composite beast, born from Wiseman’s madness.

Before Midi’s cannons fired, the lion head roared. A lightning serpent slashed across the heavens.

Midi’s Vanguard ship veered sharply, avoiding the strike.

The wolf head then spewed crimson clouds, enveloping the beast. With a wingbeat scattering sparks and heat, it rose skyward.

Midi’s agile Vanguard ships were swift hawks, hard to track. Wiseman’s beast? A lumbering aerial fortress.

Slow and inflexible, its dual heads unleashed relentless firepower. Steel-like scales—mimicking dragonhide—and protective crimson clouds made it nearly impervious, even to armor-piercing rounds.

Assured of Midi’s impotence, “Hand of Nightmare” Wiseman smirked. He tapped his dragon-eye staff, magic rippling outward.

Obedient to their master, remaining Undead wyverns broke off skirmishes, clustering around the beast.

From afar, the formation resembled a death-chilled stormcloud—wyverns flanking the composite beast, leaking grim aura from scale and wing.

Yet this “formation” was cobbled together hastily.

Wiseman Newton, though a necromantic genius, had no aerial combat experience. Sky City’s recent emergence left no true commanders—only theorists.

Except Midi Asreks, reborn with twenty years’ foresight.

His past life had forged him in countless aerial wars, even battles against heavenly hosts. Though his 128 Vanguard ships couldn’t form grand arrays, shredding Wiseman’s paper strategy was child’s play.

He’d let the enemy gather. Why disrupt what played into his hands?

As wyverns completed their swarm, Wiseman’s staff pulsed. The dark mass advanced toward Star Mountain.

The “Hand of Nightmare” sought total annihilation.

Earthly stone bombs’ fearsome power couldn’t compensate for scarcity—most intercepted midair by Vanguard ships. Only three had struck true.

With half the Hawk Brigade sheltered behind fortifications and the Undead army shattered, Wiseman bet everything on his air force.

Destroy the Hawks. Raze their bases. Leave Midi’s fleet stranded without supplies.

Both sides’ ground forces were spent. This rushed, chaotic air duel would decide Sky City’s ruler.

Midi watched the approaching swarm and smiled coldly. “Follow my blade!”

His Vanguard ship rocketed upward, a silver streak piercing the sky. At peak height, others joined him. Then—they dove.

Noses down, engines screaming, gravity’s pull turned ships into silver meteors—a cascading waterfall of death.

“Disaster!” Wiseman’s composure cracked.

Only now did he see the flaw in his “perfect” formation.

The composite beast’s firepower, wyverns covering blind spots—sound in theory. But earthbound tacticians forget the third dimension.

Attacks from above.

Wyverns craned necks upward. The beast tilted its heads skyward, Wiseman clinging to the altar. Heads could lift, but speed?

None.

To the diving Vanguard ships, the Empire’s air force hung motionless. Horizontal postures made ideal targets—exposed wings, bodies, heads.

With the high point secured, the battle was over.

Only slaughter remained.

“Fire freely. Priority: magical composite beast. Secondary: ‘Hand of Nightmare’ Wiseman Newton.” Midi’s voice crackled through magical communications. “Crush them!”

Cannons on ship fins spun. Death roared.

A net of tracers engulfed the wyvern swarm. Shattered Undead rained down. Counterattacking wyverns disintegrated in crossfires.

Even the fortress-like composite beast faltered under the onslaught.