Chapter 223

Chapter 223: Falling from the Sky

Facing the overwhelming firepower of fifty fearless first-awakened ones, even the Hawk Brigade couldn’t hold their ground. After several brutal skirmishes, their entire troop strength was forced to retreat into the Palace of Dragon Horn. Unable to form proper defenses, they could only desperately guard a few passageways.

The Exiles’ tactic was straightforward: trap all survivors and slaughter them in one strike. Though Kelvin saw through their plan instantly, he found no way to counter it.

The Hawk Brigade had launched multiple breakout attempts, but their greatest success was eliminating a handful of Exiles at horrific costs. Several two hundred-man teams were wiped out entirely, while others lost over half their members. Continuing such hard clashes would lead to the Brigade’s total annihilation long before the Exiles finished encircling them.

What could they do? The question haunted every warrior’s heart, yet no answer came. Against absolute power, neither wit nor inspiration mattered.

Just as despair gripped the Hawk Brigade and the Dragonkin first tasted helplessness, a golden-red streak ripped through the clouds. Like a meteor, it plunged from the sky!

Exiles hovering in the high skies reacted instantly. Arrow feathers homing on targets, city-gate-shattering bolts, and elemental missiles formed a deadly bullet barrage to intercept the intruder.

It failed.

The golden-red streak didn’t dodge or block. It simply accelerated downward, tearing through the deathly storm. Then it curved mid-air, looping around the level 52 first-awakened Exile captain. A hair-thin golden-red line flashed. A crystalline *crack* echoed.

The captain had no time for resistance. His armored body split cleanly at the waist, the cut smooth as polished glass.

Inside the armor lay no flesh, bones, or even automatons’ metal frames—only a crystal shell of pure energy. This was the magical entity’s true form: nearly indestructible, magic-resistant, capable of self-repairs by absorbing ambient magic. The outer armor merely supplemented it.

Yet the golden-red beam sliced through both armor and glass-like core effortlessly.

The hunter had become prey.

Hawk Brigade warriors stared slack-jawed at the sky. They’d slain Exiles before, knew their armor’s secrets. These first-awakened entities lacked vital points—no heart, brain, or veins. Their consciousness resided in star-like entities darting through the crystal shell, impossible to hit during battle.

Destroying the shell meant nothing unless those star-like entities were struck. Exiles would frenziedly absorb pure magic to regenerate, fighting even while repairing. Once, a shattered Exile captain reassembled himself through intact star-like entities, reborn like a phoenix in Rebirth Through Fire. Though short-lived, his final Frenzy attack slaughtered over a hundred, painting the battlefield in blood. That captain’s grim reaper-like rampage haunted every witness.

Exiles felt unbeatable. Many warriors secretly believed it.

Yet now, this unknown golden-red streak had cleanly severed a magical entity’s life in one casual strike.

Instant annihilation.

What being possessed such terrifying power?

Many quick-witted minds immediately connected the dots to a long-awaited name, their eyes blazing with irrepressible excitement.

Yet after merely one week’s absence, could Belmar’s genius Demon Swordman – the true commander of Hawk Brigade – truly have grown so powerful so quickly?

Even as hope surged, deeper thinkers among them retained lingering doubts.

While Hawk Brigade warriors rode emotional waves of relief, the emotionless Exiles recalculated their strategy.

The golden-red glow had instantly slain an Exile captain, marking its wielder as maximum threat level. Against such foes, absolute force became necessary.

Without orders, forty-odd remaining Exiles abandoned their assault on Dragon Horn Palace mid-strike. As one, they ascended toward the golden-red intruder.

This time, their ruthless net failed.

The golden-red glow paused briefly, churning magic across the sky like stone-rippled water. Spark-filled vortices erupted, destabilizing Exile formations.

Seizing this weakness, the glow accelerated into a hair-thin crimson arc, targeting another captain.

Having witnessed his comrade’s fate, this captain adopted full defense. His whirling halberd became an impervious shield, repelling both physical strikes and magical assaults.

Golden-red light clashed against spinning steel, spraying fiery sparks.

As the glow halted momentarily, six magic-specialized Exiles converged. Interlinking power, they formed a deadly magic array – ready to annihilate both captain and foe together.

This life-for-life tactic came naturally to unfeeling Exiles.

Yet as their trap finalized, the struggling glow erupted with sudden brilliance!

A blood-red blade storm consumed the sky, radiating terrifying pressure.

Awakening Skill: Storm Blade!

The heavens churned with crimson streaks and golden flashes, ear-splitting shrieks punctuating the twilight. When the storm cleared, dozens of Exiles fell like meteorites, cratering the earth below.

Half the six magic Exiles lay destroyed.

The golden-red glow descended before Dragon Horn Palace’s archway. From within emerged a black-haired, black-eyed youth.

Midi Asreks.

"Lord Midi!"

"The commander!"

"Our Sword of Victory and Guardian!"

Silence shattered into roaring cheers. From enduring hardships to facing annihilation, then sudden reversal – Hawk Brigade’s emotions had rollercoastered. Seeing their hoped-for savior, even battle-hardened warriors couldn’t contain their fervor.

Surveying familiar faces, determined gazes, and Dragonkin’s respectful expressions, Midi nodded.

With metallic shing, Black Sky sword’s edge pointed skyward at remaining Exiles.

"You can’t win. Withdraw." Cold certainty edged Midi’s voice. "Tell Lord Segarth of Light City: In one week at Floating City’s Star Mountain, we end this."

A human commander might rage at such dismissal, but emotionless Exiles processed this literally.

Three surviving captains conferred. Conclusion: continuing meant pointless losses.

Retreat became logical choice.

"Message delivered," one captain rasped. Twenty glowing trails streaked away.

Amid cheers, Midi watched distant specks vanish. Silence.

This victory meant nothing. The true Challenge was coming.