Chapter 250

Chapter 250: Crimson Comet

The cannons spun wildly, spitting brief tongues of fire from their barrels.

The shots came in short bursts rather than continuous streams. With only twenty Vanguard ships against one hundred and twenty—plus two looming Tiger Shark-class Skyships—Midi couldn’t afford to waste bullets. Every shot mattered in this drawn-out battle.

He focused solely on shredding rudders. Efficiency and conservation drove this choice. While a Vanguard ship’s fragile armor required an entire magazine to pierce and ignite its engine, the exposed rudder was an easier target. A few precise shots from behind shattered the moving parts, crippling the craft’s maneuverability.

A rudderless Vanguard ship wouldn’t crash, but turning became nearly impossible. To pivot, pilots had to slow to a crawl and shift their weight to tilt the vessel sideways—a death sentence in combat. Maintaining speed meant their turns widened drastically, often veering them completely off the battlefield. Either way, these ships became useless in the next counterattack.

The Guild Commander soon found his choices stripped away. Before he could order pilots to “slow and turn” or “flee at speed,” the rudderless crews acted on their own. Fear overrode discipline. No pilot would sit still as a target or steer a broken ship to certain death. Instead, they accelerated away—a task even crippled Vanguard ships could manage.

Skilled pilots were valuable. Retreating under these excuses would spare them harsh punishment. Who’d willingly slow down to face another volley in a ship that couldn’t dodge?

One by one, Vanguard ships peeled from the formation.

One. Two. Three…

Five. Ten…

Twenty…

Thirty.

By the end, thirty-one ships had their rudders destroyed by Midi. Combined with the squadron lost in the first clash, the Rothschild Guild’s forces were halved—from one hundred and twenty to a ragged remnant. Their once-tight triangular assault now resembled perforated scrap metal. Midi’s scattered targeting disrupted every squadron, stripping key leaders from their posts.

Fear seeped into the Guild pilots. Being hunted by a lone ace who could dismantle formations shook even the steeliest nerves. What if his bullets strayed from rudders to engines? What if he picked off squadron leaders first?

Doubt spread. Pilots under Midi’s gaze flew stiffly, their turns sluggish and wide. Formation gaps yawned as comrades fled. Meanwhile, Midi’s nineteen ships finished pivoting, engines roaring as they charged like wolves.

Bright bullet trails streaked the sky. Flames erupted across the firmament.

After the second volley, another twenty Guild Vanguard ships fell.

Midi’s side? Not a single loss.

If the first volley was a complete victory, this one could only be called a miraculous triumph.

Yet this outcome was inevitable—throughout the battle, Midi had clung stubbornly to the Guild squadron’s tail, disrupting every attempt to turn, regroup, accelerate, or fire a second volley.

Under such cursed circumstances, precise targeting became impossible. A zero-to-twenty casualty ratio hardly surprised anyone.

As both sides passed each other again, the Guild Commander found himself cornered.

The hunter had become prey. Now the question wasn’t about the cost of eliminating enemies, but how soon his own forces would be destroyed!

"Retre—" His order died mid-sentence.

"Fool! Retreat now and you sign your death warrant." A icy voice crackled through magical communications. "Wolf packs relish driving prey to the brink from behind."

"Idak!" The commander’s face darkened.

Though currently allied, this aerial commander from the Rothschild Guild’s eldest son faction shared no love with Idak. Their rivalry spanned years, with Idak consistently outmaneuvering him despite numerical disadvantages.

Had Idak not betrayed Victoria for personal gain, the commander might’ve been fighting Idak instead of Midi. Being publicly scolded before a hundred pilots stung bitterly.

Yet anger changed nothing. The truth remained—even ground troops couldn’t flee far when routed. Exposing one’s back in aerial combat, especially to that impossibly fast "Blade"? Suicide.

"Got alternatives?" The commander finally yielded. Pride mattered less than survival.

"Keep fighting at speed. I’ll handle Mr. Blade’s red Vanguard ships." Idak’s reply came crisp. Truthfully, he needed no persuasion—failure wasn’t an option. Victoria would be his.

While Midi streaked across skies like crimson comet, Idak’s forces swarmed Narwhal’s deck from two Tiger Shark Skyships. Most loyal crew lay dead in the chaotic melee. Victoria and old steward Lund cowered in the safe room—their resistance was temporary. If needed, brute force would breach the hull.

All proceeded smoothly… unless Midi destroyed 120 Vanguard ships and six Arrow Fish Skyships. Such losses would turn victory hollow—unacceptable to Victoria’s brothers, and disastrous for Idak’s precarious plans.

Twenty obsidian Vanguard ships launched from Narwhal’s captured hangar. Victoria’s extravagant gift to her betrayer—custom alloy frames bearing Rothschild Guild’s latest weapons. Their designation echoed through the comms:

Black Bats.

Idak’s lips curled. "This isn’t your precious Sky Arena, Mr. Blade." Malice thickened his voice. "Welcome to real sky combat."

The Black Bats surged toward their crimson-hued quarry like vengeful shadows.