Chapter 289

Chapter 289: Attack of the Magic Griffin

In a short time, Midi and Reinhardt returned to the Narwhal.

The moment their feet touched the deck—before they could even check in with Victoria and the others—a portion of the azure firmament darkened without warning.

A colossal shadow then descended from above, blotting out the sun as it loomed over the graveyard with crushing authority.

The shadow resembled both a stormcloud and an enormous raptor diving toward its prey, unstoppable in its momentum.

Midi narrowed his eyes against the sunlight. When his vision adjusted, he finally discerned the shape of the massive intruder—a skyship with a hundred-meter wingspan. Its dagger-like prow, angular wings, and broad hull absorbed sunlight into its pitch-black surface. The warship’s jagged silhouette mirrored a starved vulture circling its meal.

The Magic Griffin warship.

Midi’s breath caught. In his past life, he’d known these vessels well. They were the Blue Truth Sect’s trump card, enabling their dominance over the Sea of Clouds and the Stormy Region. Now, the most feared weapon of his greatest enemy had appeared here.

His mind raced past questions of why they’d come. Survival mattered more.

The sect’s presence made grim sense. In his memories, after linking Arad to the Sea of Clouds, they’d amassed power in the Stormy Region to invade both realms. Bishop Marlan’s display at the Venus auction proved their plans were already in motion.

Yet encountering their Magic Griffin warship here, now—this was disastrous.

No communication passed between the ships. None was needed. The warship’s approach screamed hostility.

Though not a true ancient warship, its design mimicked the giant roc warships crafted by King Bacal of the Tyrant Dragon. Forged from the Stormy Region’s rare anti-magic alloy, it could challenge even genuine ancient warships. The Narwhal stood no chance—it wouldn’t survive a single strike.

Escape was impossible. The immobilized Wind King Warship lay ten kilometers away in the graveyard’s core, needing another day to activate. Until then, they had to stall.

“A proposal,” Reinhardt said, resting a casual hand on his sword’s hilt. His tone belied the intensity in his eyes. “We pose as ordinary adventurers. Negotiate. Buy time.”

Storming the enemy’s stronghold to deceive and delay—if they lasted until the Wind King Warship awakened, the initiative would shift. They could flee or strike the enemy’s leader. A reckless gamble, yet bold enough to match the fourth prince’s reputation as the Delos Empire’s likeliest future emperor.

Midi silently approved. Normally, he’d choose this very strategy. With Victoria and old steward Lund disguised as crew, their group could highlight Midi and Reinhardt’s noble statuses to bluff their way into the enemy’s midst. Noncombatants would stay clear of the danger zone.

Without shedding a single drop of blood, a fatal strike could decide everything. Though an unconventional approach, it was undoubtedly the best course when facing enemies vastly superior in power.

Yet Midi couldn’t use this method now.

Because the Blue Truth Sect wasn’t merely "ordinary enemies."

"Good proposal, but it won’t work against them," Midi answered with a soft sigh.

"Why?" Reinhardt pressed. He’d analyzed every angle, certain this was the optimal choice. Midi’s outright rejection baffled him—was there a flaw in the plan, or was Midi simply unwilling to gamble?

If the latter proved true, Reinhardt would need to reconsider their alliance. A cowardly ally, even armed with powerful weapons, could never achieve greatness.

But Midi’s next words stunned him.

"They’re from the Blue Truth Sect," Midi explained patiently. "The Sect’s the largest faction in the Sea of Clouds, dwarfing even the Rothschild Guild. Among them exist individuals above bishops—they’re called Saints."

"Are these Saints so strong? Can’t we defeat them together?" Reinhardt thought he’d pinpointed the issue, but Midi’s response proved him utterly wrong.

"If strength alone were the problem, I’d gladly face them." A rare flicker of apprehension crossed Midi’s eyes. "But Saints wield mind-related abilities."

Reinhardt shuddered, his face paling.

Though no races on Arad possessed such powers, the term’s meaning was unmistakable. The prince instantly grasped the implications, dread coiling in his gut.

Mind-related abilities!

Didn’t this mean opponents could read thoughts at a glance? How could anyone resist?

As if sensing Reinhardt’s panic, Midi continued grimly, "It’s not just telepathy—that’s basic. Saints unleash psychic-energy skills instantly. Their attacks surpass spells in power and bypass defenses. Illusion formations, mind control, psychic explosions—those are their specialties."

"Impossible! Such beings would be invincible!"

"Awakened Ones like us—with strong will and pure magic—can resist, though not completely." Midi’s smile turned bitter. "But anyone below Awakened rank falls instantly. A single look means total control."

Though numerous in the Sea of Clouds, Awakened Ones weren’t commonplace. Aboard the Narwhal, only Midi, Reinhardt, old steward Lund, and two Vanguard ship leaders qualified. The rest—including Lady Victoria—remained unawakened.

This meant one encounter could turn companions into knife-wielding enemies while laying bare their thoughts. Such was the terrifying scope of mind-related abilities.

Had Midi not spoken these words, Reinhardt would’ve dismissed them as fantasy. Yet Victoria’s ashen face confirmed the Saints weren’t theoretical—Midi’s group had clearly clashed with them before, acquiring this dreadful intelligence through bitter experience.

"What do we do now?" Reinhardt croaked.

"Run. Keep running." Midi’s answer was brutally simple. "And make them chase us!"

However flawless mind-powers seemed, the Magic Griffin warship’s fire-net must have gaps. Those blind spots held their slim chance of survival.

Without hesitation—not even retrieving the harpoon embedded in the floating island rock—Midi severed the iron chains with one sword stroke. Freed, the Narwhal surged skyward, engines roaring as it bolted for open skies.

Crewmembers hurled every heavy object overboard—Victoria’s vanity table, mahogany bed, luggage, cargo, even massive cannons and shells. The lightened Skyship accelerated, turning nimbly as never before.

This trade-combat hybrid vessel now flew lighter than ever—and in graver danger than ever. Midi’s goal was clear: make the Sect believe they’d salvaged precious treasures from the graveyard and fled.

If convinced, the Magic Griffin would give chase—buying time.

Time for the damaged Wind King Warship to recover.