Steel and Mana

Chapter 341 – The Siege (5)

The moment the connection snapped between the Emperor and his disciple, Pascal screamed as if someone had pushed a dagger into his spine, twisting it left and right, trying to yank it out.

It was not merely pain felt in his body but in his soul, connected to his disciple's being. It was... broken? He was prepared for it now as he would sacrifice Kiva, using his death to bring down the Judgement and many soldiers... while also consuming his essence and refreshing himself in the process. Yet, all of that was now thrown out of the window as the delicate flow of magic was shattered between them. His fingers clawed at the cold marble of the floor of the palace, his breath burning his mouth, his airways, his lunge. Everything hurt. Pushing himself up and crawling towards the balcony, he saw the Herald fall out of the sky, crashing onto the ground, leaving a deep gorge behind. It was not destroyed by his will; worse, it was not detonated to bring Avalon's forces to their knees but simply... Something just cut him off from it.

Such a thing was impossible... should be impossible. Anti-magic spells need more than simply activating them. They need a delicate system to be set up; they need time, and neither Mirian nor her allies should have had enough time to deploy something like that! Yet... it happened right in front of his eyes.

It couldn't be Kiva... His disciples had no will of their own—he had ensured that through indoctrination and brainwashing, grooming them to his own taste since they were young. And yet, Kiva was now severed from him. It had to be a spell... But...

"The Spear?" He suddenly shivered as he only had one reasonable idea about what had happened.

He struggled to breathe as the magic he had channeled surged back into him, chaotic and uncontained, trying to ravage his body and mind. His vision blurred, black runes covering his veins that began spidering across his skin as the backlash threatened to almost kill him. He was bound to the cursed formation that Morningstar fucked up, making him unable to leave, unable to go beyond the city walls for three hundred years—yet now, it was what helped keep him anchored. For a price. All that youth Kiva's merciless acts in the East gained for him were now spent, returning Pascal to a shriveled, old, and frail old man with his hair falling out in chunks, thinning away just like his body.

And then, his body trembled once again, this time not from the backlash but because there was a weird, unfamiliar buzz in the air. Searching for it, standing on the grand balcony of his palace, Pascal forced himself up, holding onto the railing. Sweat soaked his robes as he gazed out toward the sky, trying to locate its source.

There, amidst the chaos... flying... monsters had arrived.

Things that should not exist on this side of the continent. Whatever they were, he couldn't sense any magic within them. So, he also realized they couldn't be beasts, nor could they be conjured by any magic or Ishillian ingenuity. This meant that they weren't something Mirian stole when rebelling. What were they then? No matter how hard he tried to look, they were weird birds with fixed wings who screamed as they soared through the midnight sky in perfect formation. If not for the appearing full moon, revealing itself as the clouds dispersed, he wouldn't have been able to spot them. His mind struggled to comprehend them, trying to come up with reasons for the noise that they were making. Why were they so loud and sounded like angrily buzzing wasps.

Then—

They released something.

Small dark shapes tumbled from their underbellies, plummeting toward the city below, whistling through the night. His instincts screamed at him, and his magical senses detected no formations or disturbances, no spellwork—precisely the problem.

"Oh no..." He muttered, realizing the shield wouldn't stop whatever that was...

The moment of impact came as if it was the God of War, Toobu's judgment, personally meted out.

The streets erupted into chaos as explosions tore through the defensive fortifications on the walls, striking the garrisons and strategic points with alarming precision. The city's magic barrier did nothing—it kept glowing, blocking the resuming magical fire raining down, while the very ground beneath it burned and crumbled just the same.

"No... this is not possible!" Pascal wheezed, staggering as he reached out with his mind, his formation flickering on and off behind him as he was trying to understand and intervene.

Yet the damage was already done—not material damage but the strike against the morale of the troops. They saw the formation above them, protecting against their enemy, thinking they were safe. Yet suddenly, without any warning, explosions rang out within the city amongst their ranks. The enemy had breached their defenses. Panic was growing, and Pascal knew he had to do something, or the Imperial City may really fall.

His heart pounded as he turned his gaze away, directing it beyond the city walls, where the far-off enemy backline thundered once more. There was no stopping... There was only the hammering of the city. The Ishillian forces were crumbling, and the protective formation suddenly cracked at certain points, close to actually being penetrated.

For the first time, Pascal had to acknowledge an emotion gripping him.

It was fear.

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Watching the first bombing run succeed, I exhaled slowly, my hands gripping the armrest of my chair. It was a good start. If we can keep this up, we can conquer the city quicker than I expected.

From this height, the city already resembled a dying beast, writhing in its final, bloody agony as its defensive lines collapsed under our barrage. I have already heard the preliminary reports. We lost five howitzers and their crews, while two others were damaged and their operators injured to varying degrees. It was not as bad as I expected... so I ordered everyone to continue. We must pummel the city enough to make sure they won't be able to fire at my ground troops as we start our advance. Plumes of fire and smoke rose like death pillars, the fire raging in the city lighting up the dark. We weren't just dropping gunpowder bombs on them. With Marca's designs, using oil as a basis, we were also firebombing the bastards.

Beside me, Kustov watched in silent awe, his expression easily readable. Even with his experience, this has to be something he won't forget.

"The shield is failing," Kustov murmured, suddenly shaking his head, saluting, and making it into an official report.

"So it seems." I nodded. "Piece by piece, that is. Our artillery is doing its job, so should the rest now."

While speaking, the howitzers boomed once more, their spells streaking through the sky like flares, turning the night into something akin to dusk. As we watched, more cracks formed along the city's barrier, ripples of destabilization appearing on its defensive, blue dome. Already, sections of their proud defense flickered, some parts entirely gone, exposing the once-sacred 'Ishillian Gem' to the full onslaught of the mix of my modern and magical warfare.

But here comes the hard part. Marching in.

My eyes followed the squadrons of biplanes as they flew over the city, their bombing runs executed with exceeding my expected precision. The element of surprise had shattered the Ishillian forces' ability to adequately respond. They had never faced anything like this before, and while they were distracted, we had to move.@@novelbin@@

"We won't wait for sunrise," I smiled. "We will make enough light by burning Pascal." With a flick, I activated my direct radio frequency. "Issue the orders, General Oleg. The time is now. Move in and be on the lookout for leftover mages!"

"Yes!" Oleg's answer came at once, "Sending the troops in! Don't worry, My Sovereign, we are going to take the nine crossings."

"I expect nothing less." I answered, "Form the inner circle and start choking the city until it blacks out. The enemy is still reeling from our strike; don't waste this opportunity. While they burn, while their defenses are shattered, we tighten the noose."

"I always liked being choked. It is fun to dish it out sometimes." Echoed Yuri's voice, making the chatter fall silent all of a sudden. "What?"

"General?" I asked, ignoring Yuri and her comment in its entirety.

"Understood. The mechs are already moving!"

Geez... I nodded with a smile, my eyes looking around the bridge, seeing that nobody was daring to look at me. Oh, Yuri...

"Sasha?" I asked, switching the comms and connecting to her as she was down on the ground now, accompanying Mikan and a squadron who was at the crashed Ishillian warship. "Anything to report?"

"I am extinguishing the fire." She replied, "The ship is in better condition than we expected. It looks salvageable."

"And the mage?" I continued asking.

"He lives," Mikan answered me, "I can feel his presence. He didn't die, but his aura is... weak. Very weak."

"Get him out," I ordered after a brief consideration. "Shackle him well and put him away for now. Heal him enough so he won't die, my dear. Otherwise, keep him out of reach. We will decide what to do with him after we have won!"

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The first bridge my troops reached was a narrow stone arch spanning the river around the city. Some defending squads were stuck outside, trying to guard it, but my troops moved through them with ease. The Ishillian defenders barely had time to raise their weapons before Pion's vanguard force was upon them.

The clash between them was brutal and swift. It turns out that the armor I had seen them wearing all those years ago was indeed enhanced. Their concept was similar to ours; the difference was that theirs was powered by a mage. The one with them was a young man, probably still only a disciple or someone less powerful in the Empire's service, tasked with blowing up the bridge when my soldiers were crossing it.

The moment he tried to use the prepared spell, he never understood why it didn't go off.

He could do nothing, just watch as swords clashed around him, my people wielding burning swords, axes, and spears, cutting down the regular people even in their reinforced armor. Their magic was inferior to ours... and they were dead in only a few minutes as we captured another young mage. My order was simple: If they could, capture them. If not, execute them. I can't let any mage be used by Pascal.

By the time the first bridge fell, the other eight were already under assault, some taken by solely the appearance of my mechs. The concentric rings of Ishillia's defenses were penetrated easily as we kept shooting at the city. With moving up, it was now time for the main army to start marching, too. We were going to take the city and take it before dawn!

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From his sanctum, Pascal watched as his city burned. The bridges outside were falling, the inner circle shrinking with every passing moment, heading into the night. His hands trembled as he gripped the balcony railing, his mind racing for a solution.

But there was none.

The bastard rebels had outmaneuvered him, Mirian's strange allies and tactics rendering his centuries of planning obsolete.

"FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK." He repeated... And yet, suddenly, he stopped. It was time. "They may take my city," he whispered, his voice hoarse with rage. "But they will not leave it. Nobody will."

With a final, desperate act, he reached out, pulling out the last Vasa's skull, holding it with two hands, his eyes closing as he began chanting...