Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 725 - 405: Battle of the Heirs (Part 2)

More than twenty Grand Mages were positioned at the array's nodes, their robes billowing against the wind.

Each placed a hand upon a guiding magic stone, channeling arcane energy that flowed like liquid metal, following the intricate demonic patterns before surging into the shield, causing the very air to vibrate.

A gasp escaped some of the attending nobility: "The Holy Shield... it has commenced!"

Beyond the protective barrier, the atmosphere thrummed with concentrated magical power, a relentless cascade of thunder mirroring celestial wrath, guarding the Imperial Capital.

This layer of magic compressed into an impenetrable, invisible barrier, distorting any approaching combat energy into disarray.

Any knight venturing within thirty paces of the shield would find the outer membrane violently rippling, their breath catching, vision blurring, as if struck by the roar of a colossal beast, rendering any further approach impossible.

Simultaneously, mechanisms on either side of the gate engaged; massive chains groaned as they rolled, metal on metal, showering sparks.

Then, from above, alchemically compressed stones, imbued with raw energy, began to fall.

These stones were etched with swirling demonic sigils and contained volatile shock-bomb potions within.

They were specially engineered for knights bolstered by combat energy. While ordinary projectiles would be nullified, these alchemical stones would shatter upon impact, exploding into a multitude of fragments laced with magical power.

The whistling descent of these stones was akin to a pack of ravenous wolves attacking, shredding the first knights who dared to advance directly into a bloody mist, their shattered armor and torn limbs scattering chaotically across the muddy ground.

Their sole disadvantage lay in their immense weight and exorbitant cost, yet on this battle-scarred wall, such concerns were inconsequential.

Furthermore, what was not ordinary boiling oil that cascaded from the battlements—an ineffective measure against knights wielding combat energy.

Instead, a viscous, dark green alchemical solution, resembling resin, was deployed: the legendary Green Dragon's Saliva.

"Such a substance... a few barrels could purchase an entire castle..." a young noble stammered, his voice quivering.

Upon contact with a knight's combat energy shield, the emerald liquid instantly produced a piercing shriek, as if being actively consumed by corrosion.

In the following moment, the green fluid breached the shield, seeping into the armor. Metal began to liquefy at an alarming rate, as if licked by flames, while flesh rotted and sloughed off. The knight tumbled screaming onto the mud-soaked earth, unable to find any sanctuary from the relentless decay.

Before the shield, the once-advancing knight formation dissolved within mere moments.

With their combat energy nullified and armor dissolving, the knights of the Tenth Border Legion appeared to be charging into a relentless meat grinder.

After several failed assaults, the ground was already slick with churned mud and blood.

Hundreds of fallen knights lay piled before the shield, resembling a field of recently harvested grain.

Finally, amidst the ensuing pandemonium, a horn sounded the order for retreat.

Under the downpour, ranks of shadowy figures faltered, retreating backward, nudging, stumbling, and being dragged by their comrades, as an unseen terror seemed to emanate from the crackling energy spilling from the shield.

The retreating soldiers staggered through the rain, as if pursued by an invisible dread.

A deafening roar of triumph erupted from the city walls.

The nobles erupted in joyous laughter, some even raising their goblets in a toast.

Rhine, however, calmly sipped his tea, his expression serene, as though observing a grand opera.

"War... in essence, is merely a form of commerce," he declared, raising his cup slightly, allowing Simmons to witness the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "When the investment reaches a certain threshold, failure becomes exceedingly rare."

With a wave of his hand, a commander promptly received his orders and departed. "Tonight, dispatch roasted meat and ale to each legion. Ensure they feast. Inform them that tomorrow, we shall continue our slaughter of the destitute."

As night descended, Rhine honored his word; bonfires blazed along the city ramparts, bathing the entire defensive line in a celebratory glow.

Carts laden with entire roasted oxen arrived, their fat sizzling audibly in the firelight.

Casks of chilled ale were unsealed. Knights devoured the meat with gusto, their boisterous shouts echoing, creating an atmosphere more akin to a festive picnic than a desperate defense.

Adding to the merriment, gold coins were distributed, with each soldier receiving a generous sum.

Rhine stood silhouetted against the blaze, gazing over the scene.

He was in no hurry; as long as the ramparts held and the array remained operational, he could sustain this defense for three days, five days, or even ten—until reinforcements from neighboring legions around the Imperial Capital arrived.

"Let them try," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying a weight that silenced the bonfire's clamor.

"The Imperial Capital is not so easily conquered."

......

Outside the Imperial Capital, a heavy rain fell, but within the tent, the atmosphere was charged, as if an unseen fire burned in the oppressive darkness.

The candle flames flickered erratically, tossed by unseen currents, casting unsettling, dancing shadows upon the canvas walls.

Second Prince Kaelin was seated by the chest, his knees spread wide as he meticulously cleaned his sword with a cloth.

The blade caught the candlelight, its cold gleam mirroring the suppressed emotions churning within him.

Though his movements were composed, a subtle disappointment flickered in his gaze.

This wasn't about defeat; it was about the city, a symbol of the Royal Family's might, now transformed into a fortified prison by Rhine's wealth and formidable arrays.

The adjutant parted the tent flap and entered, his voice hushed. "Your Highness... the Holy Shield array remains impenetrable for now. The Eleventh Legion's casualties... three hundred and thirty-one knights."

Kaelin paused his polishing, letting out a gentle sigh. "I am aware."

He rested the sword across his lap, his gaze lifting to question, "Was the message successfully delivered inside?"

The adjutant snapped to attention. "It was, Your Highness."

Kaelin gave a slight nod, but didn't press for details. Just as he was about to speak again, a guard's voice announced from outside the tent:

"Your Highness! Duke Remont requests an audience!"

Kaelin's brow twitched momentarily before a relaxed smile spread across his features.

"Admit him."

Duke Remont entered, drawing back the curtain, his cloak still slick with the persistent rain.

He observed Kaelin's expression, a flicker of understanding in his eyes—not fear of combat, but weariness of the current stalemate.

Remont bowed. "Your Highness, conventional siege tactics are proving futile. Rhine has turned the Imperial Capital into a veritable fortress, and without the proper key... entry is impossible."

Kaelin sighed deeply. "We do not possess such a key."

A slow smile crept onto Remont's lips. "But I do."

He raised his hand and produced a sharp snap of his fingers.

A knight then wheeled in a heavy iron cage, its wheels leaving damp tracks on the ground.

The cage was draped with a black cloth, beneath which faint movements suggested something stirring within.

Kaelin's brow furrowed. "What is this?"

Remont stepped forward and pulled away the black covering.

As the cloth fell, Kaelin involuntarily took a step back.

"What... manner of ghastly abomination is this?" Kaelin whispered, his voice tight.

Remont's satisfied smile deepened.

"This, Your Highness, is the ram I have prepared for you."

He produced an iron key from his inner pocket and presented it to Kaelin. His tone was respectful, yet held a compelling, almost seductive, undertone. "The decision to employ it rests with you."

A profound silence descended upon the tent.

The relentless drumming of the rain against the canvas echoed each chaotic heartbeat.

Kaelin gazed down at his right hand, a hand that had once been broken.

After a prolonged pause, he spoke softly, "This is war."

He raised the hand, his fingers closing around the key. "I shall bear the consequence."

......

In the dead of night, the city walls were illuminated by alchemical lamps, their misty blue flames pushing back the dampness but failing to pierce the dense, oppressive darkness beyond the fortifications.

A shroud of rain and fog stretched into the distance, resembling the exhalations of some colossal, slumbering beast.

A knight, leaning against the battlements with his armor unclasped, idly juggled the gold coins distributed the previous night.

The coins danced between his fingers, catching the moonlight and flashing as if imbued with life.

"Care for a wager?" he proposed to the knights nearby. "On whether there’s an assault tonight. If they dare strike, one of these coins is yours."

"His Highness has already seen to our provisions; they'd be fools to attack now," another yawned in reply.

As their conversation lulled, a subtle sound drifted up from below the ramparts.

It was a persistent, almost grating, rustling.

The Knight Captain frowned, leaning over the edge to peer down. "What in the blazes...?"

The thick fog swirled, momentarily parting with the wind, and in that instant, he saw them clearly.

A dense swarm of pallid forms.

Thousands of dragonblood youths, their torsos bare, were clinging to the base of the city wall. Their spines were unnaturally bent, as if broken, their limbs contorted at grotesque angles, moving with unsettling speed.

Their fingernails, like the claws of beasts, dug deep into the fissures of the dark, stony ramparts, each strained movement emitting a faint cracking sound from the rock.

They were stealthily ascending.

Like a living skin, draped and crawling upwards.

The moonlight revealed their eyes: not human, but bearing strange, vertical pupils, vacant and chilling, fixed with predatory intensity.

Short daggers were held firmly in their mouths, utterly silent.

The knight who had been playing with the coins let one fall with a soft 'clink' onto the stone.

His throat felt constricted, and he managed to choke out, "What... sort of unholy horror is this?"

The Knight Captain reacted instantly, pounding the stone parapet. "Sound the alarm! Quickly summon reinforcements!"

But below the wall, the tide of pale flesh had already climbed halfway up.

Silent, swift, and lethally efficient.