"Beerus' third line of defense has been breached!"
"Sir Laval's battalion is requesting support!"
"Enemy flying units have appeared in the spire of the Lion Beast-"
"They are in the twelve o 'clock direction!"
Veronica's face was cold.
The female legion commander gestured to the crossbowmen from Adidas not far away. The officer saluted her and rushed to the top of the fortress with the heavily armored crossbowmen.
Purple arcs of light lit up the sky from time to time, but it was enough to illuminate the entire huge battlefield.
Bright spots of light rose and fell one after another, reflecting the light blue network behind it. It was a light curtain about ten kilometers wide. Behind it, a behemoth had completely risen from the ground and was suspended in mid-air. Its surface was shining with a metallic luster, like a hexahedral prism thousands of meters long.
And that was the Tower of Babel.
Against the backdrop of this giant tower, the crisscrossing mountains in the Alkhash region were like a pocket-sized sand table, and the human defense system was more like a linear distribution of dust.
As for the human soldiers who relied on these fortresses to resist, they were almost invisible.
However, no matter how small their existence was, when their numbers were enough to cover the entire valley, they still dyed the entire earth with color. On one side of the undulating mountains was the red battlefield of the Cruz people, and on the other side was a turbulent purple sea. The two sides were intertwined.
Veronica was watching the crossbowmen moving up the walkway of the city wall from afar.
At this distance, more than sixty crossbowmen were as small as a creeping black line. The horseshoe beetles whistled down from the sky, and the crossbowmen had to stop and erect tower shields. From time to time, some of them fell off the city wall.
Here, death was nothing more than a common thing.
Veronica's heart was calm, as if life and death could no longer make her heart waver. This mechanical indifference shrouded everyone on the battlefield. She frowned and put one hand on her lower abdomen. The scale-like armor was covered with eye-catching rose red, and there was a six-inch-long fang there.
Just a moment later, another light purple arc of light streaked across the sky.
The intersecting mountain ridges, as well as the intricate valleys hidden beneath them, the entire world was illuminated by the purple light, down to the finest detail.
But a moment later, the world returned to darkness, and the ferocious battlefield disappeared without a trace.
The Elementalists on the Omniscient Spire were preparing for a counterattack. Their chanting echoed in the night sky, and bright golden rings of flame appeared above the clouds.
A rain of fire appeared in the sky. The golden-red flames left a long trail behind them, like molten steel pouring down from the clouds. The sparks fell into the depths of the valley of Alkash. Before the flames landed on the ground, a dense sea of crystal clusters was reflected.
They advanced through the sea of fire.
He was also trampling on death.
Although the Crystal Clusters had yet to break through the last few lines of defense.
But it was not far away.
In Wohnde's history, the defense of a fortress was never isolated. Even the legendary Tower of Babel, which was built by the gods, was the same.
However, with the fall of that era, the defensive system built by those great existences had long since disappeared. The glorious history had become the past, buried under the dust. Today, it was only covered with scars.
Although the Wind Elves and the Cruz people had rebuilt this system.
But how could the poor craftsmanship of the mortals be compared to the miracles created by the gods? Babel once had the reputation of never falling, but now, no one dared to boast.
The defenders all understood one thing. This fortress could be their spiritual support, but in fact, it did not have many trump cards.
Veronica stood in place and occasionally looked to the west, where the elves' position was. At this moment, arrows were falling like rain.
The Golden Elf Archers' powerful dominance on the battlefield effectively stopped the advance of the Crystal Legion army. However, the silhouettes of huge Crystal Legions immediately appeared in the sea of Crystal Legions. The floating purple Crystal Legions began to advance again. The elves were forced to retreat, and gaps appeared in the complete line of defense.
The Wind Elves had transferred the most elite Hurricane Corps and the Elven Court Guards from the Wilderness of Four Realms. The former was the archenemy of the Red Army for six centuries, while the latter was the commander's guard passed down from the age of the Wise Ones. They used to be the twenty-four Wind Knight.
But the King of Lorindale, the commander of the Wind Elves, Isdoville, knew better that he did not have enough power at his disposal.
He had no choice but to divert half of the most crucial Elven archers to support the human allies, or else the remnants of the Green and Black Legions of the Kirrlutzians, which had been painstakingly preserved from East Metz, would bleed to death in this war.
This was a consideration on the battlefield, but more importantly, the elves valued their promise.
Although the two sides had been mortal enemies several times in the past few centuries, the oath engraved on the slate a thousand years ago also existed. Perhaps on this day, when the elves decided to choose such a place to die in battle, they would not hesitate to believe in the people behind them.
Even if the other party was the Cruz people.
The battle had reached the most white-hot stage. Stormy waves were not enough to describe the offensive of the Crystal Cluster army. The human fortresses that were still standing at the forefront fell one by one. The Knight who sent the order was reading out the names of the troops that had not fallen yet, but the list was getting shorter and shorter.
"Sir Marks and his highland infantry battalion have asked for help. Sir Spruce is still there. Swordmaster Wade and his battalion are retreating …"
Parchments were thrown on the aisle one by one.
Finally, there was one last parchment left in his bony hand.
At this moment, the third line of defense had collapsed.
But there was one last reef in the midst of the raging waves.
"Sir Valar is still there!"
"Sir Valar and the others have retreated into Fort Golden Falcon."
When he read it for the third time, the Knight looked up in shock and said in a trembling voice, "Sir Laval … Sir Laval and the others are still there."
Many people were stunned.
In the Lache of Wa, there was a place called the Shetty. A brown river flowed through this place.
On that fertile land, there was a group of people who had fought against the mountain people for generations. They were the descendants of the Cruz people, but they were not accepted into the mainstream society of the Empire. The Shetty people liked to ridicule the Empire people for being petty because they were the descendants of the warriors. And for decades, every Shetty person hated the Empire for betraying them.
The Empire tolerated the mountain people, but forgot the Shetty people.
Count Laval was a Shetty person. He was stubborn, old-fashioned, and dogmatic. He was not accepted by the upper classes. What was more irritating was that he was a so-called dissident. In short, he was a loyal follower of Queen Constance.
Such a person was naturally disliked everywhere, not to mention after the fall of Constance. If the Empire had not fallen, such a person would have been stripped of his noble status — perhaps even hanged.
Duke Ludwig had mocked him for being insensible, and the nobles who had suffered losses in the war at East Metz were even more furious. They had more than once publicly declared that the Shetty farmers were a gang of barbarians.
But the Shetty people were brave and good at fighting, and the region had historically produced the best archers and light infantry in the Empire.
In the centre of the battlefield …
The Shetty people retreated into the barbican when the Shetty had climbed up the outer wall. The Shetty people had defended the barbican to the death. When the inner wall had fallen, the Shetty people had retreated into the steeple.
There were not many of them left, but the steeple was still standing.
It was like a sharp tooth piercing into the purple sea.
Duke Ludwig instinctively approached the battlements. "What are you waiting for? Go and save them!" His veins bulged like an angry lion as he roared at his Knight.
A hand interrupted him. Mangrove looked at the Knight who had sent the order.
The Knight's voice was a little stiff. "Sir Laval and his soldiers have requested for support …"
"What kind of support do they need?"
"My lord, see for yourself …"
A small figure climbed to the top of the spire and raised a flag on the top of the spire.
"It's Sir Laval!" someone exclaimed.
But more people stared at the flag in silence.
It was a brown flag in the shape of a piece of land. It was the land that the Shetty people had guarded for generations, their homeland, the fertile land surrounded by brown rivers.
The brown white-bellied falcon represented the fearless spirit of the Shetty people, and the ears of rice contained the deepest hope of the land. Under the ears of rice, a lion held a skylark in its mouth, and the Shetty people were also loyal and trustworthy.
It was a raging purple wave.
It was also a lonely flag.
Many people shed tears, feeling regret for what they had done in the past.
These farmers from the Shetty people had proved their loyalty and bravery to the Empire, but the Empire could no longer make up for its narrowness and prejudice. Perhaps this was the root of everything that had fallen apart.
At this moment, Mangrove suddenly thought of the small border country in the south of the Empire, the fearless king, and the sword that he had taken away.
Duke Ludwig leaned weakly against the wall and remained silent.
"They … request to use the Golden Flame Angel …" the Knight who had sent the order replied in a low voice.
"Target?" Mangrove asked softly.
The Knight who had sent the order opened his mouth, but in fact, everyone already knew the answer.
Like a king who needed both a scepter and a sword to maintain his dignity, the Golden Flame Angel was Babel's sword that symbolized justice and dignity. The golden light gathered from the bottom to the top along the hexagonal prism. They might have traveled for several kilometers, but in fact, it only took a moment for them to gather at one point.
The sky seemed to have been lit up, and the clouds were burning fiercely.
A fiery red light shot down from the top, straight into the dark mountains, and then scattered into tens of thousands of light beams, plowing through the sea of crystal clusters. With just one blow, tens of thousands of crystal clusters were turned into ashes.
The attack of the entire purple sea was stopped.
But in the center of the light beam, only the scorched remains of the towering spire were left.
The flag turned into ashes and drifted away in the breeze before dawn.
Some noble ladies even covered their faces and cried out. Their cries echoed on the city wall, but they could not suppress the earth-shattering battle.
The Golden Flame Angel should not have been used at this time, but people knew that only the bravest deserved a sword. The Shetty people had proved their bravery. When Mangrove walked down the city wall, he patted his old friend on the shoulder, which meant to tell Duke Ludwig:
Many people would die here, but those who survived would have to fight on.
In the spire of the Lion, a battle that had no suspense was coming to an end. Humans had no hope of winning.
The young officer from Adidas stood on the city wall and saluted to his commander from afar with a Knight's salute. The officer's eyes were filled with the kind of heartfelt respect. Then he jumped and landed on the cliff.
Countless locusts were climbing up the city wall.
Veronica looked at the scene expressionlessly.
"It's time to retreat," Mephisto told her.
"I can't even remember his name, but I know that child is a Knight of the Folded Sword Knight Regiment," she whispered to the Ash Sword Saint. "They are the best young people in the empire."
"I know them." Mephisto knew his former enemies. "They are worthy of admiration."
"Bring me my horse. I'm going to see Istowell."
With that, she turned and walked away.
Mephisto grabbed her arm and shook his head. "Why bother? You know it won't work out. The Elves also have their difficulties. Besides, you are still injured."
"We may all die here. This injury is nothing," Veronica replied softly. "Do you want me to give up? We can still retreat now, but there will be nowhere to retreat."
… …
Yaruta stared blankly at the mess left behind after the dispute.
The table was overturned to the ground, parchments and map cylinders rolled to the ground. The Elven guards stood awkwardly at the door, not knowing whether to advance or retreat. The King of Lorindale, who was wearing a black velvet coat and had a thin face, shook his head. He bent down to pick up the military map from the ground. His skinny palm was as pale as a vampire's.
The face of the Elven Lord could be described as withered. His deep-set eyes seemed to contain a bright flame, but his lips were extremely thin, as if he was indifferent and extremely opinionated.
Istowell smiled bitterly again and shook the dust off the parchment in his hand. The fury of the female army commander left a deep impression on everyone present, but he just did not expect that after so many years, she still had the same temper as when she was a little girl.
"Why didn't you agree with her?"
Yaruta finally could not help but ask. Although he was a little afraid of the person in front of him, he did not show his emotions.
"Why should I agree?" Istowell looked at the young crown prince and asked.
"Isn't this self-saving … at this time?"
"What is self-saving?" Istowell asked. "Relying on Madara?"
"But the Sage said …"
The King of Lorindale raised his hand to signal that he did not need to say anymore. "Your Royal Highness, compared to the Sages living in history, I know what Saint-ausol needs better than them. Well, this problem is too complicated for you. Maybe you should spend more time learning how to be an 'Elven' crown prince."
The guards outside the door heard the words and looked at each other, thinking that the King was talking nonsense again. This time it involved the Wind Empress, and he was not very respectful to His Royal Highness. But fortunately, perhaps they had been accustomed to such a scene for a long time. They carefully gave each other a look, and the Elven girls quietly retreated.
Perhaps others could pretend not to hear this sentence, but Yaruta could not.
He felt insulted.
He was just the son of a hunter, and he had suffered enough these days. The Elves did not put him and his sister in their eyes at all. Some people even mocked them as bumpkins.
He took off the crown from his head and could not help but say loudly, "I know, you don't think highly of us at all, but I didn't expect anything. If it weren't for Mr. Brando and the Sage's commission, I wouldn't have thought of coming here. If you want this crown, take it. It doesn't belong to me."
With that, he threw the crown in his hand to the other party.
Istowell suddenly stopped and did not reach out to catch it. The crown fell to the ground with a thud.
Outside the window, a purple arc of light was crossing the sky, and the whole dark room was lit up.
Yaruta was startled. He looked at the rolling crown and remembered that it was the symbol of the Elven Kingship. He could not help but be a little scared and whispered, "I … I didn't mean it."
The King of Lorindale glanced at him, bent down, and picked up the crown with both hands. "Don't let me hear that again." He said coldly.
"Then why do you have to keep us here!" Yaruta felt a tingling in his nose, and tears were almost rolling in his eyes. He was really aggrieved and scared. "Since you don't want to, let us go back. My sister and I are not Elves!"
"Because you don't understand its weight." Istowell gently swept away the dust on the crown.
Then he raised the crown with both hands and put it on the top of the boy's head.
Yaruta was still in tears and froze when he saw the other party coming over. But when he saw Istowell's movements, he was stunned for a moment.
"You-"
"I do know more about the current Saint-ausol than the Wind Empress."
"But I have to admit that she knows better than me who is more suitable for the king-"
Istowell looked very serious. "The Wind Elves have long lacked a culture of tolerance, so they are not accepted in the mainstream of civilization. Perhaps a human king is the opportunity to change everything. Guarding alone is just a helpless choice, especially today, in fact, we all know that no one can face this enemy alone. "
"In that case … why don't you agree?" Yaruta wiped his tears and sniffed. "You clearly know that Madara is not behind the White Mountain … I'm sorry, I overheard your conversation."
Istowell did not take it seriously and corrected Yaruta's words seriously. "It's us, not you."
The elven lord looked out of the window, the light reflected in the depths of his pupils on his thin face. Outside the window, dark clouds hung low. In the sky, the aerial knights of the Kirrlutz and the Farnezain had also joined the battle. The battle was extremely intense, the light of magic almost lighting up the entire cloud layer.
"A thousand years ago, it was also the same situation," he muttered to himself.
Then he turned back. "Your Highness, have you understood the foundation of the Wind Elves?"
Yaruta shook his head blankly.
"It's because of pride." But Istowell's tone was even more proud.
"Pride?"
"Those in this world who think they are above people, the Wind Elves will never accept their manipulation."
He reached out and straightened Yaruta's crown. "Not in the past, so not today."
Yaruta was stunned.
He felt as if he understood something, but he was not sure.
…
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