Chapter 621 — The Storm Subsides

Krolod stared at the crystal ball for a moment before rubbing its surface. The next second, Bishop Heedon's voice came from the magic device, which had been fixed with a message spell: "Do not tell me you are still dealing with that blizzard!!"

"As a matter of fact, I am still dealing with it," Krolod said, suppressing his irritation. "We have run into unexpected trouble."

Heaven knew why the magic net inside the castle's outer perimeter was still running after its nodes had been destroyed! Its power had merely dropped somewhat, yet it was still running!

When the Cecil people built the magic net and taught it to the nobles of various regions, they had absolutely retained a great many technical details! That thing was no "ordinary large-scale magic array" at all—not an array that would stop running once a few key loops were dug out and a few energy lines cut!

"Listen, I am not interested in the trouble you have run into," Bishop Heedon's voice continued from the crystal ball. "Our legion has run into trouble in the south. You..."

Heedon's voice had barely reached the halfway point when another strange humming and whistling sound suddenly entered Krolod's ears, making the crystal giant look up instinctively.

He gazed at the blizzard over the castle district and saw great masses of turbulence appear at the crown of that mighty and terrible magical storm. Within the gradually weakening storm, countless sharp shards of frost were scattering and spraying from the top of the vortex...

The blizzard was weakening!

"Your Eminence, the blizzard here is weakening—Victoria Wilder's mana must be exhausted!"

In the crystal ball, Heedon's voice paused, as if he too were somewhat taken aback. After a brief silence, Krolod heard Heedon's voice come again: "Very good. Finish off that tiresome duchess first, then return to Red Maple at once. I will tell you your next task."

The crystal ball dimmed. Krolod stared at the magic device for a moment before putting it away again.

In the background behind him, the blizzard shrouding Megalith Castle was swiftly falling apart.

……

The barrier was about to collapse.

Victoria Wilder stood quietly on the terrace of the castle's upper floor, watching the blizzard slowly disintegrate, her face cold and still.

She wore a white gown adapted from a mage's robe, a silver-white shawl over her shoulders, and in her hand a staff inlaid with crystal and platinum. Several frost crystals giving off bitter cold circled about her, and beneath her feet was a large magic array, its countless intricate and abstruse lines and runes extending from under her feet all the way to the edge of the terrace and to the magic net interface of the castle.

The magic net was still running, but the power it supplied had greatly diminished. Victoria knew this was because someone had destroyed the magic net units beneath the outer wall.

The Destroyer, it seemed, did not understand the workings of the magic web—Victoria, however, vaguely recalled that the founding hero, risen from the dead, had once taught her a few terms, one of which was "modular," referring precisely to this structure of the magic web, built from a great many independent units combined together.

This modular structure had kept the Destroyer from achieving its intended goal, and had also sustained the inner city's supply of magic to this day, lengthening the time she could hold out; in fact, had she continued to force herself, Victoria could have kept the blizzard raging for at least three more days.

But today, she had chosen to end her casting of her own accord.

Knights in grey-white armor stood one by one upon the terrace, mages in robes—wearied yet resolute of expression—stood one by one before Victoria, and behind them, across the castle's plaza, gardens, inner courtyards, and walls, the soldiers of the Mountain Legion had already taken their places upon the defense line, blades in hand.

The duchess looked upon these subordinates who had followed her for many years, loyal to the core, drew a soft breath, and stepped forward.

"Today is the thirtieth day. We have held those monsters here for thirty days!

"The knights who broke through and the common folk should have reached safety by now—at the very least, we have done all that could be done.

"There is no point in maintaining the defense any longer. It is time to end this.

"Once the blizzard fades, the enemy will come swarming in. They may once have been our countrymen, may once have been Ansus we knew, but now they are the enemy, monsters, mutants and sources of corruption beyond all saving. The only thing we can do is take up our weapons and defend the dignity of what it means to be human.

"Perhaps every monster we kill here buys another Ansus somewhere a chance to live.

"It is my regret that I cannot bring you home alive.

"But it is my honor to die alongside you.

"For Ansus!!"

The staff, brimming with the radiance of magic, was raised high, then struck the ground with a heavy blow.

The warriors' blades stood thick as a forest, and their roar shook the blizzard that was swiftly crumbling: "For Ansus! To die with you!!"

By leaning upon the blizzard, those here might have lived three days longer—but that would have utterly exhausted all the mana of Victoria and the mage corps, and drained the resources stored within the castle. Once the blizzard ceased, the valiant and fearless Mountain Legion could only have faced a one-sided slaughter, utterly unable to fight back.

Northerners did not like that.

Northerners chose to die on the battlefield.

The duchess knew this, and the warriors knew it too.

Only the last ripples of the blizzard remained, and beyond the swirling snow the twisted, horrifying crystal-cluster monsters could be faintly seen.

The knights ran for the walls, the mages drank their final potions, and upon the castle terrace every soul gripped a weapon and rushed toward this royal fortress's last line of defense, while Victoria merely held her staff and quietly waited for the blizzard to scatter utterly.

A familiar figure entered her sight at that moment—her maid Maggie, walking among the warriors, two longswords in hand, black hair lifted in the wind.

It was the first time the soldiers of the Mountain Legion had seen this "head maid" armed for battle.

"Maggie," Victoria called out to her maid, and once the other had drawn near, said, "There is no need for you to stay here. You are not an Ansus."

"I once swore an oath to you," Maggie said, longsword in hand, gazing calmly at Victoria, "and in a situation like this, where else could I go?"

"No—you are the only one who might leave," Victoria said, looking into Maggie's eyes. "You know it—and so do I."

A flicker of astonishment and a moment's fluster crossed Maggie's face, but before she could open her mouth to ask, Victoria had already continued: "You will go south."

"Why south?"

"The knights broke through to the northwest; Saint Sunir is the first hope. You go south—perhaps there lies the second hope."

The black-haired maid met her mistress's gaze, and she knew that the "hope" the other spoke of did not belong to the Mountain Legion.

"I understand," she lowered her head. "I will go south."

"Good," Victoria let out a soft breath and slowly walked forward. "I will conjure a cyclone for you in the south—ride it, keep yourself hidden, and then...

"Fly, Maggie."

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