Chapter 640 — Reinforcements

"We cannot let the finest scholars of the kingdom all die here," Wales said swiftly. "Without the protection of the Great Shield, and in this kind of head-on mass engagement, these mages—already far too exhausted—can hardly make a difference. Their survival is worth far more than their deaths here. The northwest gate should still be clear, yes?"

"It is clear."

Countless crystal-cluster monsters had gathered around Saint-Sunir, but the entire city was not yet sealed off. The gate in the northwest of the royal capital was still passable, and it was through that gate that the limited reinforcements from the Western Marches Legion had entered the city.

"Prepare to evacuate the scholars, these mages included," Wales said, his tone brooking no dissent. "Send them out through the northwest corner."

"Your Majesty," Boyu could not help speaking up, "I fear this will cause unrest..."

"So long as I have not withdrawn, the defense line will not waver," Wales cut off the Duke of the Western Marches. "And I am not asking these mages to flee—I am asking them to survive this battle. The city of Xuanque will be held; those who don armor and wield swords will hold it. But after it is held, we will still need those who wield brush and paper to rebuild it."

"...Yes, Your Majesty."

The Duke of the Western Marches departed to carry out the king's command, and Wales's attention returned to the vicinity of the city walls, to those barriers of holy light that might be extinguished at any moment.

He did not know how much time had passed when his gaze was suddenly drawn to the sky, as though by some premonition.

Several small dark dots had appeared, at some unknown moment, among the distant clouds. Beneath the brilliant and ever-brightening morning sun, those dark dots were rapidly approaching Saint-Sunir.

Minutes later, when those dark dots began to descend, Wales could at last make out, with a transcendent's eyesight, what they truly were.

It was several griffins, clustered around a giant eagle.

Wales stared wide-eyed at them, watching them dive toward the royal capital in what seemed an almost suicidal plunge. As their altitude steadily dropped, the crystal-cluster legion massed on the plains finally reacted. Even in their frenzied state, those monsters launched instinctive attacks against the intruders who had violated their "air domain." Arc after arc of lightning burst from the ground into the sky, interweaving into a vast, taut, glittering net—and at the edge of that net, the giant eagle and the griffins danced past the clouds, past the walls of Saint-Sunir.

They dropped something from high above.

The objects burst open in midair, unfurled, and streamed in the wind, their colors vivid, and Welsh quickly made out what those drifting, cloth-like things were.

They were the banners of Cecil.

The King's eyes slowly widened, and then he burst out laughing.

That founding hero had arrived a day earlier than agreed.

As a great host of Cecil banners unfurled high overhead and drifted down on the wind, the tolling of the Yaoxiao Cathedral bells, which had resounded through the whole inner city, gradually faded.

The divine descent had ended.

The light-forged giant floating above the city shattered with a crash, dissolving into countless scattered motes of holy light that dispersed into the air, and the holy barrier guarding the royal capital cracked inch by inch, vanishing in a short span of time.

Across the entire plain, the crystal-cluster monsters grew restless.

The Cecil banners drifted down on the wind, and amid the abruptly rallied morale, Welsh pointed his longsword at the sky:

"For Ansell!"

At Saint Sunil, the shouts of battle shook the clouds.

Along the Gorgon River, the guns roared.

Three river warships lay abreast along the bank, with the rest of the gunboats and small artillery vessels arrayed across the river, and close-defense guns and light main batteries of every size trained on the eastern bank, magic flashing without cease, the whole beachhead engulfed in thunderous fire.

On the bridge of the Pathfinder, Byron's great voice was nearly as loud as the guns outside:

"Suppressing fire, suppressing fire, clear that landing zone fast!"

"Follow-up freighters, close up, all of you, close up!"

"Move, move, move, drop the ramps, drop the ramps! Get the ground troops off!"

Under the gunboats' cover, the crystal-cluster monsters entrenched across the eastern bank were swiftly being cleared away, while the armored freighters drew up one after another to the beaches fit for landing, their ramps of sturdy steel frames and heavy plating extending onto the riverbank by mechanical means, and tanks and multi-purpose fighting vehicles, long since ready, rolled one after another onto dry land and swiftly established a rolling defensive line ashore.

And as the tank guns boomed out, the land forces charged up the bank.

On the Pathfinder's bridge, the image of Soyu surfaced on the magic-net terminal before Gao Yang: "...just flew over Saint Sunil... signal already dropped... they're still holding..."

Gao Yang turned to look at Byron, who had finally quieted down: "Can we hit Saint Sunil from here?"

"Beyond theoretical range, but we can try a shot," Byron's great voice rang out again. "No guarantee of accuracy—if the angle's right I can put a shell on the plain south of Saint Sunil, but where exactly it lands nobody knows. One thing's for sure, we can't reach the royal capital."

"Fire, then," Gao Yi said with a slight nod. "Tell those monsters we've arrived."

"You hear that, boys!" Byron, face glowing, swung his arm toward his crew. "Overload the main gun and give 'em one hell of a shot!"