Chapter 70: Swift Turn (Part 2)

The Judah army of 10,000, including thousands of the coalition's most elite heavy cavalry, was utterly annihilated in a single encounter with Orford's forces. This devastating news crushed the morale of the coalition army, causing all rear units to immediately halt their advance. What had seemed like a one-sided battle in their favor turned into a massacre. Only a handful of stragglers at the rear managed to escape back to the coalition's main force. The report they brought back inflicted a psychological blow even greater than the battle's outcome itself.

The soldiers were gripped by disbelief and fear, barely comprehending the scale of their defeat. Meanwhile, their commanders remained tight-lipped about the details of the battle, imposing strict orders forbidding the survivors from discussing it. The coalition's generals hastily convened a military meeting, summoning the three archmages and five high priests among their ranks to attend.

"An entire heavy cavalry corps wiped out by a single spell?" The expressions of the mages and priests mirrored disbelief as though they were hearing a fairy tale.

"Yes," a general confirmed. "Every knight within the spell's radius was killed, including the three commanders of the heavy cavalry corps. We lost approximately six thousand men. Orford's forces then launched a follow-up charge, breaking the remaining troops' already shattered morale. Only a few dozen managed to escape."

"The three Judah commanders were seasoned veterans," the general continued. "Though not quite on par with the Knights of the Temple, they far surpassed ordinary warriors. Together, they could even challenge Lord Lancelote. Such elite warriors couldn't have been defeated by just any spell. That's why we called the archmages here—to ask: is this the legendary of…?"

The mages exchanged glances. Finally, one nodded and spoke in a dry voice: "It's forbidden curse. A spell that can affect a range as vast as six thousand people can only be of that level."

"But… there's no way Theodorus could cast forbidden curse," one priest interjected.

"Even if he could, he wouldn't use it. After all, he's Orford's leader," another added.

"Then who in Orford's forces could cast such a powerful spell?"

"Perhaps…" one mage hesitated. "They used… another method…"

A general interrupted, his tone urgent. "Masters, we need a clear explanation. What is going on? If the soldiers find out the orcs possess forbidden curse, their morale will collapse completely. And if Orford truly wields such power, we must reconsider everything—even the possibility of retreat."

Under the overwhelming destructive power of forbidden curses, no matter how elite or numerous the soldiers, or how skilled the warriors, they are no different from ants. The concept of war fundamentally changes with the involvement of such forces. Soldiers dying in brutal battles is one thing, but being wiped out meaninglessly, like ants consumed by fire, is an entirely different matter.

The priests shook their heads adamantly. "Impossible. Orford cannot possess such magic. To cast forbidden curse requires mastery of at least two magical disciplines at their highest levels, resonating perfectly during casting to produce power beyond ordinary magic. Across the entire continent, even including His Holiness the Pope and the necromancers of Dehya Valley, there are fewer than ten mages capable of reaching such mastery. Theodorus is certainly not among them. While he is a top-tier grand mage, his expertise lies in magical formations, spellcasting techniques, and intermediate to advanced magic across various disciplines. He has not mastered any one discipline to its pinnacle, let alone two."

"Furthermore," another priest continued, "the key limitation of forbidden curse lies in the immense magical resonance it generates during casting, which is almost unbearable for a human body. Even the most skilled caster would suffer tremendous physical strain when controlling two disciplines simultaneously. After casting, their magic abilities would greatly diminish, if they survived at all. Only beings like dragons or liches—legendary creatures immune to such strain—could cast forbidden curse without harm. While there have been mages who used forbidden spells, they were rare and willing to pay the ultimate price. For this reason, there are no records of forbidden curse being used on the continent in the past few decades."

The generals nodded in acknowledgment but grew even more perplexed. One finally asked, "Then how do we explain this incident? Forbidden curse, a last resort typically used in desperate situations, was deployed at the very start of this battle against the orcs. This defies all logic… unless there was a scroll containing a forbidden spell?"

A high priest considered this. "It's theoretically possible to craft a forbidden spell scroll. According to records, top-tier magic crystals can serve as cores for such scrolls, refined through a special magical formation by several powerful mages to seal the spell's power. Two hundred years ago, His Holiness the Pope and four bishops created the combined light-fire forbidden spell scroll 'Infernal Paradise' to deal with the Nigen forces. However, such top-tier crystals are as rare and valuable as the legendary Star Eye used in teleportation formations."

"Orford is said to have established a teleportation formation, which suggests they possess a Star Eye. And they are indeed near the Saundfest Mountains… Could they have…?"

"Even with the materials, crafting such a scroll is an immense challenge," a mage countered. "The lead mage must have the ability to cast the forbidden spell themselves, and the supporting mages must be of equal skill. Currently, only the Glory Fortress, Tower of Fangs, or perhaps… Dehya Valley could achieve this."

"Dehya Valley?" The priests and mages collectively gasped, their faces pale.

One priest quickly asked, "What kind of magic was it?"

A general recounted the survivors' descriptions. Though the retreating soldiers had not seen much, the details were enough for the experts to make an assessment.

The three archmages exchanged grim looks before confirming: "It wasn't elemental destruction magic. It does not appear to be the work of the Tooth Tower's mages…"

The room fell into a heavy silence as the discussion took a darker turn. If Orford was backed by the continent's most mysterious and feared magical organization, every assumption would need to be reevaluated.

On the battlefield, unknown terrors inspire the greatest dread.

One general finally broke the silence. "Regardless of who is behind this, the fact that Orford used forbidden curse at the start of the battle suggests two possibilities. One is that they are not limited to using it just once, perhaps they have an even more horrifying trump card, so they don't need to save this forbidden curse scroll at the end as a last resort."

A priest's voice quivered. "No one wants to believe that possibility. What about the number two?"

"The second possibility," the general replied, "is that they only had one scroll and used it early to intimidate us—a purely psychological tactic."

"A scroll that could change the tide of war used so frivolously to confuse us? I wish it were true, but it seems unlikely…"

After another uncomfortable silence, one general asked, "What should we do? The Alrasian forces have been delayed by Tatalia. If we wait for supplies and redeploy the 20,000 cavalry in the rear, we might muster a total of 50,000 troops. But morale is currently at rock bottom. If Orford truly holds greater power than forbidden curse, our odds of victory are slim."

A high priest took out a teleportation scroll and sighed. "For now, let us hold our positions. I will report this to His Majesty."

"Let's just hope Alrasia can drive the barbarians out and return as soon as possible."

Alrasia—more specifically, the northeastern stronghold of Whistledale.

Whistledale wasn't just a critical chokepoint on the road to the Alrasian royal capital; it was also a bustling metropolis that combined commerce and manufacturing. Bustling all year round, it thrived with life and activity. However, the city that had once thrived with the lively chatter of people and the noise of wagons was now overrun by screams of warriors on the brink of death, the groans of axes clashing against swords and shields, and the barbaric howls of the attackers. Blood, corpses, and severed limbs littered every corner as people moved, crawled, and charged madly, doing everything in their power to bury their weapons into the bodies before them, eliciting as many screams and explosions of flesh as possible.

On the towering buildings, archers desperately rained arrows down on the barbarians swarming into the streets below. Shield-bearing swordsmen stood in a line, struggling to hold off wave after wave of assaults, while pikemen and spearmen behind them thrust their long weapons to kill. Whistledale, originally the heartland of Alrasia, had almost no effective fortifications, and the barbarians' advance could only be described as unstoppable. News of defeats at the frontlines arrived almost simultaneously with the barbarians' attacks. Alrasian forces, let alone setting up effective defenses, had not even completed their assembly before they were forced into urban combat.

Thousands of barbarians screamed and charged forward, utterly indifferent to the arrows raining down from above or the slashes of swords. They used their own momentum to hurl themselves into the shields and bodies of the swordsmen, their axes striking helmets and armor even as swords pierced them. Some pulled spears embedded in their bodies, dragging the soldiers wielding them closer. The sickening cracks of breaking armor and bones mixed with the soldiers' screams, simultaneously instilling fear and igniting the soldiers' fighting spirit. The barbarians, howling like maddened beasts, surged forward relentlessly, turning every injury they sustained into fuel for an even fiercer attack.

Despite the priests chanting prayers and casting supporting spells to heal the soldiers' wounds, the swordsmen's lines were steadily faltering and scattering.

The warriors from the barbarian north had always relied on brute strength and ferocity to counter the swords and armor of Alrasia's forces. However, they now had more than just raw strength. Each barbarian wore armor made from vines of unknown origin, which offered protection comparable to chainmail while being lightweight. Both swords and arrows struggled to deal significant damage to them. Moreover, the barbarians no longer wielded crude, poorly made weapons. In their hands were battle axes forged from high-quality steel.

A boom echoed as a fireball shot out from a loft window, exploding amidst the barbarians. Two or three were torn apart, their limbs flying, while several others nearby were knocked off balance. Yet, even those shaken quickly got back up. Their vine armor offered surprising resistance to fire and magic.

This was the last mage in the Alrasian forces, and that fireball was his final spell. A few barbarians roared as they climbed the loft's windows, breaking through the guards surrounding the mage and tearing him apart. These warriors, who had once feared fireballs and ice spells, were now emboldened by their unstoppable momentum, completely overcoming their psychological fears.

"Damn it! Where's the reinforcements? Where are those knights of the royal order? If this place falls, they can march straight to the capital!" A desperate officer shouted at a lone scout who had just returned.

"The royal order must protect Her Majesty the Queen; they cannot leave the capital. However, reports say a force of ten thousand from the western border near Nigen has already been dispatched and is rushing here."

"Nigen border? By the time they get here, these beasts will have razed the capital!" The officer was almost hysterical.

At that moment, dozens of massive figures appeared in the sky. Lightning bolts and fireballs rained down, momentarily disrupting the barbarian assault.

"It's the griffin riders! Our reinforcements are here!" Soldiers began to cheer, their collapsing morale suddenly revived. Though the main reinforcements from the western border were too far away, these highly mobile griffin riders had arrived just in time.

The Alrasian troops' formation finally stabilized somewhat, but the griffin riders alone could not turn the tide of the battle. Two griffins dived recklessly into the barbarian ranks, only to become targets for dozens of axes, torn apart midair along with their riders. Realizing the danger, the other griffins refrained from diving down, limiting themselves to high-altitude bombardments by the ten or so battle mages atop them.

Though this method of attack inflicted significant damage on the barbarians, its greatest impact was on their morale. Furious roars and howls filled the battlefield, with axes futilely thrown into the sky, only to fall back down.

Just as the officer breathed a small sigh of relief, he suddenly froze. His attention had been fully on the battlefield until now, and it was only in this moment of reprieve that he noticed a faint rumbling thunder growing louder. Yet, the sky was clear and the sun was blazing overhead.

The officer turned toward the direction of the sound and saw a black mass slowly approaching. The faint rumble of thunder came from that direction. Others on the battlefield were beginning to notice as well.

The officer's face turned even darker than the approaching clouds. He let out a scream more despairing than the dying howls of the barbarians: "It's dragonflies!"

As they drew closer, it became apparent that the black mass was moving rapidly. It was not a cloud but tens of thousands of dragonflies swarming together.

The griffin riders in the sky were the first to encounter the swarm and immediately turned to flee. But the large, rider-laden griffins stood no chance against the nimble insects in terms of speed. The battle mages launched fireballs at the swarm, each explosion incinerating dozens or hundreds of dragonflies, while a wall of fire could burn thousands. However, they managed only two or three spells before the black swarm engulfed them completely.

Although griffins and their riders were formidable warriors, able to tear apart the fragile dragonflies with ease, each griffin and rider was surrounded by hundreds of the insects. The dragonflies' stingers continuously pierced their bodies, injecting venom and weakening them. Their razor-sharp mandibles tore chunks of flesh from their prey.

Despite their struggles, the griffins and riders fell one after another, their blood-soaked corpses plummeting to the ground in mere moments.

As the griffin riders fell, the morale and formation of the Alrasian forces finally collapsed completely.