Chapter 607

Chapter 607: The Poem of the Wind

Three months later, at the former capital of Rourna, Mozwah.

The morning breeze flowed through the air, carrying the mist from afar and the coolness of the dawn.

The towering city walls stood in silence. It was not devoid of life; in fact, they were almost entirely filled with soldiers and Extraordinary Beings standing in alert formation. They wore neat uniforms, carried muskets, and had swords at their sides. Their armor was among the finest produced by the Frost Alliance, being both light and highly protective.

These soldiers gathered along the layered city walls that stretched over ten kilometers, gazing towards the outer city.

In the foggy wilderness, one could see the outlines of meticulously aligned formations. Even when the clouds occasionally revealed parts of the formations, it was evident that there were vast numbers of people within them.

When a hundred people marched in formation, it seemed orderly and beautiful. When a thousand did so, it appeared heroic. When ten thousand marched in perfect unison, it created a heavy sense of oppression. And when a hundred thousand formed lines stretching for kilometers, trampling the earth, it gave an overwhelming and suffocating feeling.

Finally, when the number reached a million, the advancing troops seemed endless, like a sea of banners fluttering endlessly. The individual presence became insignificant under this nearly despair-inducing enormity.

It was unimaginable how such a massive army and its warriors could maintain such strict unity. Under that terrifying discipline, each upright figure and spear seemed as solid as iron. The rows of sharp spears and armor reflected horrifying ripples of light in the early morning glow, like an ocean of steel and waves of blades stretching endlessly.

Even though these troops had not yet attacked and were merely standing quietly on the plain outside the city, the pressure felt like it was falling from the sky, pressing down on the hearts of all the defenders.

“Are we really going to fight against such…such enemies?” A young soldier’s teeth chattered as he trembled, asking his comrade beside him. Even the new, high-quality musket and armor he had been issued provided no sense of security.

“I pray it doesn’t come to this,” replied the soldier next to him, trembling as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes in prayer, hoping that the higher-ups would simply surrender. After all, they were once part of the Snow Flower Seven Nations and shouldn’t treat opponents like the Verdant Empire did.

On the other hand, atop the twelve clock towers of Mozwah, several representatives in dark clothing observed the distant scene.

“Has this day finally come?” asked one of the Mage representatives, with a voice tinged with sadness, loss, and sorrow.

“The 1.2 million troops of Clancia have surrounded the entire city. We have no retreat except along the southern coast.”

“Even the sea route might be another abyss. Don’t forget our old friends and rivals, those from the New Moon Council, who are surely waiting for us out there.”

“At this point, even if the Sequence 9 lords intervened, it would likely be too late. Based on our intelligence and the vague perceptions from outside the city, the opposing forces also have four Sequence 9 commanders behind their ranks.”

“The new Pope has arrived. Although the Church cannot interfere with secular matters, she can prevent our senior officials from intervening under the pretext of the Sage Council.”

“As a result, our final resistance seems like a joke. Haha…cough, cough.” Amidst the bitter laughter, the Mage clutched the railing in front of him, tears streaming down his aged face.

“Why, why has it come to this?”

“Could the doctrines and ideals passed down for generations end in our hands?”

Another Mage representative slumped into a chair nearby, leaning against the cold wall, gazing blankly at the dome of the tower. Memories of the past flashed through his mind.

Childhood innocence, the pride of being praised by parents in youth, the pride of entering a master’s door in young adulthood, the happiness of marrying the master’s daughter, the fulfillment of becoming a new leader of a school and promoting technological advancements, and the joy of widely promoting creations designed by himself.

Everything was once so beautiful and smooth, but now it was about to shatter like a dream and sink into the abyss with the nation.

Unlike the lower-ranking soldiers and ordinary Mages, these leaders of the factions, at the pinnacle of Rourna’s power, initiators and advocates of war, were destined not to be forgiven by the enemy. If the Frost Alliance were to lose, they would have nowhere to hide. Even if they escaped, they would be hunted relentlessly by the enemy like rats, until the end of their lives.

“No, no, no! We cannot accept such defeat. There must still be a way. There must be,” his voice was filled with pain, resentment, and madness.

“I must go see those two lords.” This representative stumbled down the stairs and ran toward a hidden corner in the city.

—

Outside the city, as the sun slowly rose above the horizon, its faint light pierced through the mist on the plain. The countless spears and armor reflected dazzling light under the sunlight.

The long poles, reaching nearly twenty meters in height, were arranged within the military formation. At the top of these poles hung banners resembling streamers, white with golden edges, featuring the emblem of Clancia in the center. On either side of the banners, there were bright red ribbons.

As the sea breeze gently blew, these banners spread out at an angle, the red ribbons showing the path of the wind and producing a loud rustling sound. Such banners lined up in a row, like a curtain of wind, engulfing everyone’s view.

Every hundred meters, flags formed a continuous line, like a wind curtain, layer upon layer. Beneath these white banners with golden edges lay an endless iron-clad military formation.

Facing an army that could not be counted with the naked eye, many defenders began to wobble and lose their footing, as if they could be crushed into nothing at any moment by this seemingly hopeless force.

With the mournful and distant sound of horns, these rigid, iron-like military formations slowly advanced.

Step—

The synchronized footsteps sounded like the hammer of a divine being striking the uneven earth. As the soldiers moved forward, the banners followed, creating a wave-like surge that brought a sense of awe and oppression.

On the vast plain, Mana’s radiance formed a continuous expanse. The surging magic power resembled a boiling ocean of flames. Even with the numerous magic cannons and Mage attacks from the city walls, these attacks were like pebbles thrown into the sea, instantly shattered and submerged.

This magnificent army, which even Roland, the founding monarch of Westwind, had not achieved, was accomplished by a new nation just a few years after Westwind’s collapse.

Just as described in the poem:

Like wind-like banners forming a white ocean on the plain.

And they marched toward glory and belief, to the ends of the world.

Today’s work is here, I’m stuck, and I need to adjust my schedule. I’ll continue tomorrow 0 0

I was wrong, I shouldn’t have stayed up last night ≥﹏≤

(Today I owe the Silver Great Patron much more content t t)

(End of Chapter)