Chapter 1035: Sael of the White String [part 1]
The battlefield only got worse. Drifters and monsters alike began scaling the wall, and the defenders of Drywall unleashed their arrows.
Arrows of flames, arrows of searing light—drifters wielding projectile abilities let loose everything they had, smashing the monsters and hurling them back down before they could climb any substantial distance.
However, they had the shadow storm itself to worry about.
The darkness crept closer, more humans and monsters pouring from its depths, and it was only a matter of time before their fate atop the wall was sealed.
Many soldiers tried to strike it, but their attacks proved utterly futile. The shadow storm sometimes hurled the attacks back at the wall, causing massive sections to explode. Some Drifters plummeted and were immediately swarmed by monsters who mercilessly gouged out their eyes.
As their comrades fell, the surviving defenders surged with greater courage and defiant will to win this battle.
Their eyes blazed, and their voices soared through the air with every attack they launched into the shadow storm or used to halt the advance of Drifters and monsters scaling the wall.
The battle had just begun, yet it was already brutal—voices of agony and fury weaving together to create a devastating symphony of death and destruction.
The wall held, but only because the darkness advancing toward them moved slowly. However, its approach was inevitable.
Second by second, crawl by crawl, it drew closer. Many Drifters’ eyes remained fixed on it. Even as they fired arrows downward, they would pause to stare at the towering wall of darkness now closer than ever before.
Besides the Kalvern nation, other notable soldiers were charging from the storm, clashing as they attempted to scale the wall.
Captain Morven, a Savant, currently commanded the wall’s defense. Beyond being a prestigious member of Virelion Citadel, he had also served as a Kingdom General—siege battles were familiar ground to him, unlike other drifters.
He was doing exceptional work, except the shadow storm was something far beyond his experience.
None of them even knew whether to regard it as a monster or some constructed phenomenon born from an enemy’s abilities.
He harbored a grim suspicion about what would happen if it eventually breached the wall. Kingdom soldiers who should be thousands of miles apart were mindlessly fighting together in a neutral city—something that would never occur under normal circumstances.
Which meant it was only a matter of time before they too became pawns of the darkness.
The thought made Morven’s blood run cold.
He gritted his teeth as he nocked another arrow, drew it back with muscles straining, and released.
The arrow spiraled downward and crushed the skull of a three-eyed monster. With tremendous force, the beast peeled off the wall and plummeted to the ground, dragging numerous other monsters and Drifters with it. The earth erupted in a shockwave of dust as it crashed.
Captain Morven had already aimed his bow elsewhere and loosed another arrow before the monster hit the ground.
His expression was grim and resolute, though worry was etched deep in his features despite his efforts to hide it.
The wall was his responsibility. He had to defend it. He couldn’t let the darkness claim the wall.
He faced the darkness again and opened his hand. Liquid silver material formed and extended into a long, thin, razor-sharp javelin.
He shifted his leg back, scraping against the concrete floor of the wall, inhaled deeply—drawing his belly in as he pulled his arm back. Then he exhaled, and the javelin exploded from his grip.
It streaked through the air and vanished into the darkness.
Only to return barely a second later.
Captain Morven’s eyes widened. A shield of the same material materialized before him moments before the javelin smashed into the wall, sending stone shrapnel flying in all directions.
Even Captain Morven couldn’t withstand the tremendous force of his own attack—he was hurled backward to the ground.
He gritted his teeth and was already rising. Meanwhile, another Drifter had covered his position, releasing a long arrow and sending it streaking downward.
The Shadow Storm was growing disturbingly consistent with its counterattacks. In fact, it now launched projectiles of its own, obliterating sections of the wall’s front.
This left many Drifters disoriented—priority shifted from shooting downward to watching for incoming strikes. Two ballistas had already been obliterated by the shadow storm’s assault.
Now, the enemy grew unnervingly coordinated. Both monsters and humans used each other as ladders, linking arms and legs together, scaling the wall with eerie precision like a colony of ants.
The battle had barely lasted thirty minutes, yet the tide was already shifting.
The Drifters, whose eyes had blazed with defiant light and iron resolve, now trembled.
As if that weren’t enough, monsters began erupting from the darkness—airborne.
Captain Morven’s eyes widened in horror.
’What? They had aerial forces all along?! They were toying with us?’
He’d considered the possibility that the Shadow Storm might be a monster, but witnessing this coordinated assault, he knew better. This had to be a human’s ability.
The enemy had deliberately let them exhaust themselves so aerial forces could sweep in for the kill.
Of course, they’d prepared countermeasures for aerial attacks. But of all their defensive strategies, it was the weakest.
Turrets swiveled upward, but they were sluggish. The aerial monsters spread their wings and shrieked through the air with breathtaking speed. They slammed onto the wall, tearing through metal with razor fangs and crushing their iron beaks into drifters’ skulls.
They were fast—too fast—and this was precisely what crippled their defensive strategy.
Still, there was a counter-strategy.
Captain Morven exhaled and opened his hands again, materializing another silver javelin—this one longer, sharper, thinner.
He hurled it skyward and staggered back, gasping. He braced himself against his knee for a moment.
"I guess... it’s time... for the champions to enter the fray..."
Just as he spoke, the wind current began to surge. It started steady, then rose so violently that Drifters struggled to keep their footing. Their cloaks and clothes whipped savagely against the gale.
Captain Morven staggered back, shielding his eyes as he peered skyward. He could vaguely make out something in the heavens.
"Ah... they’re here already."
High above, standing on a platform of invisible wind, was a man clad in flowing white robes adorned with leaf motifs and nature-bound patterns. He gripped a massive bow that appeared carved from sacred wood.
The bowstring was pure white light.
The man’s silver hair lashed against the fierce wind, his eyes calm and unwavering as monsters fluttered around him, struggling desperately to reach him.
Finally, he raised his bow and plucked the string once.
In that instant, everything seemed to freeze.
Then a torrential rain of arrows baptized the battlefield.