Steel and Mana

Chapter 263 – Magical Showdown (1)

Otto was immersed within his spell, no longer in full view of his army, missing the fact that something had broken through their ranks, heading straight for the city. Maybe, even if he saw the second train arrive, he wouldn't have paid too much attention to it either. But, he would have picked up on the fact that someone other than him had used magic...

From his elevated vantage, the city of Lothlia stood like a dying beast, its stone walls battered and scorched, but the city was still holding its ground and the opening on its walls. Plumes of smoke rose from multiple breaches where Otto's forces had managed to hammer through, following his lightning bolts from the sky. What annoyed him the most were the two machines his enemies wielded. Especially that bastardly pink one. The hunkier, black, staying in the middle of the city was a pain, yes. It was sending multiple spells towards the Lawbringer, forcing the ship to raise its altitude numerous times because its shields could no longer fully block incoming attacks with its powers siphoned away by Otto's formation. But that other one... It kept slaughtering his warriors, resisting his lightning, still standing, even after Otto's last attack blasted off its shield-bearing arm.

Around that accursed pink beast, the battlefield stretched out like a hellish nightmare. The ground before the wall it guarded was a swamp of blood and muddied snow, churned and overturned a hundred times by thousands of feet and the weighty stomp of the devilish machine. Corpses—some already frozen in grotesque shapes by the biting cold—littered the ground right until they were caught in a blast or got smushed when its heavy feet stomped on them. Men groaned in the darkness, under rubble and their comrades' bodies, pleading for aid that would never come. The air stank of death and sweat mingled with the faint odor of burning flesh where magic had seared the fallen. A loud horn blared, suffocating the cries of warriors, bursting their eardrums; the Princess's angry roar rose above the clamor before the walls, coming from its headpiece as it continued fighting, being an enraged terror on the battlefield. Yuri was now fighting purely on instinct, locking on enemy troops nearest her, consumed by her bloodlust, and wanting to kill as many as she could before falling.

…
….
……

The battle on the walls and streets of Lothlia was a hard-fought one. The trained and freshly recruited soldiers of Elliot fought in tight formations, spears and shields raised against the coming tide, pouring through the openings. They had fought off multiple attacks already but knew they were still far from finishing. From the parapets, they could see the columns of enemy soldiers advancing through the snow-covered lands like a never-ending tide.

"Here they come again!" someone shouted further down the line.

Lothlia's defenders braced for impact, tightening their grips on their weapons as the mercenaries surged forward, a wave of bodies screaming in bloodlust and fury. The city's archers let loose their arrows, raining death down on the attackers, but there were so many of them—far too many. Bodies tumbled and fell as arrows pierced throats and eyes, but the wave kept coming. Even if the defenders' cannons fired, they couldn't hit everybody.

Then, those who reached the walls without openings were clawing their way up with ladders and ropes. The first to reach the top was met with immediate death—skewered on spears, hacked down by swords—but more followed, trampling over the dead and dying just the same. Lothlian soldiers shouted curses, thrusting their weapons into the mass of screaming bodies, feeling the dull resistance of flesh and bone as they cut down the invaders. The walls, by now, stank worse than a slaughterhouse.

An Avalonian captain of his group, his armor covered in blood, swung his sword in wide arcs, severing limbs and heads with one stroke. He had fought for what felt like hours, his muscles burning with exhaustion, but there was no time to rest, nor did he think about it. A conscript, barely older than a boy, lunged at him with a rusted pike. The captain sidestepped without effort, driving his blade through the boy's chest. There was no hesitation or remorse in his eyes behind his helmet. Their only reward was death as long as they wielded a weapon and continued attacking them. He twisted the blade viciously and kicked the body off the battlements, shouting orders into his headset and calling upon two of his men to reinforce his position.

"Hold the line!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "Lumet, Karvok to me! Don't let them—"

A thunderous roar cut him off as a section of the wall to his left exploded in a shower of stone and dust. A lightning bolt... The soldiers, no matter from which side, recoiled as a blinding blue light seared through their ranks. Screams echoed across the battlements as men writhed, their skin bubbling and melting under the magical onslaught caught. Dozens died, caught in the immediate vicinity of the blast.

"Captain Carou!"

His men were already there, throwing off the rocks from their leader, whose armor was smoking, burnt, and dented in multiple places. Yet, unlike the regular soldiers around him, he still lived.

"I'm not dead yet! Fight!" He coughed and shouted, getting back to his feet with the help of his men before pushing them forward into the fray. A moment later, their blades clanged against shields, and the air was filled with dying screams as they cut through armor like a hot knife through butter. Blood sprayed in wide arcs as his soldiers hacked and stabbed with righteous fury. Their injured captain blocked a sudden wild strike aimed at his head, coming from the mercenary who saw him disoriented, trying to capitalize on his chance. Still... He failed. Without hesitating, Carou then drove his sword into his attacker's stomach, lifting the blade until he felt the man's body give out, split open from the torso like a paper bag.

It was not the only place where Avalonians were like the manifestation of slaughter. Because the city had already been breached, chaos reigned around it. One alleyway close to the northeastern breach became a killing ground as a unit of Lothlian militia made a desperate stand, blocking the path of a group of marauding mercenaries. The Lothlians were armed with standard leather and iron armor and weapons—axes, swords, and halberds, yet they fought just as hard as their Avalonian partners. They shouted like madmen, unflinching in the face of any enemy, knowing that if they failed here, their families would be next. The mercenaries were more experienced, but the militia fought with the ferocity of men who knew they had nothing left to lose. This was their home, and they would defend it like wild animals.

A brutal exchange followed as steel clashed on steel, and the alley ran red with blood. One Lothlian, a massive blacksmith wielding a sledgehammer, smashed through the mercenaries with wild swings, crushing skulls and shattering bones. His eyes were wide with rage, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but his spirit was livid. His workshop was near, and his apprentices, neighbors, and people he knew fought and died beside him. This was their city, and they would die protecting it. A mercenary with a dagger leaped at him, slashing at his throat, but the blacksmith caught him with a backhanded blow that sent him sprawling into the hard ground, his chest caved in, his eyes popping out of his skull. There was no hesitation on his part; attacking by instincts, he followed up and crushed the man's head with a single swing of his hammer. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Let them come! Let my crafts taste their blood and be baptized in the flames of war!" he roared, encouraging those around him. This time, it was they who rushed at the mercenaries, surprising them.

Back at the walls, Otto's forces had finally gained a foothold. More ladders had been raised, and more soldiers poured onto the battlements. The defenders were slowly getting overwhelmed, their line being pushed backward as fatigue settled in. The Lothlians fought on, but their walls were breaking under their feet.

"General, come in!" It was then that a new voice echoed in the helmets of the Avalonians. "We are coming with the Prime Minister aboard! We need clearance on the northeast from the train station to the wall!"

Oleg's answer was simple. The howitzers changed their target from trying to hit the constantly moving Lawbringer and the backline of his army and instead started bombarding the enemy near the walls, risking hitting their own men. Polo also began moving, arriving at the required point quickly. Although it lacked melee weaponry, its body was the weapon, crashing into the invading mercenaries while his voice blared from the mech's speakers.

"Give up! Those who drop their weapon will be given mercy!"

He didn't expect much; he just did it for chance's sake. Yet, to many's surprise, some people indeed dropped their weapons or turned them against the mercenaries surrounding them. It was such a surprise that even the Avalonian soldiers looked on with wide eyes, not that they complained. The sudden chaos brought on an already chaotic battlefield was such that clearing the area for Merlin and his small group of bodyguards was done much quicker than anybody thought possible. If not for the circumstances, Oleg, who was arriving personally to ensure Merlin reached them safely, would have let out a chuckle, seeing him hanging off one of his soldier's backs.

"Bring me to the wall that faces the ship! At once!" Merlin yelled, shouting over the cries of the ongoing battle, the roar of the cannons, and the thumping sound of the Rook's massive legs stepping on a group of mercenaries in the background.

"Yes!" Oleg saluted, carving a pathway for them, knowing it was not the time to ask questions. Not when another lightning bolt crashed down from the sky, hitting the Rook. It shuddered, cracked, and groaned, going down on one knee while two of the cannons on its shoulders were nothing but deformed, molten metal after the strike.

Still, it stood back up with a metallic moan, continuing to stand in front of the attacking squads of warriors. Seeing it survive such a destructive force, more and more conscripts felt that this whole assault was pointless. They were dying in the thousands, and even if they won, how many of them would remain? Their choice was simple. They began dropping their weapons where they could or switching sides where they knew the mercenaries would strike them down.

As for what it would mean after the battle ended? Nobody thought about it in the heat of the moment. There was a bigger issue to deal with.

Arriving at the western side of the walls, facing the Lawbringer. Seeing the flying ship, Merlin's eyes could also perceive the magic reaching up the sky from it, seeing what others couldn't.

"No wonder our hijacking spell didn't work... It can't adapt to a multi-layered formation of such complexity by itself! This is not a spell that can be influenced by our current variants without proper control..."

“…”

Nobody said anything, as besides their Prime Minister, they knew nothing about magic. They just used what they were given…

"Good thing I came prepared." He mumbled, his fingers closing, twitching, opening randomly as his mind was doing a multitude of different calculations at once.

Oleg wanted to ask something, know what they should do, but before a word could leave his mouth, a lightning bolt came down from the sky, aiming at where the Princess kept fighting. Yet, before it could connect, a formation appeared right above the body of the pink mech, dissipating the spell before it could cause any damage.

"He's good…" Merlin mumbled, licking his lips, an unknown yet familiar feeling awakening within him. "But not as good as he thinks he is!"

With a clap, his body began shimmering, his eyes moving back and forth with incredible speed as a giant, magical sphere appeared around Lothlia, one that was even visible to the regular eyes of magicless people. Standing behind him, Oleg could swear the young-looking boy had transformed, just for a fleeting moment. Yet... He saw it... Merlin looked like an ancient being, one with a tall, straight back and a crown on his head… wearing a royal robe and a long cape fluttering in the wind. In that brief second, he could see someone who was once called the Emperor of Magic.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM