"Kill!!!"
"Slaughter them all!"
Cries rang out from atop the city walls. On the battlefield, there were no theatrics—only life or death. The soldiers had no other choice but to use everything they had to kill the cultists climbing the walls.
Not far from Furnace City, Urthado stood wide-eyed, staring hard at the battlefield ahead. As he watched his soldiers fall in droves, yet still fail to breach the walls, he began to grow anxious.
"Those damned useless wretches! After consuming so much of our food, they still can’t take the wall? How could those nobles inside the city be willing to invest so much in training those filthy peasants?!"
For this war, he had fed his cultists well, ensuring they were at their peak. He couldn’t believe the nobles in Furnace City had done the sa.
And yet, no matter how hard he lashed them on, his cultists couldn’t breach the defenses.
Staring at that glint of shining mithril atop the walls, Urthado clenched his teeth.
"Damn these nobles! To think they still have such hidden strength. Charge! All of you—charge! Anyone who retreats will be sacrificed!"
Beside him, soone finally mustered the courage to suggest, through gritted teeth:
"Your Holiness, it’s ti to invoke the Blood of the Abyss. Any later, and we won’t have enough soldiers left."
Urthado clenched his jaw. He hadn’t wanted to take that step yet—but the situation no longer allowed hesitation.
"You. Lead the charge. Drive them forward—now!"
"Once the Blood of the Abyss is activated, they’ll lose all reason. If they don’t unleash carnage inside Furnace City, it’ll be us who die."
He pointed at one of the n nearby. The man paled, ready to refuse—until he t Urthado’s crimson eyes.
Swallowing hard, the man drew his longsword and ran toward the battlefield.
Left behind, Urthado sat cross-legged. With fanatic reverence, he drew a glass vial from his robe. Inside it, a single vertical pupil floated—a disembodied eye.
"O most exalted and mighty Dionysus, your faithful servant calls for your gaze. I beseech you to grant your loyal follower the power of the undying..."
In the sky, the brilliant sun gradually dimd under a veil of shadow. The eye floated from Urthado’s hands into the air, staring down at the battlefield.
As its gaze fell, Ryan felt a chill crawl across his scalp, as if sothing were about to pierce through his brow—until, in the next instant, a stag’s roar rang out, dispelling the oppressive sensation.
[Divinity: Blessing of the Stag Spirit]
Ryan was stunned. So divinity could have such an effect.
The Stag Spirit’s aura dispersed the demonic influence. But when Ryan looked back down, he saw the cultists writhing where they stood, moaning in agony. Their skin turned a sickly green-black. Their arms lengthened. Their hands twisted into monstrous claws. Their feet pierced through their sandals, becoming beast-like.
Their teeth sharpened. Their snarls now sounded more beast than man. One by one, they grew taller—towering over the soldiers of Furnace City.
"Spawn of the Abyss... children of demons."
Shrieks and howls echoed. So of the cultists were sRyan during the transformation by bold soldiers. But most completed their tamorphosis, descending into mindless slaughter—killing all around them, be they human or fellow monster.
"Push them back!"
"Throw them off the wall!"
Ryan charged to the front, his knight’s longsword slashing clean through one monster, cleaving it in two. With a heavy kick, he sent another tumbling from the wall.
"Where’s the magic!?"
He turned and roared at the nobles. At last, those who had made their decision in the council began casting spells. Bursts of magic rained down, killing the abyssal monsters or blasting them off the wall.
Seeing this, the forr slave soldiers gradually overca their fear. Yelling to mask their terror, they threw themselves into battle against the creatures.
Though stronger and tougher than the forr slaves, these monsters weren’t invincible.
One after another, they were sRyan or pushed from the wall—but more continued to climb. Now transford, they were even more agile than before.
"Hahaha! They still retain so reason!"
Urthado laughed maniacally, staring cruelly at Furnace City. No one could stop the Abyssal spawn’s massacre.
But then, his eyes went wide.
The gates of Furnace City were opening.
Surrender? Impossible...
"Charge!"
A roar thundered across the battlefield. From within the gates ca a deafening rumble—and then, from the opening, a wave of mighty cavalry surged forth.
The Abyssal creatures who had been trying to force their way through were imdiately crushed beneath charging hooves, flung into the air. Those who fell barely had ti to scream before dying on the spot.
In an instant, the creatures clogging the gate were trampled and sRyan—none survived.
At the head of the charge was Brand. Without pausing, he led the two hundred cavalry outward, smashing into the flanks of the Abyssal horde.
Before him, no creature stood a chance. Even those larger, seemingly favored by the Abyss, were impaled on his lance and hurled aside—slamming into the ground before being trampled into pulp by iron hooves.
"Kill!!"
Just two hundred cavalry were enough to shift the entire tide of battle. Thousands of cultists crumbled under the charge, losing all sanity and turning on each other in a frenzy.
At that mont, Ryan finally understood why, after the divine wars across the Planes, it was extraordinary troops—not common armies—that beca the core of all warfare.
The gap was too vast.
Specially trained warhorses, surging with vitality. Every soldier in an extraordinary legion was at least a knight-in-training, with dedicated training, superior physiques, and mastery of breathing techniques to maintain peak condition.
Add in armor nearly impervious to blades and spears, and even ard commoners couldn’t pierce their defenses—only to be sRyan in return. How could regular troops even fight that?
Well-trained conscripted soldiers might, in vast numbers, drag down extraordinary troops—but to avoid breaking first? That would require an elite force indeed.
On the walls, several especially large Abyssal monsters appeared—whereas the average stood about two ters tall, these were around two and a half.
"You—deal with them."
Without turning his head, Ryan gave the order. Harrington and the others charged at the beasts imdiately.
Knight swords fell, severing heads. Harrington turned, his eyes cold behind his helt, glancing briefly at a trembling novice mage—then returned to Ryan’s side without another word.
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