Chapter 532: Chapter 45: The Battle of Dark Clouds
The storm is approaching the Fortress of the Morning Wind; in contrast, this ancient castle complex appears so small, as if it could be swallowed and destroyed in the next second. Yet, faced with this doomsday scene, the people within the castle reacted quite calmly, even as if it was a common occurrence.
"Those mercenaries are here again, they just won’t quit."
The person sat by the window, smelling the cool sea breeze, fiddling with the chess pieces on the board.
This was a person whose gender was somewhat difficult to discern. If you were to say he was a man, he was a bit too handsome, as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in a long time, his skin having a sickly pallor, and he looked like a marble statue carved by a master artist, only this exquisite statue’s eyes were now open.
But if you were to see her as a woman, she didn’t have overly obvious feminine features. Her short hair, full of flair, covered her brow, her pupils hidden with sharp heroism. She appeared slender, yet carried an undeniable commanding presence in every gesture.
This was a very assertive person, whether dealing with people or animals, all deeply understood this point.
"Can’t we chase them into the Angry Sea and wipe them out completely? They keep attacking the Fortress of the Morning Wind; even if they’re not annoyed, I certainly am."
He complained incessantly. Since these mercenaries first appeared not long ago, they occasionally launched attacks, although never achieving any effective results, they tirelessly left a large number of corpses on the shore.
The room echoed with low growls, like some beast’s roar. He looked up towards the corner, a vaguely visible monster’s silhouette in the dim light, unimaginable in form—though lying on the ground, it was still as tall as a person and covered in thick fur.
"Quiet down."
He grumbled with a sulky face, "The mercenaries are coming, and I can’t get out either, so what are you complaining about?"
Even though the monster was so tall, upon hearing his admonishment, the monster’s voice grew feeble, like a chastised dog, emitting a series of mournful whimpers.
Setting aside the chess pieces, he had planned to go out for a stroll, but the mercenaries’ arrival disrupted his plans, causing him great frustration.
Looking out the window, he guessed the familiar scenario was about to play out. Just like always, those Black Armored Soldiers rushed to the cliff, and then the Condensers from the Clarks would be dispatched under the protection of the Celestial Vault Tower, to hunt them down entirely.
If necessary, they would chase a certain distance, but due to caution against their opponents, without a Defender accompanying them, no one would pursue deeply into the thunderstorm-laden Angry Sea.
He waited idly, and suddenly a burst of flame erupted in mid-air, consuming a great many Wind-Eroded Birds.
Hmm? Not bad, at least today’s show has some changes.
At this moment, the monster in the corner seemed to have sensed something, suddenly creeping up. When it stood, its body almost reached the ceiling, filling the room.
"Wait! You can’t go out yet!"
He raised a hand, about to dissuade it, but the monster suddenly disobeyed his command, bursting through the door, barreling down the stairs.
...
A sea of flames washed over, leaving many corpses on the ground, yet the Black Armored Soldiers advanced silently, stepping over stacks of corpses.
They seemed devoid of intelligence, acting only on orders like some kind of walking corpses.
Azure flames swept across the earth, Bologue manipulating sand and dust, weaving through with Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid solidified as Iron Thorns. The Dust Python leapt into the crowd, wantonly devouring the Black Armored Soldiers, sparks flying as metal scraped against armor, igniting the Red Mercury, unleashing a deadly massacre.
Amazingly, Bologue alone temporarily held back the advance of the Black Armored Soldiers. Palmer cooperated by deploying the Wind Gun, like a cannon firing armor-piercing bullets with each shot knocking down large swaths of figures.
Aimou leapt back and forth among the cliffs, belatedly landing on the shore. No sooner had she landed than she sensed something was amiss.
The Ether reactions of these Black Armored Soldiers were too bizarre; weaker than even a normal First Stage Condenser, while their Ether reactions were unnaturally consistent.
Every Condenser’s Ether reaction has subtle differences, like the varying sounds when people talk, usually, even if unable to observe each other, one can judge the other’s identity by sensing the Ether reaction.
Unless deliberately mimicked, identical Ether reactions almost never appear among Condensers. But these Black Armored Soldiers were different; numbering in the hundreds, their Ether reactions were the same.
With Bologue and Palmer drawing fire, Aimou dragged a corpse, forcefully pulling off its faceplate, revealing a pale bloodstained face.
It was the face of a middle-aged man, eyes wide open, pupils a murky milky white, exuding an eerie aura of death.
Aimou dragged yet another corpse, laboriously prying open its faceplate, and as expected, the two corpses shared the same face.
They possessed the same visage, identical shells.
Aimou felt things getting more complicated. She wanted to warn Bologue about this, but at that moment, the battlefield changed again abruptly.
The Wind-Eroded Birds circling in the sky followed some command, briefly hovering before swooping down, greatly increasing the Black Armored Soldiers’ aggressive urges.
Like a portent of disaster, the surrounding light rapidly receded, heavy dark clouds driven by the storm completely covered the Fortress of the Morning Wind, plunging midday into endless night.
The Flame of the Cauldron illuminated the dark battlefield, Bologue watching more Black Armored Soldiers emerge from the storm. He then noticed some unusual Ether reactions mingling among this silent army.
"We summoned the dark clouds, so we can fight in daylight from now on."
For some reason, Bologue recalled Serey’s words, the voice so clear, as if Serey was beside him, recounting that distant past.
Bologue had never participated in the Dawn War, yet it felt instinctual, as if he had crossed temporal barriers to that ancient battlefield.
"Beware the Night Race!"
Bologue decisively issued a warning. His guess was correct. Almost as soon as Bologue gave the warning, a crimson hue shone in the darkness, with bloodthirsty murmurs resounding continuously.
They were shadows almost merged with the dark, and if not for those conspicuous crimson eyes, even someone like Bologue would find it hard to notice their presence.
Their speed was swift, weaving among the Black Armored Soldiers, who seemingly cooperated to shield their movements.
The Flame of the Cauldron burned with abandon, raising high walls from flat ground, forming a fan-shaped maze, hindering the enemy’s advance and setting traps.
Some Black Armored Soldiers blindly charged into them, only for the walls to collapse instantly, crisscrossing into Stone Spears that claimed their lives. But this did not impede the Night Race, who were different from these foolish Black Armored Soldiers—much faster and with clear strategies.
Most importantly, the opponents were also Undead, hordes of Undead.
Bologue could use the Flame of the Cauldron to sense the opponents’ paths, but this was not Bologue’s expertise, and there was some delay from the opponents’ movement to self-awareness.
Hence, when the high wall before Bologue shattered, and crimson eyes glared ahead, Bologue barely managed to lift the Blade forged from Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid and slash down at the opponent’s head.
Cold metal sliced through wind and raindrops, embedding into flesh, shattering firm bones, then continuing to advance until piercing through.
Like painting with paints, Bologue wielded the blade like a brush, drawing a striking bloodstain in the rain, the fracture spreading from the opponent’s neck down to their chest, forcefully halting the opponent’s advance.
The Night Race’s assault halted, standing rigidly before Bologue. As the blade sliced open the body, it began to regenerate.
A frenzied look spread across the pale face, madly licking the blood from their lips, looking at Bologue with fervor.
"The taste of the Lord..."
The murderous intent in the Night Race’s eyes vanished, replaced by a voracious obsession with Bologue as if wanting to devour him alive.
"Another lunatic!"
Bologue cursed, raising his sword again, piercing through the opponent’s chest.