Chapter Seventeen: The Fierce Battle

The duel between the two sides’ magicians had reached a state of exhaustion following intense combat. Several magicians sat pale and motionless, closing their eyes to recover, clearly too drained from prior magic use to continue. Yet many more magicians, either alone or in groups, remained at the forefront of the battlefield, surrounded by guards wielding large shields and archers defending against arrows and stones launched from the city walls. These magicians were invincible when unleashing magical power but extremely vulnerable to physical attacks—even a single arrow could be fatal to them.

As vague patterns of elemental changes appeared in the air, a thunderstorm struck the battlements with precision. The already cracked battlements could no longer withstand the impact. Amidst a cloud of dust, half of them collapsed with a loud roar, prompting cheers from the soldiers below who continued their relentless attacks.

But the enemy quickly responded. A clear chanting sound preceded the formation of a large wind tunnel above the infantry’s attack formation. Wind blades shot out along its edges. The battle-hardened infantry, experienced in dealing with such wind-based magic, ducked their heads and tried to shield themselves behind their shields or lie flat on the ground to avoid the swirling blades.

Still, several less experienced soldiers were hit by the wind blades. Though not always fatal, these seemingly solid blades could easily tear through their light armor, spilling blood and cries of pain.

Fumer couldn’t help but sigh. This was becoming all too common. After days of intense magical battles, both sides were clearly exhausted. The magic expended had left the magicians so weak they had no time to rest. Apart from eating and fighting, they spent all their time meditating to restore their magic. The auxiliary potions and spells provided by alchemists and priests became their most sought-after resources.

Even so, the earlier fierce magical clashes had gradually given way to smaller-scale attacks using minor magic, signaling that both sides’ magical powers were exhausted and reduced to mere supplementary tactics. The outcome of the war would ultimately depend on the fundamental strength of each side’s military force—the infantry.

Vermiel wasn’t worried that victory in the war would go to his side; he was concerned that his efforts might be too great, and time might not leave him much, potentially rendering his so-called ultimate victory meaningless. Without the support of the Atticans, the Knossians alone wouldn’t be enough to withstand a full-scale counterattack from the Nicocians.

While Vermiel was troubled, Dragumo and Newman were equally worried. Newman led a group of magicians and arrived on the evening of the third day of the siege. The Knossians’ defenses weren’t very strict, and for the magicians, simple disguise and invisibility spells were enough to render the enemy’s patrol guards useless. The night thus became the perfect time for Newman and his group to infiltrate the castle.

Their arrival directly saved Dragumo and his companions. Earlier, they had had to brace themselves against the enemy’s magical attacks using human bodies as shields. Though they had training to resist magical attacks, it was far from sufficient to sustain a true life-or-death battle.

Newman and his group immediately turned the tide. The balance, which had favored the Knossians, returned to equilibrium. Intense magical battles unfolded—elemental magic, light magic, dark magic, and even star magic and space magic. Both sides seemed determined to prove their strength through magic, causing the infantry battles to become secondary. However, the rapid depletion of magical energy left both sides’ magicians unable to continue, turning the battles into routine small-scale displays of magic.

The only effect was buying time. It was the magical battles that made the Knossians place more hope in magical attacks, but this turned out to be a mistake. The war ultimately returned to its original state—only the infantry battles could determine who would achieve ultimate victory.

Newman and his group were also struggling. Komer hadn’t sent many magicians, yet the Knossians’ magical power far exceeded that of the Nicocians. If it weren’t for Newman’s clever use of the city’s defensive fortifications, along with his habit of equipping himself with numerous magic scrolls, the situation might have been even worse.

Even so, Newman was already exhausted, and several magicians had collapsed from exhaustion. Their overuse of magic had left them completely useless; without two or three months of rest to recover, they couldn’t even cast a minor fireball spell. The situation for the rest wasn’t much better—often, it took several of them to cast a medium-sized spell. For characters whose strength rivaled that of archmages or who were already at the level of archmages, this used to be an utter joke.

The Knothosians continued to launch attacks with great intensity, and the half-orcs were starting to struggle. Prolonged, intense combat had left even the half-orcs, who prided themselves on their physical strength, utterly exhausted. Standing there with their spears or shields, they would snore loudly, even falling asleep with their eyes open. During brief pauses between battles, they could fall asleep within three seconds, even snoring loudly with dry bread in their mouths.

The relentless attacks by the Knothosians also caused heavy losses among the numerically inferior half-orcs. Of the 3,000 who had initially fought, less than half remained, and almost all were injured. If it weren’t for the Livonians, who had been mobilized earlier to help defend, at least two of the three castles would have fallen. Even Dragoemo was immensely proud that they had managed to withstand attacks from at least ten times their number, while the Knothosians had paid a price ten times greater than theirs.