Chapter 422 - 400: The Grim Reaper Comes (Part 2)

Rolf took a large gulp of beer, letting the bitter foam explode in his mouth. A smug look spread across his face.

"Kira, Black Stone Port was lost because they were caught unprepared, like having their throats slit in their beds. But it's different here. We've long since sharpened our blades. This is a meat grinder. If those monstrous birds truly dare to come, I'll show them the meaning of a one-way trip."

He was very confident.

This wasn't just blind confidence, but a judgment based on the laws of physics. In the logic of traditional warfare, a fortress with a geographical advantage, heavy fire coverage, targeted Magic defenses, and ample supplies was invincible.

"My lord, listen."

Just as Rolf was about to tell his adjutant another story about how his ancestors had shot a Beastman chieftain from this very wall, Kira suddenly interrupted him, her voice trembling slightly.

"What is it?" Rolf frowned, a little displeased.

At first, it was a buzzing sound, like the beating of a bee's wings—very faint, seeming to come from deep within the clouds.

But just two seconds later, the sound became the violent tremor of a bowstring being forcibly snapped.

Another second passed.

The sound became the resonance of ten million bloodthirsty demon bees beating their wings in unison—the mournful cry of air being torn asunder.

"WHIIIIINE—!!!"

The sound waves stirred ripples in the air, visible to the naked eye. First, the white glass of the watchtower shattered.

Then, the beer mug in Rolf's hand shattered. Beer splashed all over his hand, but he took no notice.

He raised his head in terror.

Beneath the midday sun, dozens of black specks were plummeting at a speed that could only be described as a Comet Skill.

They were too fast.

So fast his eyes couldn't make out any distinct shapes, only streaks of black afterimages, like bolts of Divine Punishment.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Rolf shrieked, his voice laced with a despair he himself hadn't noticed.

"Mages! Shoot them down!"

At the top of the watchtower.

Three Middle Tier Mages and dozens of Low Tier Mages packed the spacious observatory platform. They frantically raised their Magic Staffs, the tips of several dozen weapons simultaneously igniting with a blinding elemental radiance.

But it was hopeless.

To their mental senses, the targets were like falling stars. One moment they were thousands of meters up in the sky; the next, they had already pierced the cloud cover.

"Can't get a lock! They're too fast!"

"Cast together! Forget about locking on!" the lead Mage roared, watching the black shapes rapidly magnify. "Lay down a barrage! Fill that entire patch of sky!"

"BOOM—!"

Dozens of fireballs, ice lances, and Arcane Missiles converged into a multicolored torrent, surging skyward.

But in the face of speeds of 400 kilometers per hour, numbers were meaningless.

In Ola's bloodshot eyes, the world moved in slow motion. That seemingly impenetrable torrent of Magic was, to him, as slow as an old woman knitting a sweater, riddled with holes large enough for a Stuka to pass through.

The Stuka traced an elegant spiral in the air, like a spinning drill bit, and passed through the dense rain of Magic unscathed.

But that was just the appetizer.

Altitude, one thousand meters.

A teeth-jarring twang erupted from the city walls below. It was the roar of hundreds of Dragon-Hunting Crossbows firing in unison.

THWUMP! THWUMP! THWUMP!

Steel Crossbow Arrows surged skyward, weaving a black iron net in the air. Rolf hadn't been lying—it was truly a kill formation that not even a fly could pass through.

But the problem was... the defenders only had experience predicting the movement of conventional creatures, and no one could say for sure just how fast the Knights in the sky really were.

And so, a bizarre scene unfolded.

The flock of diving Big Thief Gulls didn't alter their formation in the face of the Crossbow Arrows. They simply continued to plummet straight down.

By the time the dense "iron net" finally closed in on its designated target zone, the Stuka Corps had already become streaks of silver lightning, screaming past the so-called "death zone."

Their timing was completely off. Not a single feather was grazed.

Five hundred meters from the ground.

Ola could even see the twisted fear on the defenders' faces.

It was the instinct etched into the genes of prey facing an apex predator.

"Goodbye."

Ola said softly, his finger tapping the bomb release mechanism twice.

The mounting racks opened.

With a slight shudder, two "Screamers" detached from the underbelly.

The bombs fell in a deadly, staggered line.

At the same time, the Stuka's modified heart contracted violently.

THUMP!

A deep, muffled boom exploded within its chest cavity.

Dark red blood was pumped under high pressure into every vessel of its wings.

It spread its wings—an act that should have been suicidal.

Forcibly leveling out at such a terrifying speed, the immense g-forces would instantly snap its bones and shred its internal organs.

But this time, it held.

Its resilient cardiac muscle fibers withstood over a dozen Gs of force, its vessel walls hardening like iron.

"BOOM!"

The Stuka pulled up less than a hundred meters from the ground.

The massive shockwave slammed into the ground, sending Rolf and dozens of soldiers on the wall flying like rag dolls.

Immediately after.

What followed was pure destruction.

Hundreds of bombs blanketed all the magnificent-looking buildings inside the fortress—the barracks, the stables, the armory, and of course, the most conspicuous granary.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The explosions instantly merged into one continuous roar, and orange-red fireballs rose up from within the fortress.

Rubble flew, and screams rose and fell. The wooden roof of the barracks was blown off by the blast wave, and terrified warhorses crashed through their fences, galloping wildly through the sea of fire.