Chapter 673: Fall of Grant

Night fell over Coldwind City. The soldiers who had been pulled off the walls during the day were crammed into temporary cookhouses built close to the ramparts, warming themselves with the body heat seeping out from the dense crowd and the thick, though it looked like it would collapse with a shove, packed-earth walls.

The Night Watchman sat in the central area, huddled around a stove. The creak-creak of burning firewood echoes through people’s dreams, mixed with grinding teeth and rising-and-falling snores.

Most of the men here had no idea when the Valeria Empire would launch its first assault, nor what kind of end awaited them. In the entire camp, only a small handful of well-connected soldiers knew what had happened that night in the border city.

The Empire’s expeditionary army hadn’t even taken a full day to break the kingdom’s border fortress, a city protected by inner and outer walls, layered defensive arrays, and interlocking spell formations.

The king still hadn’t sent reinforcements. The Church of Light didn’t participate in defending cities at all, only healing the wounded in the rear. There was no need to think hard about it: if this continued, Coldwind City would sooner or later become the next trophy trampled under iron hooves, and at least half of them would be buried along with this freezing place.

The news hadn’t spread widely, but most people shared the same mood as those in the know, utter pessimism about holding the city.

After all, Duke Grant had chosen from the very beginning to conscript soldiers by force from elsewhere, which clearly meant he’d anticipated how dire the situation would become. If even the kingdom’s upper nobility acts like that, then how terrible the reality was for men like them was obvious.

Due this morning, those letters fired into Coldwind City along with the artillery barrage. Many soldiers recognized familiar handwriting, learned that several other ducal cities had fallen one after another, and found out how their relatives were living now.

They had never been optimistic about the war. The Valeria Empire had sealed off the roads outside Coldwind City, and Grand Duke Grant allowed no one in or out. Their sources of information were scarce. Now that they’d gotten fresh news, news tied so closely to their own lives, they couldn’t help but be shaken.

"...Do you think I can survive this war...?"

On an overcrowded bunk, a younger soldier, still an early-rank knight, lowered his voice and asked the veteran beside him.

The man next to him was an old soldier pulled back from the border city. He’d escaped disaster only because he’d been hauling grain for Duke Grant with a supply column.

Later, no one knew what happened, but his arm was injured and he couldn’t go up to the wall’s front line, so he ended up packed in with the strong young men conscripted later, serving as secondary defenders.

On the packed bed there was barely room to turn over, and the air was tainted with the rotten stink of chaff. Hearing the young man’s question, the veteran’s closed eyes cracked open slightly, and he answered in a hoarse voice.

"You’d better sleep. Only with strength can you stay alive."

Coldwind City’s manpower was still relatively sufficient. They could barely manage a two-shift rotation. Sleep while you can, once the fighting tightens, you won’t get dreams like this anymore.

The recruit swallowed hard, feeling a chill underneath, and hurriedly curled up. A soldier behind him, just drifting into drowsiness, immediately took advantage of the gap and stole more of the already tiny space.

"I can’t really sleep..."

His first time on a battlefield, hearing magic hammer the defensive arrays into rippling waves, and the chunks of stone screaming past his ears, made his scalp go numb every time he recalled it.

The enemy hadn’t even truly begun the assault, and he was already afraid. If it came to blades and blood later... What then?

He’d seen it today: the mages sustaining the defensive arrays pale looked across the board. Days of nonstop maintenance had left their spirits worn and slack.

Thinking they’d held the walls together for several days and had at least some bond of comradeship, the youth touched around and spoke in a low voice.

"Those letters... I saw them..."

"One of them... it was my sister wrote to, "

Before he could finish, the veteran in front of him let out a huge yawn that drowned his voice. The man’s eyes opened slowly as he hissed a quiet curse.

"Want to die? You dare talk about that?"

Orders had come down: no wall soldiers were allowed to keep any letters in private, nor discuss related content. Disobey, and military law will deal with you.

Grant was not a merciful commander. Quite the opposite, this duke loved ruling the army with strict discipline, to the point of cruelty.

The recruit’s gaze froze. He answered even more softly.

"No one heard, right...?"

In the camp, thunderous snores rose and fell. Their whispering wasn’t even as loud as the crack of firewood bursting in the stove.

"Either way, stop talking about the letters. I’m not dying with you," the veteran coughed, his phlegm-choked throat wheezing like a broken bellows.

"If you can’t sleep, close your eyes. Think about how you used to swing your sword. How you dodged magic. Be smart."

At least that might raise his odds of living, better than wasting himself here.

After the scolding, the recruit swallowed a few times. Seeing the man clearly didn’t want to discuss anything about the war, he could only give a low hum in reply.

Outside the camp, the bitter night wind snaps the banners. Cold air curled around the corners of the walls, shrieking like the wail of a siren from old human texts.

Fine snow drifted down and settled on the metal barrels of the magical cannons, only to melt into liquid in the next second from the heat of the surface, wetting the rim.

It felt as if even the outer wall was trembling. Who knew whether it was the gale, or the endless pounding of attack spells on the defensive arrays, or the iron hooves of distant cavalry trampling frozen earth and shaking the ground. The youth kept his eyes shut, curling tighter.

"If you’re truly afraid, then remember every word I told you."

In his mind flashed the scene from the wall in daylight: the veteran stared at the thunder of magical cannons in the distance, warning him when his legs had gone weak.

"Don’t trust defensive arrays too much. Sometimes they break without any warning."

"Do what you can do. Don’t try to hard-fight enemies who can kill you."

"I actually regret not standing on the wall that night... and instead following behind the logistics wagons like a coward."

What did he mean by that...? He’d survived exactly because he blended in with the grain convoy, yet now he regretted it, why?

Was it because he hadn’t defended with all he had... or because he thought...

If he’d just surrendered to the Valeria Empire back then, he wouldn’t have to keep risking his life for the duke now.

The youth couldn’t grasp the key. All he could do was recall the letter he’d seen at noon, missing his sister and parents far away in Kaelrent City.

He wanted to go back alive, to see whether the Valeria Expeditionary Army truly did not harm civilians as the letter mentioned, rather than become one more corpse buried in this city where cold wind forever howled.

..................

Fear of battle was like a balloon full of air, once a needle pricked a hole, the morale that had barely been holding would be sucked dry in an instant.

Although Duke Grant had explicitly forbidden to discuss anything that might shake the army’s heart, rumors still spread through the camp all the same. Their force had been built from the start under profit and coercion. Now, faced with Lyra’s attacks on morale, the will to defend only scattered further.

A few days ago on the walls, Grant had publicly promised that if they could hold Coldwind City for the long term, until the Valeria Empire finally withdrew, he would reward them according to merit, and every soldier who fought bravely would receive the glory and wealth he deserved.

But think back carefully, back during recruitment, Grant had also promised generous rewards. Yet as the army expanded, rations began to shrink bit by bit from the original allotment.

The pay was still issued as usual, but once the Valeria Empire sealed Coldwind City, money could only be used for ransom purchases inside the city, its use became extremely limited.

The expeditionary army had cut off the passage to the outside, civilians could no longer buy food from merchant caravans, and with no idea when the siege would end, people would only hoard grain instead of selling it.

And more importantly: those letters show that the Imperial Expeditionary Army was actively restoring production, allowing the controlled areas to continue using the kingdom’s currency.

Their families were still alive. Many had joined the army only for a bowl of rations, then to save a little to support home. If they die now, they’d lose everything, and judged by Grant’s "trustworthiness," he might not even pay the compensation in full.

This Duke was an early tier Arcanist mage. He could run when he wanted, fight when he wanted. Ordinary magic couldn’t even hurt him. But they were ordinary men with their heads tied to their belts.

Days passed. Negative emotions fermented within the army. During that time the Valeria Empire issued two more surrender notices. Before long, the defenders’ morale hit rock bottom.

On March 24th, Year 1734 of the Common Human Calendar, Grant executed several low-ranking soldiers who spread rumors, and posted proclamations declaring that the northern cities had not fallen, the letters were merely the Empire’s trick to shake their will.

On March 26th, a small-scale food shortage appeared among civilians. Many gathered at the Church of Light to receive relief meals from the clergy: a thin soup mixed with sawdust, and a small piece of pitch-black bread containing tiny stones, bran, and who-knew-what.

On March 28th, famine began inside the city. Because Duke Grant had previously forced a massive purchase of military grain from merchant caravans, many households’ hoarded food proved insufficient.

They flooded the cathedral seeking aid. Yet the Church’s stored supplies were similarly limited, no longer able to meet the city’s swelling demand. Some soldiers with family in the city reported to Grant and proposed releasing military grain for emergency relief, only to be harshly rejected.

The Kingdom of Velys had most of its territory in frigid regions to begin with; its grain output was low. Coldwind City often relied on merchant caravans for daily necessities. Grant did indeed stockpile plenty of supplies, enough for the garrison to eat for half a year. But if the granaries were opened to feed the whole city, mouth after mouth, it would be far from enough.

Give away just a little, and the half-year allotment will become only one or two months for the army. Feeding everyone full was impossible.

Still, after cooling down, Grant chose to release some grain so the civilians would not starve to death. The cost was further cutting ratios, turning the already thin bread gruel into something even more watery and bland.

On March 30th, the mages maintaining the defensive arrays began to voice complaints, deeply dissatisfied with Grant’s methods. A breakout plan was proposed, then rejected.

Coldwind City was Grant’s private property. Land, buildings, taxes, everything was his wealth How could he let go so easily? The duke blindly believed the Church of Light would recognize how important Coldwind City was as a forward bastion resisting the enemy, and sending troops.

They only had to make the common people suffer a little more, prioritize feeding the army, and surely a turning point will come.

Then, on the first day of April, artillery shattered the defensive barrier. This time, along with the family letters, came a "small gift" prepared by Astrid.

Bread, just enough for the city’s civilians to fill their stomachs.

As for whether it would be used to replenish the army’s rations, or truly end up in the bellies of the residents, that depends entirely on Grand Duke Grant’s wishes.

Upon learning of Astrid’s "gift," Grant could no longer suppress his fury. Such a move that killed with intent was clearly reminding him: now is the time to surrender.

But thinking of the terms Astrid had offered him back then, if he opened negotiations now, the terms would certainly be even worse. Grant couldn’t swallow that humiliation. He felt there was still meaning in holding on.

The royal family were a bunch of useless cowards, no help. Hebrew was a religious madman; he would never allow heretics to run wild like this.

Hold on a little longer... perhaps only a few more days...

Unfortunately, Astrid did not give Grant that chance. At dawn on April 3rd, at the moment the Coldwind City defenders were most lax, the Empire’s footsteps were masked by the roar of magical weapons as they drew steadily closer to the walls.

"What’s going on? Why are they coming over?"

After half a month of blockade and intimidation by weapons, the sudden pressure of an advancing army felt unreal to the wall defenders.

After a brief stunned pause, understanding that the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads had finally fallen, news of the assault spread rapidly to every corner of the walls.

Lyra stood on a hillside, watching the confrontation from afar. A carved scabbard hangs at her waist. Holy-white light armor wrapped her delicate figure. Unlike the first war, she did not hide her face beneath a helmet, soft pink hair fluttering in the wind.

This battle, her battlefield, was not here.

Within her view, collisions of elemental forces bloomed in different colors. Although the Imperial army was the attacker, it relied on advanced magical weapons to push forward like a song of victory, advancing to the base of the walls at extreme speed, then using their weapons to inflict effective casualties on the defenders.

Watching armored Imperial soldiers take inevitable losses beneath the walls, Lyra’s hand slides over her sword hilt. Perhaps sensing the shift in the young maid’s state of mind, Astrid, standing beside her, reached out and caught the girl’s soft hand, speaking gently.

"Don’t rush. Be patient for now."

At this moment, it was not yet suitable for Lyra to act.

Feeling the warmth in Astrid’s palm, Lyra relaxed her fingers, her blue eyes never leaving the battle below.

"Mm."

After some unknown span of time, an assault soldier clad in thick magical plate climbed a long ladder to the battlements and drew a magical firelock from his waist, spewing flame at the defenders.

The next second, a defender drew his longsword. A sharp sword momentum coated in mental force flashed, he severed the firelock’s muzzle and closed the distance at blinding speed, driving the blade into the man’s throat before he could react, a spray of blood bursting out.

But in that brief moment, more Imperial soldiers climbed onto the battlements. magical weapons were not enough to contend with true powerhouses, but once the numbers rose, and with fierce elite guards mixed in, even some centurions could not withstand the Imperial assault.

Grant saw from afar that the eastern tower had fallen. He knew it was already beyond saving. Staying here will change nothing.

Coldwind City was important, but more important than that was his own life. Lyra would certainly be hidden within the army, waiting for him to make a move so she could deliver a fatal strike.

Before the main force fully entered the city, leave now.

Leaving the command room, Grant manifested wings of mental force. He ordered several deputies to have the defenders resist as much as possible to buy time. Then, after ensuring he could withdraw from the battlefield, he beat his wings and flew into the sky.

Warm sunlight fell on the hem of Grant’s clothing. Transparent wings fanned the air, lifting his body.

Suddenly, Grant felt the danger warning that came from a knight’s instincts. The surrounding light suddenly became scorching hot, like sharp blades of light piercing through the wings behind him.

This feeling... could it be...

He increased the flow of mental force. His wings beat hard, forcing back the light arrows. Yet lingering heat clung to his mental wings, roasting his soul like flame.

"Lyra... you dare fight me directly?!"

The man roared under his breath. At the edge of his vision he caught a flicker of light, then, a half-transparent sword radiating razor brilliance cut upward from below. Although she was the pursuer, her flight speed was faster than Grant’s. In an instant, she severed his manifested mental wings.

With a single strike, Lyra had no intention of trading words. Grant only managed to glimpse a flash of bright silver on her armor. The pink-haired girl hovering above him swung again, so fast it seemed as though she had become dawn itself.

Another strike, cleaving downward, splitting the other wing. Grant’s spirit reeled as if struck by lightning. In midair he spat a mouthful of blood.

Compared to a mage’s Wind Wings formed by communicating with wind element particles, a knight’s manifested mental wings were more stable and less easily influenced by other elements.

The cost was that the wings exposed at either side of the body required continuous casting. If an enemy’s attack was strong enough, they could destroy the mental wings and injure the soul.

After all, they could not cling to a physical object the way power could adhere to a blade, nor could they be released cleanly like sword qi.

As Grant fell towards the ground, Lyra did not relax. Her sword tip pointed downward at Grant’s back. Her wings beat violently, hurriedly as she closed in.

Just as she was about to strike, Grant’s half-shattered wings exploded into countless shards, scattering toward Lyra.

Facing a burst of mental force from a powerhouse of the same tier, Lyra did not take it head-on. She shifted her body to evade. A few sharp shards scraped across her Holy Light armor. They did not directly injure her, but they slowed her descent slightly.

As the city below grew clearer, before he hit the ground, Grant chanted a spell and generated a wind field beneath him. The icy gale gave him forward propulsion, letting him burst away at the last instant and slip out of the Sword of Light’s strike range.

Lyra crashed like a meteor into the tower where Grant had been watching the battle earlier. Under the light sword, dust erupted. Several confidants who had trained soldiers for Grant noticed the pink-haired girl at once. After hearing the duke’s orders to stop her, they raised their weapons to confront her in unison.

Courage was commendable, but facing a Light knight with full power as both mage and warrior, mere Magnus-level foes were not enough.

Lyra’s sword cuts through both the charging guard’s armor and flesh in one sweep. A magister-tier light spell completed at high speed in the same instant her blade momentum erupted, searing radiance struck two deputies attempting to ambush her, temporarily blinding them. Seeing Grant widening the gap again, Lyra directly hurled her holy sword.

A premonition even more deadly thundered through Grant’s heart. He didn’t even dare turn around. He could only rely on the phantom image scanned by his mental force to judge and dodge.

No... it’s too fast...

His heart felt as if it would leap out of his throat. Grant, who had not fought personally for a long time, felt a terrifying illusion of being crushed by a powerhouse of the same rank.

No wonder she could shatter the barrier Hebrew created.

Feeling he could no longer avoid it, Grant steeled himself and lowered his flight altitude, silently layering defensive spells of multiple elements as he skimmed the city’s buildings. The surging sword intent of the Sword of Light swept over the road, carving a deep slash-mark into it.

Perhaps piercing too many objects weakens the Sword of Light’s destructive power. Or perhaps Lyra held back out of concern for civilians and did not fully unleash her sword momentum. Grant’s layered shields barely blocked the blow. As his organs shook, he borrowed the recoil from the Sword of Light to fling himself away.

In a head-on duel, Grant will certainly not be Lyra’s match now. But to keep, let alone kill, Grant when he was determined to flee was also difficult for Lyra, even at the same rank.

At the Arcanist mage tier, running away was far too easy.

And just as Grant thought he would break through the encirclement, another sword suddenly fell.

It had none of the Sword of Light’s roaring momentum, none of that sunlike presence that demanded attention. It was like a venomous snake lurking in shadow, striking at its prey in an instant.

A black-and-white maid dress fluttered in the wind. Pitch-black eyes locked onto Grant’s lower body. Before even his knightly warning could fully react, the battle maid’s blade flashed, cutting open the leg tendons exposed to air after the Sword of Light had stripped away his elemental shield defenses.

Another Crusader?

Grant hastily tried to block Elise’s attack, but the pure, immaculate Sword of Light was already moving under Lyra’s control, streaking in with incomparable sharpness, seeking to pierce down through his chest.

Facing a blow that threatend his life directly, Grant could only unleash his mental force and take Lyra’s heavy strike head-on. Elise, equally rich in combat experience, did not miss the opening. Her blade slides up from the legs, cutting open the man’s sleeve, clean and precise like a butcher carving an ox, severing the tendons at Grant’s wrist.

Arbiters were still human. Once the nerve connection was gone, no matter how strong the muscles or how powerful the mental force, it was useless.

Blood stained the street, and extinguished Grant’s last chance to escape.

At the same time, on the outskirts of Coldwind City, the Valeria Empire’s army completed its capture of key defensive points along the wall. Several soldiers in heavy armor leapt directly down from the ramparts and threw open the maddening city gate that had blocked them for days.