Chapter 345: Demon City—Ten Thousand Blades Fortress

The White Dragon Lord flew along the right flank of the serpentine formation, maintaining a distance of about a thousand meters from the main force. At this range, he was close enough to provide timely support but far enough away to avoid easy detection.

Soul Sight!

Knowing that the Eight-Armed Snake Demon, Durio, excelled at stealth and assassination, the White Dragon Lord activated Soul Sight to scan the earth as he flew.

Through the lens of Soul Sight, the world became a hazy, illusory expanse of gray. Against this drab backdrop, the bright white souls of living creatures stood out starkly.

Below, the souls of the marching army blended into a glowing river that flowed steadily forward. Scattered around this river were anomalous souls veiled in a faint, bloody light—Demons from the Abyss lurking near the troops.

The White Dragon Lord swept his gaze over them. There were no Legendary Demons among these hidden ambushers. Master-Tier Demons and the lesser fry beneath them could not inflict significant damage on the army.

Maintaining Soul Sight for such small fry was a complete waste of energy, so he deactivated it.

He periodically turned Soul Sight back on to guard against sneak attacks.

However, Durio seemed to have no intention of striking personally. Ever since the Gold Dragon had intervened to severely wound a scout at the Legendary Rank Level and force its retreat, the concealed White Dragon Lord hadn't spotted a single Legendary Demon. Only a few Mid-Tier and Low-Tier Demons launched suicidal assaults.

The heavily trained minesweeping squad proved their worth. The army pressed on without major obstructions, though their marching speed inevitably slowed.

Advancing steadily, the army finally cleared the trap zone set up by Ten Thousand Blades Fortress around noon.

From the sky, at the far edge of the White Dragon Lord's vision, a massive city sprawled across the land. It was not massive in the traditional sense; rather, its low walls enclosed a vast expanse of territory.

The earthen walls were short and scarred by endless war, leaving their height violently uneven. Some sections had even collapsed into rubble. Demons casually moved in and out through the gaps, making one wonder if the walls offered any real defense at all.

In truth, the outer walls of most demon cities were little more than symbolic boundary markers. Their primary function was to remind the Mid-Tier and Low-Tier Demons that they were inside a settlement, keeping them from wandering off and getting lost.

As the army drew closer to Ten Thousand Blades Fortress, the White Dragon Lord gained a clearer view of the demon city's interior.

The space just inside the outer walls was largely barren, dotted sparsely with squat earth houses and crude shacks. These low huts practically counted as luxury mansions in a demon city; most demons simply dug a symbolic hole in the dirt for a home, while others found an empty patch of ground and flopped down.

Further toward the city center, the buildings grew denser and higher in quality, eventually meeting the standards of genuine mansions.

At the very heart of the city stood a citadel with defenses rivaling those of a large human military fortress. This was the true Ten Thousand Blades Fortress, the stronghold of the city's lord—Durio of the Snake Demon Clan!

The walls of this infamous demon stronghold bristled with countless embedded weapons, giving it a wicked, terrifying appearance. This was the origin of the name Ten Thousand Blades Fortress.

Every weapon on those walls represented an extinguished life. There were blades from Demons, Devils, and, naturally, adventurers from various planes.

The Eight-Armed Snake Demon, Durio, viewed the weapons of her enemies as trophies of honor. Whenever she killed a foe, she collected their weapon. Those worth showing off were displayed in the great hall of Ten Thousand Blades Fortress, while ordinary weapons were shoved into the outer walls. Over the years, this macabre collection had formed the terrifying blade-studded rampart.

Right now, all sorts of demons crowded the gleaming blade walls. The most numerous among them, standing at the very front, were the Berserker Demons.

Berserker Demons stood three meters tall, their bodies packed with knotted muscles and their arms extending past their knees. Two sharp canines protruded past their thick lips, making them look like hairless, blood-red gorillas. They were the most common mid-level demons in the Abyss—immensely strong, belligerent, and bloodthirsty. They formed the vanguard of the Demon Army.

Behind the Berserker Demons stood a motley assortment of fiends: bone demons clad in exoskeletons, greater demons with horns, bat wings, and arrow-tipped tails, and serpentine Snake Demons...

Clearly, the elite forces of Ten Thousand Blades Fortress were prepared for war. But Durio hadn't entirely abandoned the cannon fodder outside the citadel, either.

A squad of winged demons took to the skies above the city's outskirts, cackling wildly as they hurled fireballs into the Low-Tier Demon slums.

A few unlucky bastards were killed or maimed instantly, collapsing to the dirt with agonized shrieks. The rumbling explosions jolted most of the Low-Tier Demons from their rest, drawing them out to see what was happening.

After loosing a few fireballs, each flying demon roared with laughter and returned to Ten Thousand Blades Fortress. This was the signature demon method for sounding the call to war.

Startled, the dimmer Mid-Tier and Low-Tier Demons fled outside the city limits, while others cowered in their dirt burrows. Only the cleverest of the bunch sprinted toward the inner city.

These smart demons were a small minority, but the gates of Ten Thousand Blades Fortress were even smaller. Mobs of Mid-Tier and Low-Tier Demons jammed the entrance, shoving and shouting in a chaotic crush as more and more kept arriving.

While these semi-rational demons pushed for the gates, a squad of Mid-Tier Demon guards held the line. They allowed Mid-Tier and higher demons straight through, but any Low-Tier Demon that ran too slow or simply looked irritating received a brutal kick to the curb—or a fatal slap to the skull—accompanied by ecstatic cackles.

However, regardless of their race, as long as the Low-Tier Demons managed to push past the blockade, the Mid-Tier Demons ignored them.

This was a screening process. A Low-Tier Demon that knew to seek shelter from a superior enemy wasn't entirely mindless, and one that could break a Mid-Tier Demon's blockade possessed decent strength for its class.

These slightly rational, moderately strong Low-Tier Demons escaped the ranks of basic cannon fodder and earned the honor of becoming mid-level meat shields. Once they advanced to Mid-Tier Demons, they would become the main force of the Demon Army—or, in plainer terms, high-level cannon fodder.

Upon reaching the High-Tier Demon rank, they finally broke free of the cannon fodder classification, serving as low-level officers in the Demon Army or joining the elite core forces of a demon lord.

Low-Tier Demons were disposable trash, and Mid-Tier Demons were slightly valuable fodder. High-Tier Demons formed the elite troops and low-level officers, Master-Tier Demons served as mid-level commanders, and Legendary Demons were the high-ranking backbone. Above them all, High-Tier Legends acted as regional governors serving even higher-ranked abyssal lords.

Demon society was just that simple, pragmatic, and ruthless.

Eventually, the ruler of Ten Thousand Blades Fortress decided enough fodder had entered the citadel. A High-Tier Demon received its orders and strode toward the gates with a savage sneer.

Boom!

A shockwave of energy blasted from the High-Tier Demon's hand. In an instant, the spell plowed through the crowded gate, carving a path of mangled flesh. Demon blood, severed limbs, and ruptured organs painted the ground, claiming the lives of several Mid-Tier Demon guards who couldn't dodge in time.

The surviving Mid-Tier Demons ignored their dead comrades and bolted for the inner city. As they dashed past the High-Tier Demon that had nearly killed them, a few even offered fawning, ingratiating smiles.

Clang!

The pitted, uneven demonic iron portcullis slammed down, sealing the gates of Ten Thousand Blades Fortress. The moment the gate closed, the fates of the Mid-Tier and Low-Tier Demons left outside were sealed.

Hundreds of winged greater demons took to the skies above the streets, raining down lethal magic to herd the remaining demons out toward the outer walls. The cannon fodder needed to serve their purpose.

Now, only a handful of winged Mid-Tier Demons received the special privilege of entering the inner citadel. Flight was often a distinct advantage.

Any other demons that tried to run were hunted down by the airborne fiends, most of them reduced to pulped meat amidst the greater demons' maniacal laughter.

Driven by magic and terror, the remaining demons within the outer city continuously gathered near the outer walls.

Outside the city, the Blackrock Fortress army was about to clash with the first wave of charging demons.

These initial fiends were the first wave of cannon fodder to surge past the walls—madmen whose bloodthirsty instincts completely overpowered their reason. The vast majority were Low-Tier Demons, sprinkled with a few Mid-Tier Demons. High-Tier Demons among them were exceptionally rare.

Seeing this, the White Dragon Lord confirmed that Master Owen's observations were correct. Once they reached the High Tier, demons generally learned to control their belligerent instincts and wouldn't blindly charge to their deaths.

During the approach, Master Owen ordered a shift in battle formation. Soldiers bearing standard-issue tower shields stepped up to the front lines. These men were mostly Intermediate Tier professionals, and their captains were High Tier professionals.

Under the commands of their officers, the tower shield bearers locked together into a solid wall and pushed forward steadily. Behind them marched phalanxes of soldiers wielding spears and wearing longswords at their hips, serving as the main force for close-quarters combat.

Next came the ranged units. Soldiers in the ranged phalanxes drew arrows from their quivers and nocked them to their bows. Fingers gripping fletching and strings, their faces were resolute, devoid of any panic before the impending slaughter.

On most material planes, an army like this would be the trump card of an entire nation. But on the Blood War Battlefield, which gathered the elites of myriad realms, this was merely the baseline standard for any army participating in the blood war.

Time ticked by as the demons closed the distance. The commander, who had been tracking the demonic charge with magic, judged the moment was right and barked an order. The ranged soldiers raised their bows, angling them sharply toward the sky, and loosed their shafts.

Arrows streaked over the heads of the frontline troops, tracing perfect arcs before plunging downward. The dense rain of arrows struck the rear of the charging demon horde, severing the unbroken Demon Army into two distinct halves—one large, one small.

By doing this, the demons' endless, rolling offensive was broken. Once the vanguard troops slaughtered the smaller leading chunk of demons, they would earn a brief window to catch their breath.

Looking down at the splintered Demon Army, the White Dragon Lord deeply admired the Blackrock Fortress commander. The theory behind dividing an enemy force was simple, but executing it on the battlefield was immensely difficult.

The enemy's momentum, their own marching speed, wind direction, and firing angles—all these variables had to be perfectly calculated. It was the ultimate test of a commander's tactical artistry.

Finally, the first wave of demons crashed into the line!

Imps flapped their weak wings, gliding mere inches off the ground as they channeled their demonic spell-like abilities to hurl minor fireballs and acid arrows—standard low-tier magic.

Though these were all low-tier spells, the sheer volume of magic converging into a single wave carried a devastating force that easily rivaled high-tier magic.

Fortunately, the destructive power of the low-tier spells was spread thin. Furthermore, the Blackrock Fortress soldiers wielded expertly forged tower shields; the base materials possessed inherent magic resistance, and many were even enchanted with basic wards.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A deluge of small fireballs slammed into the shields, chaining into a continuous wall of explosive fire. The soldiers immediately squatted, bracing their bodies against their shields to absorb the tremendous impact. They tucked their heads down as the explosive spray of dirt and shrapnel rattled fiercely against their standard-issue helmets.

Before they could even breathe, the two-meter-tall, heavily muscled bodies of Low-Tier warmonger demons crashed savagely into the blackened, scorched shields. However, the physical strength of the Intermediate Tier professional soldiers was almost equal to that of the Low-Tier Demons. Aided by their tight formation, the soldiers firmly withstood the demonic charge.

Having absorbed the kinetic shock of the initial wave, the counterattack began. Through deliberately opened gaps in the shield wall, the spearmen thrust out their barbed lances, burying them deep into the flesh of the demons battering their shields.

Winged Low-Tier Demons were generally small and incapable of high flight, but by combining a jumping start with their wings, they easily vaulted the two-meter-tall shield wall. The fiends sneered, thrusting their demonic pitchforks toward the exposed faces of the soldiers—only to be met by a volley of crossbow bolts waiting for them.

Triggers were pulled, and bolts tore viciously into the airborne demons. The immense kinetic force sent their corpses flying backward, spraying streaks of demon blood and filling the air with ear-piercing shrieks of agony.

A few flying demons crashed into the infantry ranks below, but the prepared soldiers drove their longswords down, pinning the thrashing fiends firmly to the dirt.

Blackrock Fortress had fought demons for years and boasted immense combat experience. They were intimately familiar with the offensive patterns of Low-Tier Demons. With almost zero casualties, they perfectly absorbed the first demonic shockwave.

The intricate details of how these soldiers fought the demons were exactly what the White Dragon Lord needed to observe and analyze. This invaluable battlefield experience would drastically reduce the trial, error, and bloody cost for his White Castle Army. High above, an invisible magical servant carried a Memory Crystal, faithfully recording every image of the slaughter below.

At the rear of the army, the ranged units repeated their trick. Another volley of arrows blackened the sky, disrupting the tempo of the demons' charge.

Moments later, the severed second wave of demons arrived.