CH1399 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1399: The Bloody Battle in the Mountains (3)

The Seagull’s greatest weapon was the silence it kept even at speed. Built for ambush, built to arrive unannounced.

After passing through the cloud layer, the glider slipped between mountain peaks like something imagined rather than engineered—no engine roar, no silhouette against a bright sky, just a shape moving through the grey. Below, the assault force’s defensive line had already collapsed. The soldiers fought in fragments now, each man holding his own ground, retreating by inches. Any other unit would have broken and scattered the moment the chain of command frayed. The First Army held, though the cost was written in the ground they’d given up.

Without their firepower advantage, killing even a single Spider Demon required three times the effort—and that was before accounting for the armored thing moving among the enemy.

Through the aiming lens, Andrea studied it.

Its armor covered every surface, veined with strange patterns that seemed almost organic, and it carried a halberd too large for anything merely human—yet it moved through the mountainside the way water moves through cracks. No weight to it. No drag. It cut direction mid-stride as though gravity were a suggestion, changing vector without the breath of hesitation that even the fastest cavalry required. For Andrea, it was the category of opponent she found most difficult: the kind whose movement refused to be predicted.

“Distance?”

“Nineteen hundred meters.” Sylvie’s voice had taken on that particular thinness. “Can you make the shot?”

“No.” Her lips were dry. “Closer.”

As the Seagull descended, Andrea began activating her ability in short pulses—not committing, just feeling the geometry. The silver lines split from one to two to many, each representing a firing solution, each dependent on the target holding still. By the time the lines filled her vision entirely, she had more than a dozen paths to a confirmed hit. The problem was that none of them could account for the next few seconds of the Magic Slayer’s movement after she pulled the trigger. Against an ordinary target, she would fire several rounds and let probability close the gap. But the God’s Stone of Retaliation bullets were not ordinary, and there were a limited number of them. She could not gamble.

Minimum flight time. That was the only answer.

“Fifteen hundred meters!”

Sylvie had gripped the front of Andrea’s coat without realizing it. Andrea didn’t comment.

“Seagull changing course—watch the angle!” Wendy’s warning came through the cabin noise.

At fifteen hundred meters, the glider was just distinguishable from a large bird against the right background. No one on the battlefield below seemed to be watching the sky—the soldiers and demons were too occupied with each other. But every witch aboard was holding her breath regardless, instinct overriding reason, as though sound itself might give them away.

“Thirteen hundred!”

“Closer.”

She had her finger resting against the trigger guard, not on it. One second was enough to acquire most targets. For a Senior-ranked Demon she wanted every variable removed, every possible error compressed toward zero.

“Eleven hundred!”

“Shavi, watch your gear angles—I’m nearly at my limit!”

“Nine hundred—”

Andrea released her ability fully.

Every silver line collapsed into one. At this distance, wind and gravity were almost irrelevant—the line between her rifle and the Magic Slayer was as close to a straight truth as her power could produce.

“What you see is what you get,” she said softly, and fired.

At nearly the same moment, the Magic Slayer sensed something change in the pattern of the soldiers below. It turned—found the glider sweeping overhead—and the God’s Stone of Retaliation bullet was already in flight. At that range, it didn’t matter how fast the demon was. There was no time left to dodge.

The impact detonated a shockwave outward from the Magic Slayer’s body. The force threw it clear of its feet. Above, the dark clouds dissolved all at once, the gathered gold light releasing and scattering like mist burned off by sun.

“Did we get it?” Wendy asked.

Sylvie’s face had gone grey. “No. I don’t think the bullet landed.”

“That’s not possible.” Andrea was already reaching for an enchanted gauze, pressing it to her shoulder. “I saw it. It hadn’t even noticed the shot when I fired—”

Sylvie shook her head, searching for words. Her Eyes of Magic couldn’t penetrate a God’s Stone of Retaliation barrier—she couldn’t see what had happened in the instant before impact. But she had seen something: as the black light of the bullet closed the final distance to the Magic Slayer, the space around the demon had bent, as though something thin and transparent had interposed itself between the round and its target. Then the God’s Stone energy detonated, the distortion cleared, and the bullet struck the armor squarely in the chest.

And it rose.

“Stop arguing,” Shavi said flatly. “What’s it doing now?”

“Getting up.” Sylvie’s voice had gone very quiet.

Through the Eyes of Magic, she could see the scars the shattered God’s Stone had left in the black armor—clearly visible furrows and cracked plates, the damage undeniable. The most distinctive: roughly half the Magic Slayer’s tall spire-shaped helmet had been destroyed, revealing the lower portion of its face. Cold features. What looked, unervingly, somewhat like a woman’s.

It had survived. That was the outcome.

“Sylvie—reload!” Andrea’s voice had an edge to it.

“We’ve used all the God’s Stone of Retaliation rounds.”

“Then use standard ammunition.” Andrea did not lower the rifle. “If it can use its ability in this condition, then it doesn’t matter what the bullets are made of. What matters is that we keep shooting.”

“The sky’s going dark again!” Shavi said. “When does this thing stop?”

Sylvie fed the half-arm-long cartridge into the chamber. “It’s noticed us now. If we try again—”

That’s why I have to take this shot.” The volume surprised even Andrea. “If we run now, we won’t make it back through the clouds.”

The Magic Slayer, standing amid the snow, raised its halberd. Its eyes had found the Seagull. They burned a sinister red, and the thunder that followed rolled across the entire valley like a pronouncement.

“Reloaded!”

“Wendy—hold course!” Andrea brought the rifle up. The silver lines rebuilt themselves in her vision, converging again on the target. She disregarded the pain in her shoulder entirely and fired.

The Magic Slayer leaped sideways and swung the halberd in the same motion.

This time, Sylvie saw them clearly—the things that had distorted space before.

They were thin and light, almost transparent, shaped something like a cicada’s wings but made of nothing biological. Pure magic, conjured into physical form and honed to an edge finer than any blade. They spiraled around the Magic Slayer continuously, autonomous guardians, and when the bullet came they did not wait for instruction—some cut directly across the bullet’s flight path while the rest drew tight around the demon in overlapping arcs.

A second shockwave. A blizzard of pulverized snow.

And then the Sigil’s golden light, redirected, came down.

It struck the Seagull’s left wing.

The glider lurched sideways and went into a spiral, the mountain rising to meet it from below.


An hour later, the Deity of Gods’s shadow covered the Impassable Mountain Range.

The gates beneath the floating island swung open and Red Mist cascaded out like a waterfall, rushing through the ravines in both directions, east and west, filling the low ground first and then climbing.

Silent Disaster removed his broken helmet and breathed in the thick, comfortable atmosphere.

Isolated pockets of human resistance persisted in the mountains, but they no longer threatened the larger picture. When the new enemy troops had appeared, Mask had fired three more stone spears. The humans had never anticipated firing channels built into the island’s underside—these stele, launched almost vertically downward, carried a lethality that the earlier arc-launched ones had not. The formations struck had no chance to reorganize before the Symbiotic Demons swept through and finished the work.

One thing had given him pause. A red iron bird—faster than any of the others, more agile, harder to pin—had made one pass to cover the retreating humans. The Deity of Gods couldn’t bring it down. Its gunfire had even consumed a meaningful quantity of the island’s magic power before being driven off by him and the Bogle Beasts. It was not suited to sustained engagement; it had withdrawn eventually. But he noted it.

The victory was not in doubt. The Impassable Mountain Range belonged to the demons.

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