CH983 · Rewrite
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Chapter 983: A Fierce Attack

“Well then, I’m taking off,” Agatha announced.

“Off you go.” A cold smile broke across Zooey’s face. “We have been waiting for this day far too long.”

Unlike the soldiers of the First Army, the commanders of the ancient witches were fighters themselves — the last to leave when demons drew close.

“Ms. Agatha. Ms. Zooey.” Iron Axe stopped them.

“Is there something else?”

“I probably shouldn’t say this,” he said carefully, “but I think it is what His Majesty would want me to convey to you both. Please stay safe. Your survival is the heaviest blow we can inflict on the demons.”

“Ha.” Zooey turned and cast him a glance. “I won’t die so easily before reclaiming Taquila. Thanks for the kind words. I do appreciate it — mortal.”

“Don’t worry.” Agatha smiled and walked out of the tent. “We know what to do.”

The sky had darkened. Compared to the defensive battle at Neverwinter, the enemies here were several times as numerous, and they flew faster. Within moments, the leading edge of the Devilbeast formation reached the front of the battlement.

The anti-aircraft guns opened in succession. For a moment the air shook with overlapping fire — and yet the result was meager. Of more than sixty Devilbeasts, only four or five went down. The rest climbed higher.

“Freaking bastards.” Zooey’s voice was flat with contempt. “If any of them dared to land, I would crush them by hand.”

In the Union Age, the only reliable counter to Devilbeasts had been combat witches and Extraordinaries carrying Stones of Flight. That was precisely why the ancient witches had taken armies of mortal men so lightly. Without witches, a handful of Devilbeasts was sufficient to scatter a host entirely.

“Why aren’t they throwing their spears?” Agatha watched the demons hovering above, and frowned.

The answer came before the question finished forming. The mounted demons banked and dived — not at the front line, but at the rear. Straight toward the artillery battalion.

Agatha and Zooey exchanged a single look and moved.


Fish Ball was responsible for the center of the battlement.

His meritorious performance in the last battle against the demons had earned him a promotion to unit leader, and though this was not his first encounter with these monsters, the sight of Devilbeasts swarming toward him still sent a cold thread through his chest.

“U-unit leader, shouldn’t we fire?” The soldier beside him clutched an ammunition sack, his voice tight.

“They’re within 900 meters!” the lookout shouted, his Adam’s apple jumping.

Fish Ball recognized the feeling spreading through the unit. Even the most hardened men would flinch before something like this — a dark mass sweeping the sky, closing fast and enormous. The fear was real. And because it was real, he knew he had to stay steady. If he showed cracks, the unit would break before the demons arrived.

He swallowed deliberately, then spoke slower than he felt. “Hold. Fire when they’re within 300 meters.”

The Mark I heavy machine gun could reach beyond 1,500 meters, the instructor had told them, with a scope range of around 1,000. But Fish Ball’s experience had taught him that hitting a Devilbeast at those distances was only possible when the creature flew straight and level. The better method was to use the concentric ring on instinct — not the scope — and wait until the result was certain.

Poor accuracy wouldn’t just waste shells. It would hollow out the unit’s nerve.

He preferred to shoot when the shot would land.

Of course, letting them close also meant letting them into spear range. He could only hope the extra baffle plates in front of the machine guns were as solid as advertised.

“They’re diving!” the lookout screamed.

“Now!”

Fish Ball pulled the trigger. A stream of bullets tore through the air and struck the leading Devilbeast full in the body. Hit by a dozen rounds from multiple positions at once, it dissolved into a cloud of red mist before it reached the battlement. The Mad Demon on its back came apart as well — skull cracked open, legs cut away — its silhouette barely recognizable as it plummeted.

The cheer that went up from the soldiers was instantaneous, and Fish Ball felt something loosen in his chest. He swung the barrel to the next target. Another Devilbeast died the same way, seconds later.

He was lining up a third when the world above him went grey.

It happened in an instant — the sun eclipsed by something vast and dense, light reduced to scattered flickers across the battlement. Fish Ball stared upward and understood, and the understanding drove all the air from his lungs.

“Spears!” He yelled until his throat ached. “They’re spearing! Get down!”

But there was nowhere to go. The volley came like a wall of shadow, too wide and too fast. All they could do was press flat behind their shields and leave their exposed hands and feet to chance.

Fish Ball seized his nearest companion and curled over him, bracing for the impact he couldn’t stop.

It didn’t come.

A gust of wind — and then the light was back.

“U-unit leader — behind you!”

Fish Ball spun around. The battlement behind him had been torn apart. A thick cloud of dust and grit hung over everything, drifting in slow columns. Men lay on the ground, some still, some moaning through the haze. The six Longsong Cannons had all fallen silent.

Nobody moved.

“What are you waiting for?” Fish Ball’s voice came out rough, scraped. “Get back to your positions. Keep firing!”

Someone else would handle the wounded. Someone else would send reinforcements. His only job, right now, was to put as many Devilbeasts down as possible before they gathered for a second run.

The order broke the spell. The two anti-aircraft machine guns thundered back to life.

Overhead, the demons were adapting. They split into two groups — one climbing higher to prepare the next spearing wave, the other peeling off to close with the soldiers directly, abandoning their mounts for hand-to-hand combat, banking on the demons’ superior physical strength to finish what the spears had started.

One Mad Demon dropped to the ground and found in front of it a man with black hair.

The demon didn’t take him seriously. It drew the iron axe from its belt and swung at him in a single, casual motion.

The man stopped the blow with one hand.

The demon’s eyes went wide — and before it had time to process the impossibility, it saw the man raise an iron tube and level it at center mass.

WHAM.

“His Majesty’s new weapons are good indeed.” Zooey released the demon as it dropped, a hole punched clean through its chest. “If we had these four hundred years ago, Taquila would probably never have fallen. The Three Chiefs would never have turned against each other over the question of how humanity should continue.”

She stepped to the unconscious demon and pressed her boot through its skull. Her voice did not change. “But we are still alive. We have returned. Now it is time for you to pay for what you did.”

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