Chapter 414 - 396: A War of Depravity

Chapter 414: Chapter 396: A War of Depravity

Above the clouds, the frigid wind stung Barton’s face until it was numb. He lay prone on the back of a Big Thief Gull, his eyes staring wide from behind his Goggles as he gazed at the scene below.

What lay below was no longer a port.

It was a seething cauldron.

The moment the mimic torpedoes detonated inside the shield, the golden curtain of light that was supposed to protect the city became its deadliest accomplice. It perfectly trapped the explosion’s shockwaves and intense heat, allowing the energy to surge and build within the enclosed space.

No sound reached him.

They were too high up.

Barton could only see a blinding white light devour the Governor’s Mansion. Then, like a balloon inflated to its breaking point, the light expanded madly within the shield, consuming every inch of space. Buildings, streets, people—all were vaporized in that single moment.

"So this is... ’bathwater’?"

Barton muttered to himself. His hands were trembling, a purely physical reaction to the terror he felt.

As a Knight who had just transitioned from a police post to the battlefield, he had seen blood. He had killed bandits and even faced death head-on in the battle against the giant serpent.

But this kind of destruction was different.

It was too efficient.

Too cold-blooded.

With the simple pull of a cord, thousands of lives were reduced to ash. There was no struggle, no roar of defiance, not even a glimpse of the enemy’s face.

’What? Pissed your pants?’

A coarse voice echoed in his mind. It was Ola.

Barton instinctively squeezed his legs together, though he hadn’t actually wet his pants. He replied through the hive network, ’No, sir. It’s just... this is too devastating.’

’Devastating?’

Ola’s voice was tinged with mockery, yet it also carried the tone of a cold, hard lesson.

’Kid, look down and take a good, hard look.’

’If you think this is cruel, it’s because you’ve never seen how Hector treats them. So what if you haven’t seen paupers strung up from lampposts over a few Silver Moons, or miners worked to exhaustion and buried alive in abandoned shafts? Haven’t you seen the children coughing up clots of blood, tormented by plague?’

A massive white figure shot past Barton’s flank. It was Stuka. Ola was on its back, battle-axe in hand, pointing down at the inferno.

’War is a race to the bottom.’

Ola continued, ’All we have to do is be more ruthless than those bastards. Mercy for the enemy is cruelty to your own. If you go soft now, tomorrow it’ll be your old ma at home, still sewing clothes, who ends up dead.’

At the mention of his mother, Barton’s wavering resolve instantly hardened like steel.

’I understand.’

’Good. Then stop gawking like a damn sissy,’ Ola roared over the channel. ’The cleanup’s not done! That tower is still lit. This isn’t over until that big lightbulb is out!’

Down below, although the Governor’s Mansion had been obliterated, the white Magic Tower in the center of the port still stood firm. The core power supply for the Level 6 Protective Array was buried deep underground, so even with the surface structures annihilated, the flickering golden shield stubbornly remained active.

It was like the last breath of a dying man.

’Stuka Corps, Second Echelon, engage!’

’Smash that goddamn lightbulb for me!’

The clouds churned.

Several of the largest Big Thief Gulls, their feathers a deep gray, broke from formation.

They were the "heavy-lifters" of the corps. They still carried mimic torpedoes on their underbellies, but these torpedoes were exceptionally bloated and powerful. Beneath their silvery scales, they looked as if they were stuffed with explosive muscle—the "juggernauts" of their kind.

A bigger fish, evidently, could be packed with more explosives.

Stuka let out a piercing shriek and led the small bomber detachment into a dive.

This time, they didn’t pull up.

To ensure these precious "fat-head torpedoes" had a higher probability of hitting the tower’s base, these cumbersome, bomber-class Big Thief Gulls opted for a near-suicidal tactic: a point-blank hover.

The wind shrieked in their ears as the golden shield ballooned in their vision. It felt as if they would be smashed to pieces at any moment.

The instant the lead Big Thief Gull’s beak was about to touch the flowing membrane of light, it let out a shriek that tore through the air. Its enormous wings snapped wide open, like gray sails catching a gale, straining to counteract the terrifying kinetic energy of their descent.

"WHUMP!"

The compressed air erupted with a dull boom. Aided by their mastery of the Wind Element, these behemoths slammed on the brakes just an instant before impact.

They hovered less than two meters from the shield. The immense inertia made the Knights on their backs feel as if their guts were about to be flung from their bodies. Through their Goggles, they could clearly see the swirling Runes on the shield’s surface, and even the terrified, pale faces of the Mages beneath the Magic Tower’s skylight.

’Bombs away!’

The release hooks snapped open.

Those shockingly large "fat fish" went screaming downward.

The torpedoes wriggled, using their streamlined bodies to stay on course as they fell, one after another, near the base of the tower.

"BOOM—!!!"

Several orange-red mushroom clouds blossomed at the base of the tower.

The explosions instantly fused the surrounding rock into lava, and the lightning-fast shockwaves shattered the foundation’s load-bearing structures.

The hundred-meter-tall white tower shuddered violently.

Then, it began to lean.

Like a drunken giant, the Magic Tower—the symbol of Black Stone Port’s ultimate defensive might—began to topple, slowly and irrevocably, to one side.

The Runes along its length flashed erratically, letting out a cacophony of shrill crackles.

"CRACK."

Finally, in that instant, the golden shield that had held for hours shattered completely.

With the shield’s containment gone, the intense heat and pressure trapped within finally found an escape.

"FWOOSH—"

A terrifying heatwave erupted in all directions, instantly consuming the oxygen for kilometers around. A moment later, fresh air rushed back in to fill the vacuum.

This violent exchange of air triggered a terrifying backdraft.

The fires, which had begun to subside, roared back to life with the influx of fresh oxygen. The flames turned an eerie bluish-purple, leaping so high they licked the low-hanging clouds.

But this wasn’t the end.

In fact, the true nightmare was only just beginning.

High above, Ola gazed down at the infernal scene of destruction, but for once, he wasn’t laughing maniacally. He glanced at the empty racks on Stuka’s underbelly. The "fat-head" torpedoes used for punching through the shield were all gone.

’Payload empty,’ Stuka reminded him coolly. ’As much as I’m enjoying this bonfire, we need to head back. My wings are getting sore.’

"Head back? Heh, of course we’re heading back."

Ola licked his chapped lips, his bloodshot eyes glinting with an almost pathological fanaticism.

’All units! Full speed, back to the island!’

He roared into the comms channel, his voice laced with a terrifying excitement.

’We’re going back to load up on ’bathwater’! The kind with whale oil and thickeners packs a much better punch than those mimic torpedoes!’

The Knights froze for a second, then erupted into even more frenzied howls.

"The can’s been opened! Time to pour in the soup!"

...

The survivors of Black Stone Port endured the longest two hours of their lives.

When the flock of monstrous birds finally flew away, many collapsed amidst the ruins, thanking the gods for their mercy with a piousness they had never known before. They thought the punishment was over, that the demons were finally satisfied.

People began to crawl out of their shelters, crying out for loved ones and trying to extinguish the lingering flames.

However, as the sun began to set, that familiar, soul-shattering shriek once again echoed from the horizon.

This time, the sound was denser, heavier than before.

The survivors looked up in despair.

They saw the flock of giant birds returning.

And this time, they were flying low—so low that the people could clearly see the new, massive iron canisters hanging from their bellies, each painted with a red skull.

’Look! This is the surprise we’ve got for them!’

Ola gazed down upon the people just emerging from the ruins, his heart devoid of pity.

’If you’re going to do a job, you finish it. Don’t let them think all we had were a few fish!’

’Target: The port’s outer breakwaters! And anything that’s still moving!’

’Unload everything we’ve got! Now!’

"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"

This round of bombing was even more brutal, more unrestrained than the first. With no shield and no anti-aircraft fire, it was nothing short of an indiscriminate deluge.

Like tireless sowing machines, the Stuka Corps unleashed their thousand-pound (500 kg) Alchemy Bombs onto the two breakwaters.

These structures were the key to Black Stone Port’s status as a prime deep-water harbor; they held back the violent currents of the open sea, keeping the bay calm and safe.

But under such saturation bombing, the sturdy granite embankments crumbled like crackers.

Amidst the ceaseless explosions, several massive breaches were torn in the embankments.

The long-suppressed fury of the open sea was finally unleashed.

Towering waves, meters high, roared in through the breaches.

The seawater poured in. But the special "bathwater"—an incendiary mixed with viscous whale oil—was not extinguished. Instead, it floated on the surface, spreading with the deluge to every corner of the harbor.

The sea, churning with burning grease, shattered planks, and countless bodies, became a scalding, bubbling stew of offal that raged throughout the harbor.

At that moment, water and fire entwined, composing the final movement in a symphony of destruction.

Steam from the explosions mixed with thick smoke, forming a gray-black plume hundreds of meters high that shot toward the heavens.

Black Stone Port was finished.

This den of vice, operated by generations of the Marquis of Black Flame for decades, this vital transportation hub guarding the main artery of the Northern Territory, had been utterly wiped from the map in a single afternoon.

The survivors fled to the barren hills several kilometers away.

They stared blankly in that direction.

There were no longer any bustling streets or soaring towers. All that remained was a massive, smoldering crater, and, circling above it, the monstrous birds, like reapers of death.