The Salsard people's fleet had been silent in the sky for quite some time.
Across the vast battlefield, aside from the purple tide on the ground surging toward Valhalla wave after wave, the fleet battle in midair had instead fallen into an eerie silence.
The Salsard people's silver-glimmering airships hovered one after another in the sky. Their attacks had ceased, as though time itself had stopped.
Their opponents, however—the Tonigellian fleet—were turning around. The enormous silver fleet exposed its entire flank to the Salsard people, while its cannons pointed toward the ground.
This strange scene was now unfolding clearly before everyone.
"What in the world is going on?"
The offensive on the main battlefield was being dominated by the crystal cluster army, but the allied noble forces that had not yet withdrawn had already fallen into confusion.
The successive changes on the battlefield had caught them off guard. For a moment, they could not even tell which side was friend and which was enemy.
While the allied nobles were slow to react,
time continued to pass, one second at a time.
In the flagship of the Salsard people—the Saint Pacher—the atmosphere in the captain's quarters was even stranger than that on the battlefield.
Facing the young man before him, Gonzalez suddenly understood that he might have no choice but to make such a decision. Or perhaps he should have understood it long ago. The moment the other party had suddenly appeared before them carrying the staff Togrifin, he should already have understood everything.
The captain's quarters were deathly silent.
It was hard to imagine that just a moment ago, people had still been streaming through this place. Messengers and officers of every kind had hurried in and out, cartographers had constantly revised the markings on the maps, and the shouts