Castian's Astonishment

The Platinum Fire Line on the east side pressed closer and closer, and when the mobile support finally reached the outer edge of Blackpine Fief, the originally orderly advancing formation suddenly became disordered.

The warhorse at the very front, clad in Holy Silver mask, let out a long neigh and suddenly reared up, followed by the warhorses behind it, which also began to stir.

Several Holy Knight simultaneously tightened the reins, their knees gripping the horses' bellies, kicking them with their spurs several times. The warhorses, which normally wouldn't retreat even when attacked by Second Tier Magic Creature, now just paced anxiously in place.

Castian pulled hard on the reins, and his warhorse, equally restless, began to pant heavily.

He looked up and saw neither the horde of Magic Creature rushing towards him nor the Dark Races still tearing at the city walls.

The Red Fog was swept away by the wind, revealing only large areas of collapsed, charred ruins that were still emitting heat.

The three hundred heavily armored Holy Knight behind him had all drawn their swords; before they came, everyone had prepared for the worst.

But the reality before them silenced the Church's mobile support team that had rushed there.

The outer fortifications vanished completely, leaving only huge, interlocking craters.

The central crater hollowed out a section of the earth, and the surrounding Frozen Tundra was melted by the high temperature and then rapidly cooled in the extreme cold, forming a dark red and black hard shell.

Several sections of iron beams, half-buried at the edge of the pit, were twisted and deformed, with traces of molten metal re-solidified on their surfaces.

A gust of wind blew, and the Ashen at the bottom of the pit swirled upwards, with a few dark red sparks still flickering.

Castian sat on his horse, his gaze slowly sweeping across the scorched earth, his right hand tightening its grip on the Holy Silver staff.

This place had clearly just witnessed a fierce battle, but the traces left behind were completely different from those of the battlefields he was familiar with.

However, judging from the distribution of the craters and the direction of the collapse, it is clear that the force that caused all of this did not come from the outside but was blown open from within the Blackpine Fief's own defenses.

A young Holy Knight lowered his voice. "Your Excellency, could there be another ambush ahead?"

No one answered.

Ahead lay only a desolate, scorched wasteland.

The warhorse wasn't afraid of any specific target, but rather of what lingered in the air.

The unseen residual force still lingered over the ruins, preventing even the purebred warhorses from taking another step forward.

"Let's go take a look first."

As soon as Castian finished speaking, his lieutenant Malcolm dismounted and walked forward, stepping on the charred, hard crust.

The thick smoke hadn't completely dissipated when the wind blew, Ashen at the bottom of the pit rolled around on the ground.

Malcolm drew his Holy Silver Longsword, the tip of which pierced a massive wreckage half-buried in scorched earth.

The object was originally stuck at the edge of the collapsed trench, with only half of its dark, shiny sternum protruding.

After the ash and debris were cleared away, the old Holy Knight paused for a moment.

That's the bone armor of Third Tier Ironclad Ghoul.

The skull of a Third Tier Heavy Ghoul is so hard that when defending a city on the front lines, even a regular ballista arrowhead would break off when it hits it.

But at this moment, a radial gash appeared in the center of the sternum, and the bone seams exploded along both sides, as if something had forcefully driven into it from the front and then shattered it from the inside.

Malcolm crouched down, his iron gauntlet probing deep into the shattered bone, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

A moment later, he slowly pulled out a severely twisted piece of iron crossbow bolt.

The arrow shaft was deformed, the arrowhead was curled at the edges, and there was no trace of Holy Light enchantment on the surface, only burn marks and dark red bloodstains left from the friction of metal.

A Holy Knight nearby swallowed hard. "No enchantments?"

Malcolm flipped the heavy arrow over and glanced at its tail section.

Rough, heavy, with exaggerated counterweights, and the tail end still bears traces of steam grooves blackened by high temperatures.

He took a breath. "It went in using kinetic energy."

Upon hearing this, the expressions of the surrounding veteran Holy Knight changed.

The group dispersed and continued searching along the edges of the bomb craters, the remains of the Dark Bunker, and the partially collapsed trenches.

Batch after batch of elite Second Tier Ghoul, shattered in droves, lay piled up in layers at the edge of the trench, their broken forelimbs, collapsed spines, and shattered, bloated skulls.

Many of the wreckage pieces were found in a few specific areas, as if someone had calculated where they would rush up from and then cut them into pieces.

An old Holy Knight used the tip of his sword to clear away the broken bones and charred debris, revealing several heavily corroded, thick iron spikes underneath.

"Strong acid," he said in a deep voice.

A few steps further on, the terrain became steeper.

The black stains frozen on the slope hadn't thawed yet; they were slippery and greasy to the touch, with ice shards and semi-solidified oil underneath.

The Knight' faces gradually froze. They couldn't understand what had happened, but they guessed at the extent of the tragedy.

Castian slowly raised his head and looked at the command tower that still stood at the highest point of the castle.

A fourteen-year-old illegitimate child, thrown into the Graymist Defense Zone by the Holy City as expendable resources, withstood the frontal assault of Third-Tier Ghoul Legion and wreaked havoc on the entire outer perimeter—no one would believe it if you told them.

Then he led his men through the charred ruins and half-collapsed stone steps toward the Inner Fortress.

The further in you go, the stronger the smell of blood becomes.

At the base of the Inner Fortress's black stone wall lay a haphazard collection of Magic Creature remains that hadn't yet been cleared away, most of them mangled beyond recognition by heavy crossbows and explosive attacks.

Near the main city gate, the bloodstains on the ground had accumulated into a sticky, dark crust.

Castian stepped up the blood-soaked shell, his boots occasionally crushing the undried parts, producing a hissing sound and pulling out a bit of sticky, stringy residue.

Then he stopped.

Five thick Rune arrows, each as thick as an arm, were prominently embedded in the heavy Refined Steel pillars of the Inner Fortress gate.

The arrowheads were almost entirely embedded in the crevices between the rocks and the Refined Steel, with only the heavy shafts remaining exposed.

Castian's gaze followed the trajectory of the arrow downwards.

The thick, black blood beside them hadn't completely congealed yet, and was slowly seeping down the cracks in the stone steps, hissing and emitting yellow smoke.

Even from a few steps away, the lingering malevolent aura was already pressing down on the back of one's neck, making it feel tight.

Castian slowly crouched down, removed his right-hand Holy Silver glove, and dipped a drop directly into his fingertip.

The next instant, a chilling aura suddenly seeped into my skin.

Castian's pupils contracted sharply, his breath caught in his throat, and his shoulders and back tensed.

This thing is at least Fourth Tier.

Even children in Inland countries know how terrifying Fourth-Tier Ghoul are.

Monsters of that level, in every aspect, are no longer on the same plane as those at the Third Tier.

But now, this thing is being blocked at the gate of the Blackpine Fief's Inner Fortress.

Castian's gaze slowly swept over the fragments of bone armor on the stone steps, the arrow emplacements on the doorposts, and the several dark claw marks deeply embedded in the Refined Steel.

All the signs indicate that it took a hard hit here, and may even have almost been left standing in front of the door.

A group of hastily assembled recruits, a battered defensive line barely holding on, and a newly appointed lord who is only fourteen years old.

With just these abilities, they managed to force a Fourth Tier monster to escape with severe injuries.

Castian slowly raised his head, his gaze falling on the highest point of the command tower through the lingering black smoke and broken walls.

The silver-haired figure stood leaning against the half-open stone window, his face pale and his shoulders and back showing signs of exhaustion.

Their eyes met across the ruins.

The distracting thoughts in Castian's eyes gradually subsided, leaving only an irrepressible admiration and a long-lost sense of exhilaration.