Bishop Castian Relinquishes Command

As the Blood Moon Season entered its middle and later stages, dark red moonlight pressed down on the Gray Fog. Nights beyond Blackpine Fief grew monotonous, and even time seemed to slow.

But raise your gaze and look down from above, and you would see that this land had never stopped convulsing.

Deep in the Gray Fog, wave after wave of low-tier Demonic Beasts that had lost their reason, along with scattered remnants of Ghoul packs, still surged toward the firelight on instinct.

At first, they always spread across the hills and valleys, a dense black mass pushing forward like a tide from a distance.

But the moment they struck Blackwater Swamp to the west or were caught in the narrowing terrain of Blackiron Canyon, their shape changed.

Their broad front narrowed bit by bit. The edges were shaved away, and the center was squeezed tight.

In the end, they were all forced into a single obedient line and funneled along the planned route.

At the canyon mouth, Steam Repeating Crossbows took turns firing along fields of fire calculated long ago. Bolts punched into the packed beasts in volleys, pierced chests, tore away half a spine, then pinned the creature behind as well.

Every so often, the sappers opened the valves and spread strong acid and Holy Silver Powder through the forward trenches again.

Gray-green mist rolled along the ground. Demonic Beasts that had just burst through the rain of bolts went mad inside it, biting at their own kind beside them.

On the human side, no one was shouting themselves hoarse anymore. What they heard most was the mechanical, muffled clatter of steam mechanisms.

Mixed into it were a few clipped orders, chains dragging over the ground, valves being turned, and the fine hiss of acid spraying out.

The