Chapter 37: Siege of New Hope Port City (5)

A rain of fire.

Those were the words that floated up into General Arlo's mind when he witnessed the hellish scene before him.

The moonless night sky was akin to a blank canvas, allowing the volley of explosive shells to draw a macabre scene. Fiery streaks of light were left behind in their wake, making it seem as if stars were falling out of the night sky.

What came after the picturesque sight was the sound. And oh, what sound it was.

BOOOOOOOOMMMM!!! The deafening explosions of flame and steel ripped through the air, tearing the earth, and sundering the heavens! The bellowing screams let out by mortal men, who were being torn apart by the rain of fire, were left suffocated beneath the tyranny of fire and steel.

If there existed a hell upon this earth, it would be without doubt, this very battlefield.

The first volley, the second volley, the third volley… miraculously, not a single shot had landed upon General Arlo's whereabouts! And yet, the sheer violence of man had left him in a state of stillness.

"GENERAL ARLO!!" Unable to bear his emotions any longer, an aide stepped up and slapped the old general on his face. The resounding slap, which left a visible red handprint on the general's face, finally managed to snap the man awake.

Coming out of his daze, General Arlo searched the battlefield with reddened eyes and screamed his orders. "Quick! Fetch the cultivators of the [Wind Path]! We need to redirect the wind!!"

Using [Wind Path] practitioners to redirect the direction of the wind. It was an old battlefield tactic used to nullify the attacks of the enemy's archery units and render them completely useless. A simple yet practical solution.

However, those were wooden arrows and these were flaming balls of steel. The wizened general wasn't certain that this tactic would prove effective against the assault. Alas, facing such violence unseen by the likes of men and devils, this tactic was the best response that the wizened general managed to come up with.

Fortunately, it seemed that the heavens were on the empire's side; the [Wind Path] practitioners had not yet been killed by the artillery barrage.

Arriving at the forefront of the battlement, the three [Wind Path] cultivators worked together, gathered their Energy, and employed the [Wind Path Technique: Gushing Wind]. The still air suffused with blood and fire was immediately agitated with the technique's activation and started to surge in the direction of the enemy encampment.

General Arlo kept his fists and teeth clenched. He hoped for his tactic to work. He prayed for his tactic to work.

Wind rushed forth like an enraged horse. It violently galloped in the direction of the enemy encampment, assaulting the flying explosive shells with the force of a tumultuous river.

The explosive shells stilled in the air. Their red-hot flaming, spinning bodies were forced to halt. And then, unable to force their way through the whipping winds, they began to fall outside the port city's walls.

"YEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" General Arlo let out a beastly roar, unfit of the likes of a man of his station. He, however, did not care. He had done it. His tactic had beaten the violence of the enemy.

General Arlo was joyous beyond belief. He was joyous to the point that a stream of tears gushed down his wrinkled face. The old general then proceeded to laugh and cry.

With the participation of the three [Wind Path] cultivators, the tide of the battle immediately changed. The enemy tried a few more times to bomb the port city from a distance using their artillery. However, the [Path Technique] employed by the practitioners proved their efforts to be meaningless.

With the violence quelled and respite won, the empire's soldiers moved to their orders. First and foremost, the raging fires atop the battlement and across the port city were put out. Cultivators of the [Earth Path] and [Fire Path] were summoned to patch the newly blown open holes and craters along the length of the fortress walls while also reinforcing them.

Specialized units of soldiers were spent to quell the terror and grief of the citizens within the city. Incomplete bodies and fleshy remains of the dead were collected.

During the course of these actions, the enemy camped outside tried a few more tactics to siege the port city. However, having overcome the violence of hell itself, the empire's soldiers were filled with such bone-piercing hate that not even the physical manifestation of gods and devils would manage to shake their resolve.

Each attempt by the enemy forces was systematically dismantled and rendered meaningless. In such fashion, the night passed and dawn arrived.

It was during this dawn, when both sides had settled for a temporary peace, that the massive gates of the port city opened with a small crack, out of which rode a single horse.

Seated atop this galloping steed were two individuals; a pale-faced older man dressed in the garbs of the Royal Guard, and a red-faced youth with citrine-coloured eyes.

The sole galloping steed which rushed towards the enemy encampment quickly came under the scrutiny of both forces. General Arlo, having spent a sleepless night, quickly levelled his gaze on the steed and identified its occupants.

"His Royal Eminence!?! What is he doing!?" General Arlo gasped with a waxed countenance. Watching the boy emperor ride closer and closer towards the enemy encampment, the wizened general screamed with a horrified face. "Has he lost his mind!?"

Alas, there was nothing that he could do. For as he had noticed the boy emperor riding outside the city, so had the enemy.

And the enemy was much closer to the boy emperor than the empire's soldiers were.

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"Halt!" A gruff voice announced, drawing its weapon, and aiming it towards the newcomer.

Not wanting to agitate the already tense enemy, Matthias promptly pulled on the reins and brought his steed to a halt. He then brought it sideways and levelled a wary gaze at soldiers circling them.

Truth be told, if there was one place where the old Royal Guard Captain wished to NOT be, it would be here. Alas, he was a loyal servant of his liege.

And his liege, Emperor Alexandros Centinni the Twelfth, wanted to be here.

The boy emperor cast his furious gaze towards the rough-looking man who had forced them to a halt. He then, without giving the latter the chance to speak, furiously demanded.

"Where is that treacherous, backstabbing, cowardly leader of yours!? We, demand to speak to him!" Alexandros bellowed. His boyish voice made his angry retorts almost comical.

And yet, none dared laugh. For even the slowest among them recognized the young boy and the anger that he carried within his heart.

Hearing his demands, the rough-looking man stammered. "I— This—!"

"What? Does that snivelling dog not dare meet with the hand that it bit? Not only did it forget its conscience but did it forget its manners too?" Alexandros no longer referred to his enemy as a person and instead, in his anger, called him a dog.

The boy emperor's arrival and furious taunts drew more and more people to surround them. These men, all soldiers previously under the empire's flag, viewed the familiar-looking boy with guilt and pity in their eyes.

"Where is he!? Where is that traitor!? Where is that dog bastard!?!" Alexandros screamed and cried, tears springing forth from his eyes. The more he thought about how close he was to his father's murderer, the more his heart ached with pain and anger.

"Where is Ferdinand Sinna—!"

"I'm here." A stiff voice interrupted the boy emperor's screams. Alexandros' head immediately snapped in the direction of the speaker. His citrine eyes drank the sight of the familiar figure of his most hated foe.

Dressed in a jade-coloured armour embellished with gold and silver lines, a tall man, not more than thirty years of age, walked out of the encampment and arrived before the young boy. His green-tinted dark eyes peeked out of his messy hair and casually levelled a gaze towards his foe.

With a dull, monotonous voice, he spoke. "That cheeky boy of yesterday has grown up to become a crying brat, huh?"

"FER—! DIN—! AND—!" Alexandros spewed hatefully through his gritted teeth. His citrine eyes narrowed akin to a wild beast as he stared at his father's murderer.

Ferdinand received Alexandros' hate-filled gaze in full. His dull face did not show any reaction whatsoever. In the same monotonous tone with which he had previously spoken, he continued. "Though, I suppose calling you a brat now is considered impolite, right? What with you having become the 'Emperor' and all." He mocked.

Ferdinand's mocking caused Alexandros' hatred to overflow to such a point that the boy emperor returned to a state of eerie calmness. "Why?" he quietly asked, keeping his head lowered.

The green-eyed traitor did not respond to the boy emperor's words. Judging from his demeanour, he did not even seem to have paid any attention to him. With a casual wave of his hand, he ordered. "Capture the emperor and his slave. We can use them to exchange for the port city."

Saying so, Ferdinand turned around and began walking back towards his tent. After taking a few steps, he suddenly paused and slowly turned his gaze. Scanning the figures of his men, who had not moved a single inch after he had passed his order for capture, Ferdinand slowly spoke.

"Say, did you dogs not hear me speak?"

Taking in a deep breath, he stared at the men with a terrifying expression and menacingly bellowed. "I asked you lot to capture the snivelling brat and his slave!"