Chapter 244: Chapter 244: SALT & FALLING STARS

​Noon in Highgarden never truly scorched the skin. The winds from the southern plains always blew low, carrying the sweet scent of ripening wheat across the battlements. But today, that coolness seemed to evaporate. The atmosphere felt dry and stifling.

​Alistair Solari paced along the outer walls. Clack... clack... The rhythmic echo of his boots on the marble stone resounded. His aura pulsed, radiating like ripples of heat over a desert. Every soldier he passed instantly stiffened their back, their hands trembling slightly as they gripped their spears. His presence wasn’t merely an inspection; he was flaunting Highgarden’s last set of fangs.

​"Archers on the eastern tower. Add two more squads," Alistair said flatly. Each word fell with an unyielding weight.

​Sir Romeni walked half a step behind, occasionally wiping sweat from his brow while signaling the duty officer. "It is done, Your Highness. We have also reinforced the western tower. The mages have just completed the three-layered shield—physical, elemental, and anti-infiltration. There are no gaps."

​"Hmm. Catapults?"

​"Four units standby in the inner courtyard. Stone ammunition has been coated in oil, ready to burn. Ballistae are aimed directly at the main path. Heavy cavalry has also taken positions on the eastern wing. Once the enemy approaches the gate, we will flatten them."

​Alistair stopped at the summit of the highest tower. From there, he swept his gaze across his entire domain—the yellowing wheat fields, the green forests, and the long road leading north. Silence. No dust from cavalry. No roar of engines. Only an eerie stillness. He stared toward Northreach, his eyes narrowing sharply. "They gave us twelve hours. We’ll give them hell."

​He turned, his ceremonial cloak billowing fiercely in the wind. "Romeni, ensure every commander knows: there is no retreat. There is no surrender. Highgarden will not crumble just because of a piece of paper."

​Night fell heavily on the Ironhold border. Behind the shadows of towering stone cliffs, a small convoy sat motionless. Engines were cut until only a faint hiss remained, swallowed by the howling wind. A heavy launch vehicle with four large tubes on its back stood tall, flanked by two Wolf-Tusk tanks that looked like sleeping iron monsters.

​Riven Sudrath stood at the edge of the cliff, staring south. In the distance, the silhouette of Highgarden Castle appeared peaceful, with torchlight flickering on its towers—like stars lost upon the earth.

​"Distance?" Riven asked without turning.

​Gideon checked his map and compass under the dim light of a cloth-covered lantern. "Twenty-one kilometers, General. Northwest wind, three knots. Low humidity. Optimal conditions."

​"Coordinates?"

​"Locked in. Field spotters just sent visual confirmation."

​Riven turned his body slightly. "Who is on site?"

​Leofric folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders stiff. "Khulafa and Ruslan. They’ve been in position since dusk. The castle is still very active—lights on, tight patrols, magic shields detected around the walls. It seems Alistair has chosen to dig in."

​Gideon smirked thinly, his fingers dancing across the control screen. "A three-layered shield, huh? Unfortunately, Garrick’s Fury doesn’t care how much mana they pump into the air."

​Riven gazed at the launch vehicle. Four tubes pointed at the sky, each harboring a grudge named after their comrade who fell in Northveil. Garrick. That name was now engraved on every missile fin. The man might have been reduced to ash, but tonight, his voice would be heard across the horizon.

​Bzzzt... The Crystal Pager in Leofric’s hand vibrated. He read it for a moment, then nodded to Riven. "Message from Khulafa. Target valid. No change in position. They are ready."

​Riven took a deep breath, the scent of oil and metal filling his lungs. "Everyone clear the vehicle. Gideon, final input."

​Gideon keyed in the last set of numbers—elevation, angle, wind speed. Each digit entered with a dry beep. When finished, he looked up. "Ready, General."

​Riven looked south one last time. There, at the castle preparing for a medieval war, Alistair was still waiting for an enemy that would never be seen. "Launch."

​Leofric pulled the lever.

​Wussssh!

​The night instantly shattered. A piercing hiss tore through the silence—not the thud of gunpowder, but the sound of air being ripped apart by incredible speed. A tail of burning fire propelled the first missile, followed by the second, third, and fourth at precise intervals. They soared into the sky, forming four points of light that sliced through the darkness toward the south.

​Midnight in Highgarden. Torches still blazed along the walls, but the soldiers’ eyes were beginning to glaze over with drowsiness and exhaustion. Twelve hours had passed, and there was no sign of an attack from the north. Some soldiers began to lean on their spears, whispering that the threat might have been nothing more than a bluff from the old man of Northreach.

​At the highest tower, Alistair remained motionless. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. His eyes continued to pierce the empty northern darkness.

​Sir Romeni approached, his footsteps sounding heavy. "The twelve hours are up, Your Highness."

​Alistair snorted, the corner of his lip curling in disdain. "Tsk. They were just bluffing."

​"But the letter—"

​"The letter was just a piece of trash, Romeni. Lucian Sudrath has gone senile. He wanted us to tremble, to waste resources on a futile defense. And I almost—"

​"Wait, Your Highness! Look!" The shout came from the watchtower. A soldier pointed to the northern sky with a violently trembling finger. "Is that... a falling star?"

​Alistair turned quickly. His eyes narrowed. In the pitch-black northern sky, four points of light streaked with impossible speed. They moved in a straight formation, leaving long trails of fire behind them. The light was too steady. Too bright.

​It was no natural phenomenon.

​Romeni was the first to realize the danger. His pupils dilated, and his voice cracked as he screamed, "SHIELDS! MAXIMIZE THE SHIELDS NOW!"

​The scream sliced through the night. The mages in the inner courtyard immediately raised their hands, veins in their necks bulging as they channeled mana. Blue light glowed around the castle—one layer, two layers, three layers—growing bright enough to blind the eye.

​But magic shields were designed to withstand arrows and elements. Not metal projectiles traveling at supersonic speeds.

​The first missile struck the apex of the shield dome.

​BLAAAARRR!

​The night sky suddenly turned to day for a single second. The searing white light was so intense that soldiers shrieked in pain while covering their eyes. A massive shockwave rocked the ground, cracking the foundations of walls that had stood for centuries. The explosion was deafening, shattering windows in nearby settlements.

​The three-layered shield lasted only two seconds before crumbling into shards like glass hit by a sledgehammer.

​Fragments of mana energy scattered in the air before vanishing. Mages were thrown backward, blood streaming from their noses and ears. Several lost consciousness before their bodies even hit the floor.

​"IMPOSSIBLE!" someone screamed amidst the echoes of the explosion.

​The second missile came screaming down.

​Without the shield to block it, the missile struck directly above the main gate. Massive stones weighing dozens of tons were tossed into the air like pebbles. The black iron gate, the pride of Highgarden, buckled violently inward before collapsing onto the knights beneath it. There were no screams. Only the sound of bones instantly being crushed.

​Panic erupted. Horses whinnied hysterically, bucking and trampling soldiers who tried to calm them. Mages screamed in terror, their fingers trembling as they tried to construct a new shield, but their mana had already been drained dry.

​The third missile struck the main keep.

​The sturdy tower split in two. The upper section collapsed into the inner courtyard, crushing the knight barracks below. Stone, wood, and human bodies were pulverized into one amidst the rising dust. Fire began to spread wildly, black smoke billowing up to swallow the starlight.

​Alistair was no longer on the tower. He ran across the crumbling walls, his aura blazing wildly—his sword drawn, his eyes searching for an enemy to cut down, but there was only fire and smoke. Blood flowed from his temple, wetting his cheeks which were blackened with ash.

​"WHERE ARE YOU?!" he screamed at the sky. His voice was broken by blind rage. "SHOW YOURSELVES, COWARDS!"

​The sky answered with the fourth missile.

​The missile streaked directly toward him. Alistair saw it—a point of light growing larger, brighter, closer. Time seemed to slow down. He could hear his own heart thudding violently. He exploded his entire aura—layer upon layer of golden energy wrapped around his body, stronger than any mana shield.

​He raised his sword high. His aura flared intensely, creating a desperate wall of energy. The surviving soldiers stared up with their last breath: their Duke stood alone atop the ruins, defying death with a blade of steel.

​He let out a thunderous roar, a final challenge to fate.

​For a second, he looked like an unstoppable god of war.

​Then, the light swallowed him.

​The fourth explosion was the deadliest. Its heatwave swept across the top of the wall, melting stone into liquid glass. Sir Romeni, who was twenty meters behind, was thrown far by the shockwave. His helmet flew off, his head hitting a stone wall until his vision went dark.

​When Romeni managed to open his eyes, all that remained was a crater.

​The place where Alistair had stood was now a gaping hole twenty meters wide. The surrounding stone was molten, pitch black from the nonsensical heat. There were no bodies. No sword. No trace of an aura. Only rising steam and ash drifting in a deafening silence.

​"Duke..." Romeni whispered, his throat feeling as if it had been slashed by a blade. "Duke Alistair..."

​There was no answer. Highgarden was dying. Its towers had fallen, its gates were destroyed, and half its soldiers had vanished into dust.

​From a hill in the distance, Khulafa lowered his binoculars. His breathing was steady and calm. Beside him, Ruslan still gripped his Gauss Rifle, though he knew the weapon was no longer needed tonight.

​For a few seconds, they just stood silently watching the sea of fire in the distance. Then Khulafa spoke, his voice as flat as ice. "Target destroyed."

​Ruslan typed a brief message on his Crystal Pager. "Target destroyed. Alistair confirmed KIA. Highgarden totally neutralized."

​Khulafa gave a brief nod. "Send it."

​The pager vibrated softly as the message was sent north, toward where Riven waited. In the distance, Highgarden continued to burn. Its smoke would billow for days, carrying news of the "falling stars" that had destroyed a duchy in a matter of seconds.