Chương 240: Chapter 234: Black Fortress (2)

"We're ready to fire. Should we begin?" Kaldrek shouted up toward the highest deck, where Thalion remained seated in quiet meditation. While the others had ventured deep into the jungle to hunt vampires—Maike leading the hunters like a bloodhound —Thalion had focused on refining his essence blood, steadily enhancing his inner power. Kaldrek had stayed behind to oversee the preparations.

Now, eight vast magical circles hummed across the clearing, each teeming with fifty robed figures, their garments stark white—a sign that they belonged to Jim's fanatical order. These followers stood at the heart of the formation that would unleash a barrage of light magic, a beam so powerful it could shatter mountains. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the tundra in amber hues. The elven token had expired an hour earlier, signaling—supposedly—that the elves had begun their assault on the catacombs.

Whether that could be trusted was doubtful. Thalion didn't put much stock in their word. While the elves were told they would begin their strike at the fourth catacombs, Thalion's forces had instead marched directly toward the Black Fortress. There was a plan behind the misdirection. Thalion wondered if he could seize the fortress from the vampires and, once the tutorial ended, offer it back to the system for additional credits. A risky gamble—but one that could be immensely rewarding.

"Yes. Commence the bombardment," Thalion said, his voice steady, though his pulse quickened with anticipation. A storm was coming, and he felt it in his bones. He sent out a flurry of mental messages to the jungle strike teams, instructing them to return immediately. A confrontation was imminent. Kaldrek likely relayed the order to the formation groups, because moments later, the robed figures began to radiate with ethereal brilliance.

The sheer volume of energy they channeled made their bodies tremble, as if the power within might tear them apart. Then, the skies changed. Eight luminous halos formed high above the Black Fortress, each one pulsing with sacred energy. The air warped and sang with tension, sizzling from the overwhelming magic. From the fortress below, the undead responded. Ballistae fired, massive bolts streaking upward in an attempt to disrupt the halo formations.

Some struck their targets—briefly puncturing the rings of light—but the damage was fleeting. Within seconds, the structures healed themselves, whole and glowing anew. Then came the lightning. Each halo crackled with white lightning that arced inward, binding the edges to their brilliant center. The sky screamed, and then—detonation. A beam of pure, divine light tore downward from the heavens like the wrath of a god, colliding with the dark dome that shielded the fortress.

The impact sent shockwaves rippling across the savana. Thalion narrowed his eyes. He had expected resistance before the halos could reach full activation—surely the undead would've disrupted the formation with more urgency. Were the vampires already engaged elsewhere, perhaps fighting the elves or other tutorial parties? That seemed unlikely. It didn't take elite fighters to sabotage a halo before it unleashed its power. Still, the attack had landed.

And though the dark dome remained, spiderweb fractures now ran through it. It would not survive another full strike. With practiced efficiency, the casters evacuated the circles, their bodies drained of mana but not entirely spent. Rather than risk diminished output, fresh casters quickly took their place—new reserves of mana entering the fray. These massive magical circles weren't merely platforms for channeling, allowing spells far beyond what an individual could normally perform.

Still, switching participants ensured maximum efficiency. There were plenty of fighters; no need to conserve when they had the numbers. As the halos began to reform overhead, the undead responded in full. The fortress gates groaned open, and a tidal wave of undead beasts surged forth, pouring into the field like a plague of shadows. Winged vampires took to the skies, black silhouettes against the evening light, diving toward the formations like hawks in search of prey. It was time. Thalion rose.

He had decided to take the vanguard himself. While others held the line, he would meet the enemy at the front. His regenerative abilities far outstripped those of his companions, making him the ideal candidate to absorb the brunt of the undead assault. If resources were to be conserved, then he would be their spear—the first strike that shattered the undead tide before it reached the more vulnerable. He stepped forward, the bitter air curling around him, his essence blood humming beneath his skin.

The battle had begun. As the undead beast tide thundered toward the defensive magic circles, Thalion invoked Mistform. His body unraveled into crimson vapor, dissipating into the wind before shooting forward, reforming four hundred meters ahead of the incoming horde. With a thought, he activated his domain: Thorns of the Crimson Garden. From the earth, thorned vines surged forth, twisted and dark, impaling the first wave of beasts.

Many creatures bore the crimson taint Evelyn had warned him about—creations, of the blood witch herself. But something was different this time. As Thalion's bloodline ignited the mana in his domain, the entire garden combusted into ethereal, crimson fire. Mist, vines, and blossoms all burned in tandem. Those who stepped into the conflagration—caught between floating blood poles and the thorns below—bled out in seconds, collapsing as the garden drank deeply of their offering.

Thalion relished the front line not just for strategy, but for study. He wanted to observe how his crimson fire behaved. Unlike his cold, umbral flames—akin to a deathly miasma—the crimson fire was fiercely hot. Yet, when it touched blood, it didn't merely burn. It fed. The fire flared with ravenous intensity, enveloping beasts in a hunger-driven blaze. From his vantage point, Thalion could see it didn't ignite blood directly; instead, it absorbed its essence, becoming stronger.

His domain was now vastly more powerful than before. Few undead creatures made it even ten meters into the garden before falling. But its range was limited, and many monsters circumvented it—only to be bombarded from above by the battleships. Spells rained from the heavens like a storm, and Thalion smirked as fireballs that ventured too close turned crimson mid-flight. Divine skills, he mused, were not to be underestimated. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve.

Read this novel on the original website. In hindsight, his choice to embrace this bloodline and the divine skill had been the right one. The synergy between them offered immense value. Even the Tidecaller Serpent had adapted to it. The tide of beasts crashed into the garden and were instantly consumed, transformed into fuel for the ever-hungry Crimson Virethorn, which fed greedily on their spilled blood. Behind the monstrous tide, three jagged bolts of lightning struck the base's barrier.

The shield groaned, cracks spiderwebbing further across its surface. It would not hold much longer. A message reached Thalion—some vampires had launched an assault from the rear. Fortunately, they were not powerful. He chose not to reposition. The beast tide was feeding him blood and strength, and he wasn't about to give up such a harvest. Though this horde was smaller than the one days before, it remained formidable.

Still, Thalion had begun to suspect that the enemy's elite had withdrawn—perhaps retreating to defend a catacomb after Nathaniel's fall. With his current role, all he could do now was wait and observe how the battle evolved. Even the larger undead fell quickly in his domain, their lifespans cut short by flaming thorns and vampiric flowers. He had expected the witch to intervene—to empower her minions with another blood ritual—but nothing came.

Instead, more vampires emerged from the Black Fortress, flying toward his position. They sought to use the blood-stained battlefield to fuel their spells. But as they drew close, horror flickered across their faces. The blood was gone, already consumed by his domain. One dared to reach for the crimson poles in the air, attempting to wrest control. The Virethorn swatted the attempt aside with casual disdain, the blood construct uninterested in sharing.

And then, behind the flying vampires, the next barrage of lightning slammed into the shield. It shattered in places, the cracks struggling to heal. The beast tide was thinning, but now hundreds of vampires surged forward. Even Thalion's garden would struggle to contain them all. Fortunately, he wasn't alone. Multiple skyborne vessels loomed above, unleashing fiery death on the incoming swarm. In his right hand, the Sword of the Blooded Templar materialized, glowing faintly in the mist.

The first vampires approached cautiously, flinging blood-forged weapons toward him—spears, spinning discs, jagged blades. A futile effort. In his current form, blood-based attacks were the worst option they could choose. All spells dissolved mid-air, devoured by the crimson garden that twisted and writhed protectively around Thalion. At its heart, he stood still, unmoved, allowing the vampires to approach. The tide had turned. Victory was no longer a possibility—it was an unfolding certainty.

The commanders of the undead alliance had vanished, taking with them the bulk of their monstrous army. Now, survival mattered more than slaughter. Every life saved was another step toward final victory. The vampires hesitated. Confused. Some were so caught off guard they were struck by the volleys raining from the airships above. Vampires were notoriously hard to corner. If they decided to flee, hunting them down would be near impossible.

Yet now, they lingered at the edge of Thalion's burning garden, watching as the last of the undead beasts were consumed by its thorned, flame-wreathed vines. Thalion did not attack. He had no need. His blood was too valuable to waste, and the moment did not demand violence. His bow was ready, his hands steady—but there was no urgency. He could hit them, perhaps even kill a few. But every blood-soaked arrow risked empowering the enemy.

The mist that followed the arrow's explosion was diluted and less useful to them—but why give them anything at all? Besides, the mages and sharpshooters above were far more efficient. With the death of the beasts, Thalion had become an unbreakable wall. The vampires couldn't pass. One group attempted to flank him, dashing through the edges of the mist. They didn't make it far. After several tense minutes and multiple failed charges, the enemy began to scatter.

Some vampires fled into the broken gates of the Black Fortress; others vanished into the endless dunes, slipping away like shadows under moonlight. The bombardment from the airships didn't stop immediately. It continued for a time, lighting up the fortress's broken towers, shattering stone and steel where resistance might still remain.

"Wait… we already won?" came Kaldrek's message, tinged with disbelief. Thalion had to admit—it did seem too easy. The enemy hadn't fought with the desperation he expected. Had they misjudged the strength of the allied army? Or had they chosen to withdraw long before the battle began? Their scouts—undoubtedly watching from the jungle—would have spotted them hours earlier. They must have known what was coming. It was no act of fear. It was strategy.

Were the undead uncertain they could hold the pillars against both elves and humans? Possibly. It might still be a trap—perhaps some powerful figures were hiding within the fortress, waiting to strike. But Thalion doubted it. This didn't feel like preparation for ambush. It felt like deliberate abandonment. Yet it made no sense to give up so much ground. Unless they were concentrating all their forces elsewhere. If that were true, it was a dangerous gamble.

The undead might be able to coordinate flawlessly, while the humans and elves—fractured and suspicious—could barely cooperate. Thalion doubted their unity would last long enough to destroy the final pillar. Backstabbing felt inevitable. Still, the vampires had fled. The fortress lay open. And now, with the field clear, it was time to seize control of the Black Fortress. If fortune smiled on them, it might even hold some worthwhile spoils.