NOVEL NEXT 115. The Last Defense
Igneel stood to the side of the cotton bed where an injured old man rested. He remained motionless on the white sheets, with hollowed eyes that were devoid of light. It was the first time Igneel had ever seen General Falcone in such a state, but after seeing the stub where his right arm used to be. He understood that the general's military career was now over.
"We have failed," William said in a dire tone. "There's nothing we can do now."
Igneel knelt beside his superior's bed. He stared at the defeated general with sorrow. "Why?" Igneel asked, pausing for a moment. "Why did you go so far? Reinforcements would have arrived in a few hours. If you had waited, then you would still have your arm."
William glanced at Igneel, the young and foolish knight who stayed by his side. A tired gaze surfaced. "How much… do you know about the Emerald Tower?"
Igneel listened carefully to his mentor, shrugging his shoulders. "I've met one of the Elders… their methods are ruthless and cruel."
"Those words don't even begin to describe the things they've done." William's voice was laced with anger and disgust. He met Igneel's gaze. "You asked why I risked everything I had to take over this bastion. What my reason was?"
Igneel nodded in response.
William let out a bitter chuckle. "It was to prove a point. To show the Emperor that we didn't need those cursed creations in a battle between men."
Igneel kept his head down. "Why would that matter? If those machines take the bastion, then it'll only benefit us."
"It's a matter of principle," William replied with a disheartened gaze. "This war is more than just a battle between nations. It's a battle of concepts and ideologies." He gazed at the knight. "We're at a crucial moment for our nation. One that I fear… and know will be a defining moment for what happens in the future."
A moment of silence filled the medical tent. Igneel rested his forearm on the one knee that was propped up. He knew about the political tensions in his homeland. However, not of the inner workings of each faction. Only that the first prince's faction directly opposed the Emerald Tower, which was supporting the third. While the princess remained neutral.
"General… would it really be bad for the Emerald Tower to gain recognition?" Igneel asked.
"It would only lead to more tragedies." William held a heaviness that seemed to drift around the room. "Have you ever wondered… if this war was really necessary?"
Igneel immediately stood up as the blood drained from his face. He scanned the room for any personnel, but upon seeing no one, quickly rushed over to seal the entrance.
"With all due respect, General, what you're saying is akin to treason," he muttered.
"Treason…" The word hung on the General's lips. "What would be more treacherous? To allow evil to triumph while good men die on foreign lands, or to sacrifice countless lives in the pursuit of an ideal that should have died with the previous generation?"
Igneel slowly clenched his fists, not in rage but in conflict.
William forced himself to sit up, causing blood to seep from his bandaged wounds. No groans escaped him, only a remorseful stare that met Igneel's cloudy eyes. The distant humming of mana grew louder, and a rigid metallic screech entered their ears, yet none of them paid it any attention.
"I… have made many mistakes in my time, choosing to sit idle while my comrades died," he said. "But now, we've reached a point where it's too late."
William gazed at the looming shadow that shrouded his medical tent in darkness. A few hours had passed since his battle with the commander and from the furious shouting, he could tell the next battle would soon be on its way. Igneel stood quietly by the entrance, listening to the frantic orders that organized the ranks. He glanced at the general with hesitation.
"What should I do?" Igneel quietly asked.
"Nothing," William replied. "For there is nothing you can do."
Igneel stood in silence, unable to meet his mentor's gaze. There was a time when life seemed certain, when right and wrong were as clear as steel glistening in the sun. But the bastion had changed him. After losing his friends and killing countless foes, the faces of the fallen haunted his nights. The strain, grief, fatigue, and gnawing questions he didn't dare to voice were wearing him down. In this war of conquest, the seeds of doubt had begun to take root.
Yet he swallowed them whole, burying the thoughts deep within where no one could see. To speak them aloud would be treason. He straightened his back and raised his left hand to his forehead. Then cut the salute down in a sharp line. The general returned it with a curt, bitter nod as Igneel turned on his heel, heading to his quarters.
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But he didn't make it far as a crowd drew his gaze. In the center of the camp were hundreds of men, with whispers carried on the wind. As he pushed through, his eyes widened. His jaw tightened. He took a step forward, only to feel Philip's firm grasp clamp down on his shoulder. Igneel turned to his comrade, only to see him slowly shake his head.
Igneel stopped, and a dull ache spread through his chest. He forced his gaze to the open wooden platform that was assembled in haste. Where several bodies swayed from the gallows. Some were faces he knew—men who had charged beside him in the first assault. Now they hung in disgrace, each with a board strapped to their chest marked with a single word.
Traitor.
.
.
.
Tucker stood on the inner wall by himself, gazing out into the horizon, where a single silhouette remained still. He could see the metal giant observing their every move from afar. Its towering steel frame stood over the ruined landscape. Below, the men on the ground floor had steadied their resolve. All the preparations were complete. They braced stacks of stone blocks against the inner gates, reinforcing the grand oak doors with iron bars.
Siege ballistas were mounted on top of rooftops surrounding the entrance. Their bolts gleamed in the dim light as rows of cannons were loaded with high-explosive rounds. Outside the gates, makeshift barricades blocked the roads, funneling the enemy towards a single path, while fire mines were scattered around in various chokepoints leading to the castle.
Every weapon was primed. Every defense secured.
There was nothing left for the men to do but wait.
And in that moment of silence, the sound of footsteps broke the stillness. Tucker crossed his arms and turned slightly, catching a glimpse of Luka from the corner of his eye. Above them, dark clouds drifted slowly across the sky, and from beneath the wide brim of his hat, Tucker watched the first raindrops fall.
"How are the men doing?" Tucker asked.
"Their morale's high. We've completed everything on the list, and we've only got the best munitions on hand," Luka replied, waving a piece of paper in the air. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the war machine near the outer walls. "Is it only one?"
"It would seem like it." Tucker listened as the cannoneers made their way to the top of the inner walls. "It hasn't moved since it arrived."
"Then let's give it a greeting," Luka said, gesturing to the nearby soldiers.
The cannoneers hurried to their stations, adjusting the iron barrels until the tips locked onto the distant war machine. From where he stood, Tucker could make out the dull grey plating that encased its humanoid frame. In one hand, it gripped a shield made of some unknown metal that was several meters high. While the other hand held a massive double-edged blade that rested with the tip in the earth.
A heavy rumble entered Tucker's ears as the cannons scraped against the stone bricks. Each weapon had been overloaded with mana, its core crackling with an unstable energy that boosted its firepower far beyond the safe limits their superiors recommended, but at the cost of its lifespan. Tucker could feel the air shimmer with heat, and a faint sizzle spread along the walls as the men covered their ears.
Without wasting another second, Tucker held out his arm and swung it forward. "Fire."
At his command, fifty cannons on the inner walls roared with life. The ground shook beneath the deafening bombardment. Ash and fire surged from the tips of the cannons. Blazing spheres of red light arced across the horizon like shooting stars against the dark grey clouds that smothered the sun. All eyes locked on the war machine, the men watching while holding their breaths. Seconds crawled by—then the distant flare of amber and crimson erupted, swallowed by a billowing cloud of smoke.
One detonation followed another. Each impact caused the air to tremble as Tucker narrowed his eyes. He could feel the shockwave race towards the walls. His dark green cloak snapped in the wind as Luka threw an arm across his face, shielding himself from the debris that whipped by. Yet, Tucker continued to peer through the swirling dust, searching for the slightest gap, crack, or flaw in the golem's defenses.
But as the smoke parted, his hopes faltered. A translucent azure barrier shimmered into view, rippling with the force of the blasts. Most of the cannon fire had been absorbed by the barrier artifacts. Few shots had broken through, but the ones that did struck harmlessly against the golem's sturdy shield.
A look of shock flickered across the soldiers' faces, but the two watchmen remained unfazed. This much was expected from their foe.
The machine hissed as it came to life. From the slit of its visor, two glowing lights flared to life, and in an instant, all the men knew what was going to happen. An abundance of mana was gathering at the core, spreading through its limbs. Gears were grinding against one another in a deep mechanical growl as it took a step forward.
Luka gritted his teeth and roared at the top of his lungs. "Load the next volley!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" The cannoneers sprang into action, pouring water over the barrels of their cannons. Steam rose, curling into the air as the men loaded the next shell into the weapon. In seconds, the next volley was ready, and with a curt nod, Tucker gave the order to fire once more.
A chain of explosions erupted one after another, tearing through the sky as the machine shot forward at a terrifying speed. Stone roads cracked beneath its weight, and windows burst apart from the shockwave of its advance. With each moment, cannon fire pounded its armor in a relentless barrage of desperation. Sparks and shrapnel danced across its steel frame, but as the embers faded, it continued to advance.
Tucker clenched his fists and took a deep breath. The land shuddered with each step of the colossus as the men poured round after round into its defenses. Every moment, every loss, every sacrifice had led to this. From atop the walls, he watched it thunder past the midway point, leading the Empire's troops who struggled to keep up.
This was the last hurdle.
The final wall between them and success.
The bastion was lost, but that didn't mean hope was gone as long as they managed to buy time for their allies to retreat and live another day. Then, their nation would still have a chance. If they could bring down the war machine here and now, the tide would turn, and their godforsaken city would see hope once more.