Chapter 122

The Shattered Star Strait glowed with a faint iron-gray light before dawn, thick fog flowing across the sea. But beneath today’s mist lay a black tide.

Gisk stood on the cliffside command platform of the Pale Heights on the Riftstone Continent, his yellow-brown vertical pupils reflecting the silent, massive shadows gliding beneath the waves—the entire first assault wave.

Three hundred specially designed flat-bottomed landing ships, iron-plated along their dragonbone keels and fitted with deployable heavy ramp bows, each carried two hundred fully armed, silent, and grim pigmen heavy infantry.

As the fleet entered the strait’s midpoint, the seawater suddenly thickened, and a horrifying shriek pierced the fog. Tentacles formed from corrupted seawater surged from within the mist, tightly coiling around the vessels—this was the outermost alert network of the demon defense system.

The accompanying shamans immediately struck the exorcism drums on the flagship and hurled scorching purification rune stones into the sea; golden bursts of light vaporized the tentacles, yet still over a dozen landing ships were overturned, their heavy soldiers falling into the sea like stones.

Several winged demons, resembling flayed vultures with bat-like wings, dove from high above the fog, attempting to drop corrosive sacks onto the fleet.

Above the fleet, a web of pale-blue lightning suddenly flared—this was the storm shaman’s anti-air thunderstorm, unleashed from hidden transport ships among the pigmen.

Two winged demons turned to charcoal and plummeted; the rest shrieked and dove back into the mist.

Meanwhile, the war machines on the Pale Heights began to roar. Fifty counterweight catapults, calibrated by subterranean goblin engineers, emitted deep, thunderous booms.

They did not launch ordinary stones, but explosive ceramic jars filled with alchemical explosives. These jars sliced through the dawn sky and landed behind the Starfall Beach, detonating into searing showers of fire that ignited fortifications and disrupted the defenders.

Under cover of magic and artillery, the first wave of landing ships surged onto Starfall Beach.

It was a two-kilometer-wide slope littered with black gravel and sharp crystal shards. Behind the beach rose a wall several meters high, pierced with firing slits. Once a human frontline against demons, it was now ruined—but better than nothing.

Beyond the wall lay a labyrinth of trenches; further up the high ground, faintly visible were several twisted towers seemingly forged from bones and lava—masterpieces of the trap-specializing Babu demons.

As soon as the pigmen ships lowered their ramps and the first soldiers stepped onto the gravel, the demon defenses erupted in full force.

The Abyssal Sprayers behind the wall—plump demonic creatures capable of spewing acid and searing fireballs—began volleys. Thick acid hissed against shields; fireballs exploded among the ranks, sending limbs and shattered stone flying.

Simultaneously, the gravel of the beach suddenly bulged upward; dozens of burrowing worm demons burst from the earth. Resembling giant segmented insects with drill-like mouthparts, they instantly dragged several pigmen underground, leaving behind pools of blood.

The pigmen squads immediately counterattacked, thrusting spears into the ground or hacking at the worms with battle-axes, but the initial chaos still inflicted heavy casualties.

The gate in the wall burst open, and swarms of Kuangzhanmo —demonic warriors with skin like cracked lava, wielding serrated swords—roared into a countercharge. Their muscles bulged, their pain sensitivity dulled, their only thought: tear the invaders apart.

The pigmen vanguard’s formation was violently slammed by these frenzied demons; the front-line shields warped under immense force.

Commander Magor stood on the shallows, observing the battlefield, his orders cold and precise:

“Flag 032, advance! Shamans, purify the ground!”

From the second wave of landing ships, the pigmen’s heavy shield-bearers—equipped with tower shields and heavy hammers—formed a tight tortoise formation, pushing forward with grim determination, holding firm against the Kuangzhanmo ’s assault line.

The accompanying shamans began striking totem poles, chanting incantations to calm the earth. A pale yellow glow spread across the ground; the burrowing worm demons were repelled, writhing in agony, or trapped in the magically hardened soil.

“Flanks, pierce through them!”

The third-wave jackal-man assault teams, leveraging their size advantage and battlefield chaos, split into squads and swiftly circled along the rocky shores on either side of the beach, climbing steep slopes to attack the demon ranged units from the flanks and rear.

As the battle reached its fiercest point, dawn finally arrived—but sunlight was obscured by smoke and magical glare. After two hours of bloody stalemate,

the pigmen paid a cost of over five thousand casualties before finally seizing the wall. Beneath it lay piled corpses of both sides, black blood and green blood mingling, seeping into the gravel.

Most of the Kuangzhanmo were annihilated; the surviving demons retreated toward the second defensive line atop the higher cliffs of the Seacliff Ridge.

The fourth and fifth waves of pigmen engineer units, under magical cover, began frantic construction.

Using prefabricated steel frames and magically accelerated quick-set stone slurry, they rapidly erected a semi-permanent defensive wall anchored on the captured wall, complete with firing towers and magical barriers.

Light catapults and heavy ballistae were dragged ashore and deployed behind the new wall, beginning artillery duels with the demons’ higher towers, suppressing enemy fire and securing a relatively safe zone for subsequent landings.

The demons did not abandon their counterattacks; they launched repeated small-scale night raids, sent invisible demons to infiltrate, or bombarded with long-range magic.

………

On the scorched battlefield at the edge of Mu River Plain, two figures, like ancient titans, stood facing each other.

On the left stood “Bronze Doomstar” Gorgon, a fully Shenyuan -mutated bullman warlord. His nearly four-meter frame was no longer flesh, but a living fortress forged from countless bronze plates and cooled lava.

With every heavy breath, sulfurous sparks spewed from the gaps in his iron-faced helm; his twin eyes, burning with eternal amber flames, now locked onto the being standing equal in height before him.

On the right stood the druid Virenth. Her four-meter deer-like body was composed of ancient-tree-like muscles, interlocking bony plates, and countless living thorns glittering with cold light; her antlers, like slowly growing crowns of black iron, emitted a faint, grating friction in the air.

Gorgon took a step forward; the scorched earth beneath his feet cracked and sank. He did not roar—he forced from deep within his chest a series of broken roars, blending metal scraping with furnace roars.

“Vire—nth—!”

His voice shattered the battlefield’s silence: “A month! My warband fought from the boiling Mu River to the dried-up rift valley! The soulfires of three hundred eighty-one clan brothers still wail inside this iron armor!”

He slammed his massive black iron battle-axe into the ground, sending out a ring of scorching heat; the congealed blood crust on the axe’s surface crumbled away: “And where are your promised reinforcements—the lizards you swore would surge from Shadow Bay?!”

Amber flames erupted from his eyes, nearly scorching Virenth’s thorn-crown: “My warriors are using their last strength to dig the demons’ broken fangs out of each other’s wounds! Before the next sunset, if I still don’t see your promised reinforcements, then…”

He lowered his helm, his twisted bronze horns aimed at the druid: “My remaining people and I will no longer fight for this land waiting for redemption. We will carve our own bloody path—wherever it leads.”

“My friend, please hold on a little longer. You know, without the canal dug, my people cannot reach you. Besides, the Ironbone Warband isn’t just the Deephoof Clan—why not recruit more demons to hold the line?”

“Hmph, easy words. For your promise to split the plain, the Ironbone Warband has already supplied thousands of tons of iron—yet what did we get? Endless assaults from the Plain King Bazago.”

“Don’t get agitated, my friend. You’re the strongest warrior—why fear a few Shadow Abyss Dreadwyrms? Don’t worry, I’ll send the Bloodhowl Clan to aid you. And you should recruit some lesser demons from the Iron Mo Mountains.”

“You’d better produce something tangible. I can tolerate your weakness—but don’t think you can get half this land without paying a price!”

“You misunderstand me. I’ve already prepared a thousand battle-axes for your clan—each engraved with runes.”

“Thank you. I hope your men arrive soon—drive those wolf pups into the river.”

………

“Madam, General Gisk sent a messenger—he wishes to borrow our ships to transport supplies to him; their advance seems delayed.”

“And how did you reply?”

“I told him to send a legion to support us, or else the transport efficiency might suffer.”

“Morgan, understand this: never speak so bluntly to your own side. If something goes wrong, and Gisk blames you for poor supply logistics, what will you do?”

Besides, I won’t send troops into Mu River Plain until those demonized bullmen are dead. So you must do everything possible to support them—I need an excuse to keep delaying.”

“Uh… Madam, aren’t we being untrustworthy? Isn’t deceiving the bullmen wrong?”

“Anything that doesn’t serve us is an enemy—especially demons. Besides, I never said I wouldn’t support them—only that other matters have temporarily tied up my manpower.”

At that moment, a jackal-man rode a massive hyena toward them, kicking up clouds of dust. Seeing them from afar, he grinned with his long muzzle, waving and shouting:

“Good afternoon, Madam! On behalf of General Gisk, I extend greetings!”

“Oh, it’s Ye Kemu!” Her tone was languid, as if she’d expected him. “Rare of you to remember this old woman. Is young Gisk’s operation going smoothly? And you—surely you didn’t drift here by chance, carried by the winds of Mo Yuan Sea?”

“Madam, the General is stalled by demons in the ruins, and supplies are running low. He urgently needs your help—please dispatch ships to transport supplies by sea to the Shattered Star Strait. We’ve secured Starfall Beach and can receive the cargo.”

“Supplies and ships—I can arrange those easily. But…” Her front hoof tapped the ground lightly, as if recalling something. “If I recall correctly, the Duke didn’t stockpile enough for this campaign. So I’d have to draw from my own allocation. What will General Gisk offer in return?”

“Ha! Madam, this is simple!” The jackal-man grinned, baring his fangs. “Our General anticipated this. He says Shalut remains missing—probably turned into roasted suckling pig by the demons.”

“The General’s point is clear: why let good supplies rot in warehouses? Just redirect the portion originally ‘reserved’ for him to us—that’s true efficiency, Madam.”

“Ha! Truly a ‘good brother’!” Her smile held a sharp edge.

“Gisk’s plan is convenient. But how certain is he that this ‘roasted suckling pig’ won’t suddenly come back to life, find his stores emptied, and come after him with an axe?”

“Ah, that’s the key!” Ye Kemu’s tail wagged excitedly. “The General hopes he’ll act. The Duke’s order: ‘No striking fellow soldiers.’”

“If that fool dares swing a fist, the General can immediately send him to the Black Cells! The General is eagerly waiting for this show.”

“Ha! What a clever plan.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Very well. To ensure Shalut ends up in military court, I approve the supplies. But shipping costs are extra. After the battle, Gisk must assign two full legions to assist me. That’s the bottom line—non-negotiable.”

“Count on us!” The jackal-man thumped his chest loudly, grinning. “As soon as it’s done, the General himself will lead the troops! Two legions—more if needed. Not a single hair of yours will be shortchanged!”

“Leave it to us!” the jackal-man pounded his chest with a thud and grinned, “As soon as it’s settled over there, the Marshal will personally lead troops over—two legions, at least, not a single hair of yours will be lost!”