Chapter 49: Aerial Combat

The sky over this land was an eternal crimson, the earth riddled with sulfur fissures and stinking marshes. Magical currents disrupted communications severely; conventional signals were nearly impossible. Under the hateful gaze of low-ranking demons, a squadron of harpies screamed past above the canyon, flying in a perfect V-formation, hugging the cliff walls as if placing something along them.

Amid explosions and the shrieks of harpies, the squadron, led by their commander, plunged into the smoke and launched a frenzied slaughter—thunder roared, fire flared in rapid succession. Suddenly, a maddening screech pierced the air; the harpies broke off combat and fled swiftly toward the canyon’s rear, leaving behind a field of dead harpies as the winged demons cursed them.

At the mouth of a cliffside cave, several harpies clad in inscribed leather armor watched tensely as figures approached. On this dangerous, alien land, even knowing the newcomers were kin, they dared not lower their guard—for no one knew what evil lurked beneath familiar faces. This was hard-won, bloody wisdom.

“Stop immediately and state your unit designation, or I will order an attack.”

“Don’t fire! I’m Veshia Sharpeye, captain of the First Squad, Third Platoon, Second Recon Banner, Third Army of the Fang Legion. I bring urgent battlefield intelligence.”

“Password and officer’s name!”

“Dark Blood Tide! Platoon leader Sharl Clawwind! Banner commander Zela Windwing.”

“What was yesterday’s?”

“Storm Approaches!”

“Welcome back. Blackfeather is waiting inside for news from the front. Enter.” The harpies swiftly parted to clear the path to the cave entrance.

The cave mouth was veiled by hanging black vines, yet its interior was surprisingly vast. The air carried the distinctive scent of a harpy nest—feathers and raptor musk. Glowing blue lichen lined the walls, casting just enough dim light to see by.

Inside, a harpy clad in black chainmail etched with runes listened as a goblin reported. Her feathers were a pure, abyssal black. Rumor claimed she was a hybrid of harpy and black dragonkin—but no one dared speak of it. Except the Grand Overseer of the Peacekeeping Bureau.

“Captain Veshia, I’ve heard of you—the finest soldier in Recon. What bad news have you brought me?” Veshia looked up and met a pair of pale gold, reptilian vertical pupils—calm, cruel.

“My lord, a demon army has been spotted ahead—estimated at over two hundred thousand. Numerous rage demons and winged demons, and possibly a demon lord among them.”

“Understood. Did you bring the image-recording crystal?”

Veshia quickly pulled out a purple, marble-sized crystal and handed it over. The black-winged harpy flicked her wings, signaling a subordinate to take it, then ordered the messenger to rush back with the report.

“Sisters, it’s time to work. We must stop these damned demons before the Legion is fully battle-ready. Zela, notify all reconnaissance units—terminate missions and converge here immediately. Veshia, rest with your squad. You’ll need your strength soon.”

At the rear camp, upon receiving the report, Luo Ge and Mo Ge immediately ordered the First through Seventh Armies to deploy and form battle lines before the camp. According to the imagery, the demons were mostly lowly coward demons; rage demons and winged demons were few. The only troublesome elements were the few soul-judges and beast-spider demons.

Luo Ge analyzed that this force was likely commanded by a Bev demon, possibly hiding a Glaez capable of spewing vast numbers of low-tier demons. Defending from behind the walls would be passive. This operation would be led by Mo Ge drawing the demons’ attention head-on, while the centaur Lei En of the Crimson Steppe led the light cavalry on a flanking strike.

Hundreds of winged demons broke from the main force, their bat-like wings flapping violently as they screamed through the air, diving toward the harpy squad. Their eyes glowed with cruel malice as they began forming greenish demonic fireballs—brutal combat was inevitable.

“Spread out! Execute ‘Wind Cry’ protocol!” Sharl’s command echoed through specialized whistles. The disciplined harpies exploded like fireworks, splitting into dozens of small units, diving and climbing in different directions, using their smaller size and agility to weave through jagged stone forests and sulfur smoke columns.

A bloody aerial battle unfolded beneath the crimson sky. Demonic fireballs scorched their wings, exploding into corrosive craters on the rocks. Blue lightning slashed through the heavens, striking charging winged demons—several fell shrieking, but more surged forward, driven by hatred.

They deliberately taunted from high altitudes, firing precise crossbow bolts to provoke the winged demons into chasing them toward the planned kill zone. This was the most dangerous, deadliest group—each maneuver cost a harpy’s life.

But the cost was worth it. Enraged, the winged demons chased the “prey” without restraint, and when they entered a canyon, explosions erupted—survivors found themselves facing a waiting harpy assassination squad.

Sensing that too many winged demons had vanished, the commanding demon ordered a halt. In the battles that followed, no matter how the harpies tried to lure them, the winged demons refused to leave the main force, only retaliating by firing demonic fireballs from above.

Seeing this, Blackfeather ordered the harassment units into action. They flew low, risking ground-level flight as they swept past the flanks of the demon column, dropping their carried “flash-bombs” and “alchemical explosives.”

Blinding light and ear-splitting noise detonated among the coward demons and rage demons. Though direct casualties were limited, mass chaos erupted. Rage demons turned on each other in fury; coward demons scattered in panic.

They flew toward an unstable rock mountain beside the march route. Using their knowledge of geology and precise control of power, they struck key support points with spells and detonated all their carried explosives.

BOOM! A thunderous roar—landslide. Massive boulders and dust crashed down. Though they didn’t strike the demon lord directly, they buried a stretch of the march route, forcing the vanguard to slow or detour.

As harassment continued, the demon army’s advance slowed visibly, its already chaotic formation descending into utter disorder. Furious, the demon commander ordered all winged demons to sortie—clear these troublesome harpies at once.

Upon seeing the winged demons launch a full-scale assault to annihilate her entire force, Blackfeather’s dragon-like pupils did not flicker with fear—instead, a cold, calculating gleam flashed. Angry enemies make mistakes. And she was about to lay for these foolish demons a sky-bound graveyard.

Blackfeather personally led her elite guard as bait. They circled arrogantly at the canyon’s mouth, screeching with contempt, successfully enraging the winged demons. As the black swarm surged toward them like an angry hornet nest, Blackfeather gave the order to retreat—leading her unit in a flight that looked frantic but was precisely controlled, drawing the enemy into the designated hunting ground: Axeblade Canyon.

Two steep cliffs, lined with sharp, blade-like horizontal rock spires, flanked a narrow passage—so tight only three or four winged demons could fly side by side. Turbulent updrafts and downdrafts, caused by the terrain, were deadly traps for unfamiliar flyers. The cliffs were riddled with caves and fissures—perfect ambush points.

Sonic bombs detonated in the confined space, creating violent echoes and shockwaves that threw the winged demons off balance, sending them spinning like headless flies into the razor-sharp rock walls. Thrown battle-axes tumbled down from above, spinning with gravity’s acceleration—like death’s flying discs—easily slicing through wings and skulls.

As the winged demons reeled in chaos, the second ambush unit—hidden in the cliff’s lateral fissures—moved. They slipped out like ghosts, striking at close range during the confusion. Their claws targeted the fragile wing membranes and throats of the winged demons—touch and vanish, never linger. By the time nearby demons reacted, they had already vanished back into the rock’s shadows.

Blackfeather, leading the spellcasters above the canyon, struck with precision—hitting every winged demon that dared retaliate, or any unusually clever one, ensuring not a single one escaped.

The one-sided massacre lasted less than ten minutes. The canyon was choked with winged demon corpses and writhing wounded; the chaotic air reeked of blood. Blackfeather hovered above the canyon’s exit, coldly watching the hell she had wrought. She emitted three short, sharp, specific screeches—the full retreat signal.

The harpies did not linger. No matter how tempting the victory, they ceased combat instantly and withdrew swiftly and orderly through pre-planned escape routes, dissolving into the cliff shadows. They carried their fallen comrades’ bodies—leaving nothing of value for the enemy.

When new winged demon reinforcements flew into the death canyon, they faced only empty cliffs and the corpses of their kin. The harpies, at minimal cost, had eliminated at least a third of the pursuing winged demons—severely crippling the demon army’s aerial reconnaissance and strike capability.