Steel and Mana

Chapter 339 – The Siege (3)

Night had fallen over the Imperial City of Ishillia, but the absence of the golden light of the sun brought no solace. Not to the people cowering in their homes nor to the nobles nervously sitting in their estates. The city was still under attack... the Capital of Ishillia, the place that never had to face any enemy. No being or force ever came this far, even in the 2,000 years of bloody history of the Empire. Until today. Looking out, the sky above the grand city flickered with violent bursts of magic and the roar of crimson flames as the attacker's machines continued their relentless bombardment. For now, they were safe as the city's ancient defenses were holding. Although nobody knew how long it would last... The time the Ishillian bloodline ruled this land was long, and their resources were unfathomable to regular people. But the current nobles already guessed that it couldn't be endless. Not with the usual infighting for the throne going on within the Ishillians. Who knows if the defenses could still tap into the supposed wealth of the Imperial Bloodline? What if it had already been spent centuries ago?

Multiple dukes and earls thought of the same idea but were unable to do anything about it. They were afraid the city wasn't as strong as it showed itself to be... Otherwise, why would Mirian Ishillia dare to come back and attack it? She was, even if for a very short time, the Empress of this land after all. If she felt she could take the city back... It could imply a lot.

Thinking about it from that angle, the shimmering blue of the city's protective barrier pulsing under the continuous assault seemed less reassuring. Even without magical talent or knowledge, just watching the arcane runes flicker to life, flaring with each impact, it looked as if they were straining under pressure like glass about to shatter.

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At the bridge of one of the two remaining Ishillian warships, the Herald, Kiva stood ready, standing on a completed and active formation, his mind directly linked to all of the main systems and commanding the shipslaves, overriding their natural instincts. He was going to draw out everything from the ship, ignoring its self-preservation initiative. Below him, the city was still, but he knew that the protection would soon start to fail. Although it wouldn't be instant and wouldn't break as one, it would develop weak spots, holes where the traitors' spells could penetrate it. Then, the fire could start spreading down below, causing chaos... He gritted his teeth at the thought, cursing. They could not sit back and wait to be buried beneath the tricks of the traitor Empress. It was time to show her she made a big mistake.

Down below, deep inside the palace, Pascal sat cross-legged, his body unnaturally still, his face bathed in the eerie, dark yet somehow still bright glow of the floating, black runes surrounding him. His eyes were closed, but his consciousness was rapidly moving, his brain calculating, his magic suffocatingly strong. He was reaching out, his presence extending outward, through the palace's walls, spreading across the city’s infrastructure, and then suddenly refocusing, settling onto the other Airship Kiva had brought back the Judicator.

Unlike Kiva's control, Pascal's was more direct. In his eyes, he was no longer a human but the Judicator. He felt it like it was his body as his mind overwrote and replaced all of the ship slaves' rudimentary consciousness. Those barely living beings now were nothing but the cells within Pascal's new existence. The nodes that let his mind flow freely and control the vessel as if they were part of his being. Deep down... he couldn't help but think about the Vasas. Knowing that the technique he was using now was developed from their lost knowledge. The Emperor of Magic built the first airship to be controlled like this. The difference was that he could do it without using shipslaves.

“We are ready,” Kiva's voice appeared in his Master's mind, bringing Pascal out from the momentary stupor. His voice was controlled, but the strain of controlling the Herald directly was putting stress on his mind. He wouldn't be able to keep it up longer than half an hour... and he knew it. Still, Kiva would try as he exhaled sharply, steeling himself. He would lead the assault personally, while his Master, through the mastery of the Ishillian's gift of magic, would command the Judicator from the palace. Something that he wouldn't be able to replicate.

"No reason to hold back," Pascal sneered, his unseen eyes looking through the Judicator, scanning the enemy lines, forming their attack pattern. After deciding on it and sending his thoughts into Kiva's mind, a slow, knowing smile appeared on the edge of his lips. “Let us remind them why Ishillia is feared. My traitorous bitch of a descendant can't think she just waltzes back into MY Empire...”

As the Judicator and the Herald soared out from behind the main palace, the invading army's response was immediate. From the hovering form of the Judgement, the previously personal airship of the Imperial Bloodline, bright crimson signals flared into the night, warning the troops below, illuminating the battlefield. The artillery fire bombarding the city immediately slowed as the gunners redirected their focus toward the approaching Ishillian vessels. In the distance, the Camelot suddenly shuddered as it shifted its trajectory, no longer simply floating there. Its monster cores were humming as it reoriented for battle, heading out to intercept.

On the bridge of the Herald, Kiva placed one hand against the control wheel, feeling his own ship’s core thrum beneath his fingertips, even noticing the faint resonance it had with the enemy's vessels in front of him.

"No hesitation." He inhaled deeply, channeling his magic into the ship’s systems. The air around him crackled as his formation intertwined with the vessel’s own, bolstering the shields, reinforcing the cannons, and accelerating its maneuvering speed. The ancient runes embedded in the hull within flared to life, responding to his will as the shipslaves stood in place, their tattoos glowing in different patterns, blinking in and out like an organic computer.

“Shoot the fuckers down!”

Below the two attacking Ishillian warships, Avalon’s mechs surged into motion as Yuri's roaring command echoed far and wide. She didn't need to do it, as by the time she chucked one of her spears straight at the appearing shield of the Herald, exploding into pieces of metal, the others were doing the same. While the Rook and the Valiant, equipped with long-range cannons, fired at the ship, too. At the same time, the Lion and Mirian's Spear were hurrying over to join them from the other side of the encirclement. Then, with a blare of its warhorn, the Judgement came in from the right as it unleashed a volley of concentrated magical artillery, fiery spheres of glowing spells whistling through the sky.

The Herald shuddered under the force of the assault, but Kiva gritted his teeth and poured more power into the ship’s defenses. The shields around the ship flared bright gold as they absorbed the incoming impacts before stabilizing once again. His goal was not to engage in a prolonged battle but to stop Mirian's forces from hammering the city. He countered by increasing his speed and then launching a devastating barrage from the ship’s side cannons as it took a sharp turn. Bright, emerald bolts of magic sliced through the night like straight needles. It was akin to a slash of a sword, striking the backline of the army, followed by multiple explosions on the ground. As for how effective it was, Kiva didn't know as he was doing his best to repeat it before his powers began waning and he had to retreat.

Meanwhile, the Judicator moved with an eerie grace, shifting courses too precisely, being too synchronized to be anything but unnatural. Maybe it was why it was the Camelot that flew straight at it, ignoring the second ship, noticing Pascal’s influence on the war machine from the get-go. The ship-slaves aboard it did not hesitate, did not question why they were heading on a crash course at their target, burning the ship's core at a dangerously high level. They simply obeyed.

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From the bridge of my Camelot, I watched as the remaining two Ishillian ships launched from within the city's barriers with narrowed eyes. My instincts screamed at me that something was wrong the moment I noticed them.

“That ship…” I muttered, pointing directly at the left one, “It’s moving like—”

“Strong magic signals coming in,” Merlin's voice came through the radio at once. “One of the ships has to be the Emperor's work because the feeling I get from it is horrendous!”

"Kustov, set us on an intercept course!" I clenched my fists, snorting. “Then let’s put an end to it. Fire when ready!”

The Camelot’s forward-facing cannons roared to life first, sending a storm of spells toward the incoming ship. Still... the bastard twisted and weaved through the fire with unnatural precision, moving in a way that I had never seen any machine move. It was even better and more responsive than my mechs. Hells, it dodged half of the first volley while tanking the rest.

"Use all of our physical cannons!" I ordered as we began turning so we could fire most of them at the ship.

Just as we were making the turn, it retaliated.

It almost looked like the bastard was drifting as it showed its side to us, and then its primary batteries fired in perfect synchrony, all at once... but it wasn't firing at the Camelot. Its body was tilted in a way that it could aim at my howitzers. Explosions ripped through my siege lines as multiple of my emplacements were obliterated in searing bursts of emerald explosions. Even if some of its attacks were scattered and dispelled, not all of it could be stopped. But... I wasn't panicking. War was like this; I couldn't always waltz through it without casualties.

Also... my Camelot wasn't waiting for it to finish and try again.

“Fire,” Kustov ordered coldly.

The booms were loud and could be heard through the ship, sounding like a thunderclap. The fastest ones were those that came from our magical cannons. They hit the ship, making its shields flare up once again, but then... A loud crack and the splintering of wood like fireworks. The actual cannonballs we sent flying ripped through the wooden frame like a hot knife through butter.

Its magical shield was useless against physical attacks. The ship convulsed violently, its hull cracking apart as fire and arcane energy erupted from within. It seemed we hit something vital within it... Good. Very good.

"Keep firing!" I ordered, "Until the bastard is nothing but a pile of wood on the ground, burning!"

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The ship-slaves shrieked as Pascal’s connection shattered. The warship lurched, its form buckling as the magical force sustaining it collapsed in on itself the moment its core was hit by something heavy. Something fast. The CC itself wasn't shattered, but everything around it, all that made up the formation, the mechanics locking it into place, was disrupted and destroyed. The cascading reaction coming from it caused the magic sustaining it to go wild and jolt Pascal's consciousness out of it. The fact he was aiming to ram the Judicator into the Camelot and explode the two didn't help at all... Because it just made the sudden rip through his connection to it even more painful.

"Again?!" He roared, blood flowing from most of his orifice, reeling back, coughing up blood as the feedback from his broken connection surged through him. Then... despite the pain, he started laughing.

Suddenly, his gaze turned toward the Herald, still fighting against overwhelming odds. It was already limping; its shields were soon failing.

“Good, little Kiva,” he whispered, watching his disciple’s vessel struggle, getting bombarded by the Judgement which was flying dangerously close to it. “You did your part. Goodbye.”

Even though the Herald held its own, it was too much. Kiva clenched his fists, feeling the drain of maintaining the ship’s defenses... They were starting to focus solely on him now... And then the Judgement repositioned for a killing strike on his right...

“We can’t sustain this.” the thought came into his mind from the shipslaves' collective consciousness. “The Judicator is gone.”

“Get clear of the battlefield! We are returning to the city!” Kiva ordered the ship, feeling shocked that his Master had lost his vessel so quickly.

But then... He felt it. It was Pascal's mind overriding his control. It... It set the Herald to... blow...

"Master...?" Kiva asked in horror and disbelief, realizing he had lost control over his body and of the Herald all of a sudden. He was going to explode... along with the ship and who knows how many of their enemy's troops. He would have sacrificed himself... if his Master had asked him to do so! But... But... To be forced into it... Like this?!

He just stood there. Shocked. Unbelieving. Unable to do anything as the magic began running haywire, moments away from exploding...