Chapter 1697 Citadel Battle 2



The citadel had been under constant siege for five relentless days. Each dawn brought with it a fresh horde of orcs, their numbers swelling ominously with every assault. In the face of the magus's unwavering defense, the orcish ranks had suffered heavy losses. By the fifth day, the orcish dead numbered nearly 200,000.

The price of this relentless warfare, however, was a significant drain on the citadel's energy reserves. Even with the magus exercising restraint in their use of the turrets and shields, the energy supplies had been lessened by halved. It was a stark indicator of the severity of their situation and the monumental task they were up against.

Amidst this grim battle, a sorrowful first had befallen the magus. One of their own had perished in the most recent assault, marking the first casualty among their ranks. The magus guard had been pulled down by a rampaging orc, caught under the beast's feet and trampled to his untimely death. His comrades could only look on helplessly, unable to intervene in time. The incident sent ripples of grief and fear among the magus, making them painfully aware of their mortality.

In the wake of this tragedy, half a dozen other magus suffered injuries. These casualties were the manifestation of the toll the relentless battle was taking on them. Despite their extraordinary abilities and commendable courage, they were, after all, human. They were beginning to falter under the unending onslaught, their once impeccable stamina and concentration now wavering, eroded by exhaustion and the harsh realities of war. The tide of battle was subtly shifting, casting an ominous shadow on the days to come.

As darkness shrouded the citadel, the leader's assembly convened. It was a vortex of escalating concerns and frenetic discussion, their worry palpable. The ever-growing swarm of orcs was at the forefront of everyone's mind.

"Urgghh!!! That Orcs!! They keep growing like Mushrooms!!" came a disgruntled outburst. It was a crude yet accurate comparison. Indeed, the orcs' unnerving reproductive ability mimicked that of mushrooms, enabling their ranks to swell at an alarming rate. This was the Dark Elves' masterstroke: their perfect, disposable, and infinitely replaceable killing machines.

Amid the chaos, Commander Sheperd beckoned a figure forward.

Kenzo, a magus of considerable repute. With his power at the peak of full moon level and a master of shadow magic, Kenzo was the ideal candidate for a stealthy reconnaissance mission. Tasked with gathering intelligence on the enemy, he had set out with a partner to probe the enemy stronghold. Of the two, only Kenzo returned.

"Leadership within the Dark Elves has shifted," he reported, his voice somber. "A new Khan has risen."

This revelation stirred a murmur among the assembly. It was alarming news indeed, but not for the reason one might assume. The new Khan, a Drow, astonishingly held only half-moon power. It was a conundrum - how could such a figure lead as a Khan? There had to be more to it.

Kenzo elaborated on his findings. As the orcish hordes charged blindly towards the citadel, the Dark Elves were engaged in a strategic operation. They moved from one orc lair to another, rousing the dormant orcs, equipping them with arms and armor, hastily training them, and then catapulting them into the fray against the citadel. It was a simple yet ruthlessly efficient tactic, designed to whittle down their foes through sheer numbers and relentless assault.

The revelation cast a shroud of silence over the meeting room, a stark contrast to the previous cacophony of alarmed discussions. Commander Sheperd finally broke the quiet, his voice carrying a grim resolve. "This adversary is undoubtedly more formidable to contend with."

Magus Blane, a seasoned captain within their ranks, pointedly shifted the conversation to an imminent threat. "We're merely a week away from the drought. What's our strategy for that?"

The drought was a unique phenomenon where the surrounding sea of lava got absorbed deep into the earth, leaving the field clear for twelve hours. It was a recurring event that occurred every ninety days, turning the normally impregnable citadel into a vulnerable target.

The last drought had witnessed the devastation of half the citadel. This, despite the citadel's energy reserves being at full capacity at that time. Now, with their energy resources depleted, the threat loomed even larger.

So, the question echoed once more in the silent room. "What's our course of action, Commander?"

Commander Sheperd, despite the mounting pressure, answered with unwavering certainty, "We simply have to bolster our defenses." The declaration might have seemed simplistic, but there was an undercurrent of strategic preparation that indicated it was far from a desperate utterance.

Commander Sheperd's call for improved defenses wasn't a mere morale-boosting proclamation. True to his word, at first light, he began a meticulous round of each fortification wall. His objective was not just a simple inspection; he personally guided every squad, tailoring combinations of spells that would harmonize with the abilities of the respective magus. The dividends of this tactical refinement were immediately evident in the ensuing skirmish, where not a single magus was injured.

This apparent invincibility revitalized the morale among the magus guards, their spirits soaring high. Yet, Emery sensed an undercurrent of something unsaid, a clandestine plan that Commander Sheperd and his captains were crafting.

As a newcomer, and one not holding the rank of a crescent magus at that, Emery wasn't privy to these confidential discussions. He chose instead to focus his time on training, channeling his focus into mastering Katra, a discipline he'd been diligently practicing over the past three weeks.

While honing his skills, Emery was also counting the days. He couldn't help but notice the interesting coincidence - the promised encounter with the Khaos Guardian coincided precisely with the day of the draught. He chuckled at the irony of it, unsure whether it was a stroke of good fortune or a precursor of a calamity.

When he would finally gain access to the Khaos space once more, Emery would be able to employ his dark spell. He would also have access to his weapons and personal items, including the mysterious device prepared by Jinkan that piqued his curiosity.

Three more days came and went, their passing marked by the relentless assault of the orcish horde. Their numbers were like a tide, constantly swelling and testing the resilience of the citadel's defenses. Each wave chipped away at their resilience, revealing minuscule cracks in the wall of their robust defense. The magus held their line, but the strain was becoming evident, etched in the weariness of their faces.

In this air of heightened tension, Master Flemming summoned Emery to her laboratory, her message was clear, "I need you to know about the plan prepared by the leaders,"