Chapter 75: The Most Terrifying Magic Trick

“Poirot, is there such a kind of magic that could completely destroy a city wall in an instant… hmm… a wall like the one at Silver Shield Castle?” I asked.

“Impossible!” Poirot said loudly. “Actually, people who don’t understand magic all have misconceptions about it. Magic is not a skill meant for destruction. It is a tool for one to feel nature, merge with nature, and use the power of natural elements to reach a higher level of spiritual enlightenment. Those so-called offensive magics, such as Fireball, were originally just a way to get closer to the fire element of nature. A true Mage would never use the power of magic to satisfy his destructive desires unless absolutely necessary. At the same time, no one can truly transcend the limits of nature and use a power that even nature itself would forbid.”

“And to destroy an entire city, that would require the force of a massive earthquake or a hurricane. That is perhaps truly a power that only gods possess. It is definitely not something human strength can bear.”

“If… I mean, just hypothetically… what if someone really did possess such a power?” I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and pressed on.

“There are only two possibilities. First, he has already reached the realm of gods, ascending to another higher-level space that we cannot comprehend, becoming a true god. Of course, I have never heard of anyone like that. The second kind, which I’ve heard much more about, are those whose physical bodies reached the natural limit, and then…” Poirot gestured with both hands, making an exploding motion.

“Those were the greatest Mages in history. They pursued an even deeper mastery of magic, and they paid for it with their lives.” After a moment of silence, Poirot added, “Moreover, their deaths did not cause any harm to others. A truly great Mage respects nature. Even in death, he would never bring harm to innocent lives. They might have the ability to shatter an entire city at close range, but they would never do such a thing.”

Poirot’s explanation did not put my mind at ease. Instead, it made me even more confused. If the power of magic was unable to destroy Silver Shield Castle, then what method would Baron Miraze use to accomplish this task?

Since the day of the battle meeting, Baron Miraze and his soldiers had not shown their faces in camp for four consecutive days. No one knew where they had gone or what they were doing, but everyone seemed certain that he could not possibly complete such an overly difficult task. His assurance had almost become a laughingstock among the noble lords in the army. General Vincent, whenever he had nothing better to do, loved to grab his colleagues and loudly mock what he called “the recklessness of youth.” Meanwhile, in some unknown corner of the camp, Count Lazis and his group were probably doing the same thing.

It seemed that only Fred alone believed in the Baron’s assurance. Following the Baron’s plan, he had spent three consecutive days forming attack formations beneath the walls of Silver Shield, making a great show of preparing to assault. His actions paid off well. The Crete garrison in the castle, afraid of falling into his ambush through carelessness, had to stand fully armored and alert on the city walls each time, lined up in battle readiness. Naturally, things like forcefully storming the city under unfavorable conditions were something Fred would never do unless absolutely necessary. Each time, we fired a few large stones from the catapults at the city walls, and then our attack mission for the day was considered complete.

“I don’t trust him, Fred.” In private, Red Flame would always say this. “That Baron looks very unpleasant. There seems to be something uncomfortable hidden inside him—dark, sinister, cruel, and hateful.”

“I don’t trust that pale-faced pretty boy either. If a real battle broke out, he’d be the first one to run away.” Dakla never hid his disgust for the Baron.

Rodrick and Roll didn’t have the habit of speaking ill of others behind their backs, but it wasn’t hard to tell from their expressions that Baron Miraze wasn’t very popular among us.

“Do you know what he’s planning to do?” Kelsey asked curiously. Eliot, standing beside her, blinked her beautiful purple eyes. She was equally curious about the question.

“I don’t know.” Fred said bluntly. This answer was quite discouraging to us.

“I know that Baron Miraze approaching us doesn’t have the kindest intentions. But I also know that Baron Miraze is an outstanding commander. Under the current circumstances, he would never do something he wasn’t confident about.” Fred paused for a moment, as if thinking over his words, then continued, “Regardless, he’s still on our side right now. So, under the current circumstances, we might as well trust him. After all, if he succeeds, it benefits all of us. And even if he fails, I still can’t see how his actions could bring us any loss.”

Fred’s words were not very convincing, but all of this probably needed time to prove.

On the morning of the fifth day, Baron Miraze finally appeared in camp with his personal guards. He was covered in dirt and mud, and the folds of his clothes were filled with stone dust and debris. If not for his eyes still shining brightly, if not for his voice still carrying that arrogant and lazy tone, we would have almost thought he was an undead just dug out of a grave. His personal guards were not wearing their standard armor either. All were lightly dressed, their clothes torn in many places, and some had cuts. It was clear they had not had an easy few days.

“Our esteemed lords are probably already thinking about how to charge me with delaying military operations and deserting before battle, aren’t they?” Despite looking extremely exhausted, the young Baron still spoke to Fred in a flippant tone. Rather than a question, I felt it was more like a way for him to express contempt for others.

“I hope you haven’t disappointed me, Baron.” Fred paid no attention to his rudeness and replied calmly.

“At dusk, please have the entire army form up in ranks and watch the grand performance I’ve brought for everyone. And for now, sir, please allow me to rest for a while.” After saying this, Baron Miraze left quietly. As he walked through the camp, every place he passed stirred up commotion. Everyone knew that this proud man had made a bold claim in front of all the commanders, and today was the final day of that promise. What did it mean that the Baron had reappeared in camp at this moment? Was it news of failure or tidings of success? For the ordinary soldiers, nothing was more gripping than matters that concerned their own lives. And to those noble lords who had almost already decided the Baron would fail, his return to camp with such confidence was even more surprising.

After dinner, at dusk.

Following the Baron’s instructions, we stopped at a distance of about ten bowshots from Silver Shield Castle. The Baron’s personal guards stacked the firewood they had prepared long ago on the open ground in front of the formation, gradually piling it into a pyre, and then poured some flammable oil over it. The Cretans in Silver Shield Castle clearly had no idea what we were doing. They formed neat ranks on the city walls and watched us warily. I thought their preparations were unnecessary, because even we ourselves didn’t know what we were doing.

A gust of wind blew past, and the pungent smell of oil spread across the front line, carrying with it an unsettling atmosphere that made people shrink back. Aside from the guards who were busily working and the Baron who stood to the side sneering coldly, no one knew what was going to happen.

“Could he be planning to light a fire here and burn down the castle?” Dakla couldn’t help muttering beside me.

Although it seemed impossible, reality seemed to be just as Dakla had said. The Baron personally picked up a torch and lit the pile of dry firewood. In an instant, flames leaped up. The stacked firewood let out faint crackling sounds, and the red pillar of fire danced bewitchingly to the rhythm. Beneath the shadow cast by the towering Mount Uzzig, this pillar of fire was especially dazzling, as if it possessed some eerie power of sorcery and spirits, giving everyone an involuntary chill.

“What are you doing?” Count Lazis couldn’t help stepping forward to ask. At that moment, from above the mountain flank to the right of Silver Shield Castle, a dull rumbling sound answered his question in place of the Baron.

After the first muffled boom, a second and a third sound came from nearby in succession. After that, the sounds grew quicker and denser, like thunder rolling from the edge of the sky during a summer rainstorm—the rumbling fury of heaven. Though not as startling as the first crack of spring thunder, it carried a power that inspired immense awe.

It was a power that split open mountains and shook the heavens and the earth.

And indeed, the heavens and the earth were shaken.

On the mountain flank where the explosions sounded, smoke and dust rose, swirling and billowing outward, foretelling that something terrifying was about to happen. Then, boulders that our naked eyes could barely make out reluctantly began to shift their bodies, peeling away from the mountain face. At first, they scraped back and forth against the jutting parts of the cliff, dislodging even finer rocks. Later, one violent impact after another pushed them off the cliff’s edge, turning them into dangerous falling objects. Their time of falling was very brief, no longer than the moment it took for a shooting star to streak across the sky.

But why did I feel that this falling process was so long?

The first boulder landed right on the northern wall of Silver Shield Castle. Only then could I accurately judge just how large it was. Perhaps I still couldn’t say for sure, but it was certainly big enough.

It completely crushed a section of the city wall.

From the perspective of warfare, from the perspective of the line between life and death, the Cretans’ nightmare had just begun. In fact, this was also our nightmare.

More boulders fell in large chunks. Some landed on the southern side of the castle, some on the northern side, but it seemed that most landed inside the castle. The target we had originally planned to attack was now buried beneath swirling dust. Through the haze, only vague silhouettes of broken walls could be seen. The distance was too great—not a single person could be seen.

But we could hear the sounds. We could hear those desperate Cretans’ final screams before they were crushed into pulp. Those screams should not have belonged to this world. Even the most terrifying wails of lost spirits in the realm of the dead could never be more mournful or more despairing than this. I would rather face a roaring lion than ever hear such shrieking again. Those people seemed to have compressed all their remaining life force into that single cry, so much so that even we, their enemies standing on the opposite side, could not help but feel our hearts tremble.

This trembling was not because of death—we had already grown accustomed to death. Whether it was the death of our opponents or our own death, nothing surprised us anymore.

It was because of despair.

Yes, a brave warrior might be able to defeat and kill every enemy before him. He might become the final victor in the most dangerous contests. He might smile every time he brushed past death. But how can you ask them to defeat a mountain—a mountain that was collapsing? How can you ask them to preserve their dignity, to preserve their whole soul, in the face of such apocalyptic despair?

Even the bravest person, when confronted with this scene of despair, could only secretly count himself lucky: “Thank goodness I’m not there.”

It was an irresistible despair.

Vibration. That was the only sensation I could feel with my body at this very moment. The mountain was shaking, the earth was shaking, the air was shaking, the sky was shaking, and the entire world was shaking along with the impact of those boulders that radiated despair and were destined to become instruments of death.

My heart was shaking too.

The warhorse beneath me, frightened by this shocking scene, became restless. It let out hoarse neighs from time to time and paced back and forth in panicked steps. If I hadn’t been prepared, it might have thrown me off and bolted far away from this place that terrified it. The riders around me were no better off than I was. In the chaos, dozens of horses could no longer endure the great tremors of the mountain’s destruction, threw off their masters, and fled elsewhere.

Not far ahead of me, beneath that dark green-black banner, I saw Fred’s face. He was biting his lip tightly, his complexion far paler than usual.

Beside me, Poirot, supported by Eliot, had left the formation. His lips were blue, his body trembling slightly, and he kept dry-heaving. I wasn’t surprised. For a Necromantic Warlock who could communicate with the souls of the dead, he saw and heard far more than we did. The fear he felt was far more direct than ours. Unlike a battlefield filled with slaughter, the souls here had not died bravely in battle. Their aimless resentment and despair was perhaps a torment to Poirot’s soul.

Only after the dust settled and all the smoke cleared did we approach the ground that had once been a castle. Now, it was buried beneath large boulders and loose soil, with only a few broken sections of wall remaining. In the cataclysmic disaster of just moments ago, almost every building in the castle had been reduced to rubble. Beneath the scattered rocks lay countless corpses fallen in disorder, most with missing or mangled limbs. Many had their bodies or heads crushed into unrecognizable masses of flesh and blood. There, I saw a few surviving Cretans. I could hardly say they were luckier than the dead. A soldier of about thirty sat dazed on the ground, his right leg flattened into pulp by a boulder, his armor dyed red by his own blood, even with shreds of flesh peeled from his thigh hanging on it. He wasn’t crying or calling for help. No trace of pain could even be seen on his face. His hollow eyes stared at the sky as he slapped the ground with blood-covered hands, muttering to himself, even giggling foolishly while drooling bloody saliva.

This man was already dead. Even if his body could hold on for a little longer, the thread supporting his mind and sanity had completely snapped in the face of this sudden destruction. And this man’s condition was not even the worst among the surviving Cretan soldiers.

Clean up the battlefield? There was no need anymore. Silver Shield Castle, the Cretans, along with their hopes and past achievements, had all turned to ashes of history.

According to rough estimates, aside from fewer than a thousand people who had wisely fled through the southern gate when the disaster first began, the entire Crete army had been wiped out in the destruction of Silver Shield Castle. This was a horrifying victory.

From beginning to end, only one person had watched the entire process of the mountain’s collapse with an unchanging smile on his face. He was the one who had caused all of this—the dangerous Baron Miraze.

“Honorable lords, I hope my magic performance has been satisfactory for everyone.” He said loudly, looking at Fred with a hint of restrained pride. Beside him, the gentlemen who had witnessed all of this had not yet recovered from the earth-shattering change. They could only stare blankly ahead, lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.

“You… how did you do it, Baron? This… this is unbelievable. This is simply… simply a miracle of the gods. No, even the gods would…” After a long while, Count Lazis finally asked in a rambling manner. Through the narrow gaps between the wall of people, I could see that his legs were still trembling incessantly. If he hadn’t been on horseback, he might not have been able to stand at all.

“I simply happened to find a few loose rocks, and then gave them a gentle push from behind.” Although the Baron’s words were modest, his expression absolutely could not be described as “modest.”

“The gunpowder you used for that ‘gentle push’ was enough to blast a section of city wall to pieces, sir.” Fred said with a blank expression.

“All the credit should go to my loyal soldiers, General. Many of them were injured transporting the explosives into the right crevices. And the soldiers who stayed on the cliff to detonate the explosives willingly gave their young lives for the kingdom. They are the kingdom’s most faithful warriors and our pride. It is because of them that we have achieved such a tremendous victory. I propose that we pay tribute to them.” Baron Miraze did not hesitate to lavish praise upon his men. Following his lead, many noble officers, though reluctant, had no choice but to salute in tribute. I noticed that his personal guards looked at him with excitement and gratitude in their eyes: although it was their fallen comrades who were receiving the salute of these first-class nobles of the empire, that honor would forever be recorded in their name as well.

Magic. That was how Baron Miraze described this operation of his. Indeed, exchanging the lives of just over a dozen people for such astonishing achievements—this truly could be described as magic. But those who had not personally experienced this “battle” would never understand what a terrifying magic trick it was.

“You have achieved the greatest merit, annihilating the entire Crete garrison at Silver Shield… ah, at Blade’s Edge Canyon. I will report to Your Majesty the King, recounting your achievements. You will receive the reward you deserve. I and all the lords here can guarantee that.” Fred’s words brought a satisfied smile to the Baron’s face. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Using military exploits to exchange for status, using victory to seize power. He had made no effort to hide his craving for power and position. He had won. But what a genius and what a mad victory this was. To achieve this victory, he had not hesitated to blast half a mountain flat and destroy an entire castle. This was a “tactic” that only he could have conceived. This tactic had already departed from normal thinking, so bizarre that it made one’s hair stand on end.

I suddenly felt that, in the eyes of this young man around our age, it seemed that nothing on his path to power was indestructible. And perhaps, this was where he was “stronger” than Fred.

But was that true “strength”?