Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

(My wife's not home, so I'll make more.)
At this moment, Astarion saw the same scene his nephew had witnessed. The difference was that his nephew had witnessed the scene from a high vantage point, as a observer, while Astarion could only look up at the bloody sight that tore the sky apart.

At this moment, he finally understood.

The doubts that had been hanging over my heart like a boulder suddenly fell to the ground.

He didn't need anyone to tell him the answer, he didn't need any eyewitness accounts, no battle reports, and no explanations. Based solely on what he saw, he could tell that his nephew, and that terrifying Death Fang, had indeed been defeated by the sea monsters that had descended from the sky.

Although he didn't know why these sea beasts could fly, he could use his experience and intuition to imagine the process of the battle: the dragon's raging flames lit up the sky, the roars of the sea beasts shook the heavens and the earth, the sky turned into a purgatory, and in the end, all pride and power collapsed under the frenzied biting and fire.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but take a deep breath, his chest churning with anger and coldness.

He turned his head and looked at the dragon prince from before.

By now, the Dragon Prince had recovered from his initial shock, but his face showed no calmness, only undisguised fear and unease. His gaze fell on Astarión as if seeking solace, as if hoping to obtain some definite answer from this seasoned general.

"Take the cavalry and go meet up with the reinforcements! Eagle Claw Ballistae..." Astarion ordered in a deep voice, but halfway through his sentence, his brows furrowed and his voice paused. After a moment, he shook his head and said coldly, "Never mind, it's too late. Go! Make sure you capture that volcanic cone."

This is a new command.

Unlike the previous moment, he abandoned his original plan and deployment. At this moment, he clearly realized that time was not on their side at all.

"Your Mightiness?"

The Dragon Prince was stunned. His answer was filled with obvious hesitation and confusion, and his eyes were full of bewilderment, even a little lost.

This made Astaroth's heart sink. Looking at the other party's momentary hesitation, he felt an impulse surge up, wishing he could punch the young nobleman in the face.

Yes, at this moment, the flaws in Asur's system have been completely exposed.

The Dragon Princes—each may possess exceptional martial skills and extraordinary courage, but their tactical vision, strategic planning, and even their mindset and personality are entirely different and varied, though pride is a common trait. Such diversity might be considered a "characteristic" in ordinary times, but on the real battlefield, at the most crucial moments, it becomes a fatal hidden danger.

Clearly, this dragon prince, who usually performs admirably, completely failed at this moment when decisiveness was needed.

"You go!"

Astarión had no more patience for explanation. He abruptly turned his gaze to the other dragon prince, his eyes pressing him like sharp swords, his voice low and firm, cutting through doubt like an axe blade, "Can you do it?!"

"Even if it costs me my life, I will complete the mission!"

The other dragon prince immediately straightened up, his voice booming, a vow echoing in the air. His eyes shone with a resolute and fierce light. But the next moment, his expression darkened, his worry barely concealed. "Your Excellency, you...?"

"Don't worry about me."

Astaroth raised his hand, making a decisive gesture to stop the other person, abruptly cutting them off, "Remember, you must capture that volcanic cone!"

The "volcanic cone" he referred to was not a general term. It was a solitary volcanic cone beside the only road leading from the volcanic island to the Dragon Ridge Mountains, piercing the beginning of the passage like a sharp spear, precipitous and crucial.

If his judgment was correct, the enemy's raiding fleet was currently targeting this volcanic cone. If this place fell and fell into enemy control, what awaited Asur would not only be defeat, but utter annihilation.

"Yes!"

The Dragon Prince nodded emphatically, then turned his warhorse, pointing his lance diagonally forward. Without further hesitation, his voice boomed across the battle line, "Cavalry, follow me!"

With the thunder of hooves, the cavalrymen moved.

Their figures resembled those of the silver-helmeted knights, renowned for their bravery. At a cursory glance, aside from the style of their helmets, they were almost indistinguishable; their armor gleamed with the same cold light, their spears stood tall, and their banners fluttered, presenting an air of grandeur and solemnity.

However, these people were not Silver Helmet Knights.

Their identities were merely cavalrymen and riders, not knights.

In Elsalin, "cavalryman" or "rider" is a separate word, distinct from the word "knight."

That's a difference, not just in the name, but in the soul and the essence.

To be precise, their full name is "Attendant Cavalry".

Unlike archers and spearmen, who were born into the commoner class of Ulthuan, and unlike the raider cavalry of the Kingdom of Elion, the Silver Helmet Knights were entirely different. Without exception, they came from various noble families and were the true symbols of honor in Asur society.

However, a problem arose: the number of nobles was ultimately limited, but Asur's army needed to maintain a large cavalry force. Thus, the retinue cavalry, which appeared to be no different from the Silver Helmet Knights, was introduced to fill this gap.

These attendants were often the private servants or retainers of nobles. They were carefully selected from commoners and retired veterans, serving the nobles in ordinary times, carrying armor, preparing horses, and attending banquets; while in times of war, they would don armor and ride into battle alongside their masters.

Due to the strict class system, everything about them, from armor and weapons to vests, was consistent with the nobles they followed, as if they were extensions of the nobles' figures.

This was both a practical necessity and a way for nobles to maintain their honor and dignity.

However, the difference is obvious only when it comes to helmets.

(Chapter 182 mentions the Silver Helmet Knight's helmet, so I won't repeat it here.)
When it came to the escort cavalry...

The weapons, armor, and vests were the same as those of the Silver Helmet Knights, because the nobles needed this fighting power; but the helmet, that is, honor…

Unlike Duruci, in the Asur class, nobles are always nobles, while commoners... can never cross this invisible threshold.

Nobles will always remain nobles, while commoners will always remain commoners. Even though they may fight and shed blood on the battlefield, the line between honor and status remains clear.

Yes, auxiliary police officers, labor dispatch workers with unequal pay for equal work...

This is somewhat similar to the Cold Lizard Fear Knights and Riders of the old era, where there was also a stark difference in identity between them.

When the nobles of Duruchi ride on the backs of the Cold Lizards, they are Cold Lizard Fear Knights; but if the family guards ride the same war beasts, they are merely Cold Lizard Fear Riders, not knights.

When Darkus was in Aubian, he donned the armor of a Silver Helmet Knight, and his identity transformed into the Silver Helmet Cold Lizard Fear Knight...

This arrangement and compromise of squire cavalry is sufficient to handle small-scale daily conflicts. In wars of this scale, the mixed use of a few dragon princes, silver-armored knights and multiple squire cavalry does not show too many drawbacks.

However, if the war spreads, if a major war breaks out, or even if it escalates into a decisive battle that will determine the future, then this loose combination will be far from sufficient.

When there are not enough dragons to deploy, the scattered dragon princes will gather together to form a complete unit, the Dragon Prince Cavalry.

This force often becomes the sharpest weapon on the battlefield, capable of turning the tide of battle and delivering a decisive blow.

The renowned "Flameborn Knights" are a prime example.

They hail from the most illustrious families in the Kingdom of Caledor, and are the most elite knights, renowned for their unparalleled combat skills. Normally, they are distributed throughout the army and territories, performing their duties in scattered formations; but when truly needed, they don their golden-painted armor, stand in neat rows, and transform into the ranks of the Flamebringer Knights—at that moment, they represent the prestige and glory of Caledor.

In this respect, the Black Knights under Duruch's command are quite similar to them. The former act as military police in peacetime, but in battle, they also form well-organized cavalry formations, becoming the vanguard of the army and filling the gap between the Cold Lizards and the Dark Knights.

"Aren't you going?"

After the Dragon Prince left with his small retinue of cavalry, Astarión turned to look at the Dragon Prince beside him, who was still in a daze, as if his soul had left his body, and couldn't help but ask coldly.

At this moment, the previously listless dragon prince seemed to have finally been awakened. His expression suddenly turned melancholy, as if he had understood some irreversible truth. He gently shook his head, the movement calm yet carrying an indescribable weight. Then, his eyes suddenly changed, transforming into firmness and determination, his tone filled with fearlessness.

"I will stay by your side and fight to the very last moment!"

Astaroth laughed upon hearing this.

That smile held a hint of melancholy, a touch of desolation, and above all, a silent acceptance of fate. He had given him a chance, he was willing to offer him a way out, but the dragon prince before him had chosen to refuse.

He knew that the Dragon Prince understood—he understood the current situation and the impending outcome.

Perhaps, this is a kind of enlightenment.

Perhaps... this is for the best?
He knew he couldn't leave, or rather, it would be very difficult for him to leave. Even with all the struggles and longings in his heart, he knew the ending was gradually closing in, and perhaps soon he would see his nephew.

As for his son... he dared not think about the child's fate anymore.

"And you?" He turned to look at the other two dragon princes, his voice resolute yet also carrying a deep question.

Originally, there were five dragon princes by his side, but now, the situation has changed rapidly: one of them had already returned to Val's Anvil with his son; another had left with his cavalry; and yet another had declared early on that he had already decided on his own path.

The two dragon princes, without hesitation or doubt, declared their unwavering commitment to follow him and fight to the very end. Their vow needed no further words; the burning intensity in their eyes spoke volumes.

Therefore, the deployment was adjusted again.

Every detail was rearranged, as if to arrange all the final possibilities within a limited time.

However, the battlefield waits for no one. The seafood feast came too quickly and too suddenly. Before the deployment was fully in place, the battle broke out.

The giant tortoise charging at the forefront, its massive form resembling a moving steel wall, was instantly locked onto and struck by the Eagle Claw Ballista. Driven by energy, the bolts transformed into streaks of light almost imperceptible to the naked eye, activating and striking in an instant.

Like the Reaper Ballista, the Eagle Claw Ballista is also a particularly vicious long-range projectile weapon.

Its existence is almost a culmination of the wisdom of the Asur War.

Originally designed for naval warfare, it was meant to tear through enemy ship armor amidst raging waves. As times changed, this ballista gradually became more widespread and was widely deployed. Whether on the battlefield or on deck; whether escorting merchant ships or standing atop towering city walls; their cold, imposing presence could be seen atop the battlements of every gate in Ulthuan.

However, unlike the mass-produced, standardized Reaper Ballista, the Eagle Claw Ballista is essentially a magical weapon. It does not rely solely on mechanical power, but is continuously amplified by runes and energy, causing the bolts to be accelerated to an incredible degree the moment they are fired.

This is why it can always fire first and deliver a fatal blow before the enemy's charge even gets close.

In layman's terms: its range is slightly longer than the Reaper's, its initial velocity is higher, and its penetrating power is exceptionally terrifying.

Thus, the giant tortoise that charged at the forefront bore the brunt of the attack. The crossbow bolt pierced its thick jaw armor and flesh, penetrating deep into its head.

In an instant, before the massive sea beast could even utter its final lament, its enormous body lost all control, plummeting with earth-shattering force like a runaway aircraft.

Fortunately, the altitude was still good, and those riding on its back were not entirely powerless. Their well-trained reflexes allowed them to seize opportunities even when their lives hung in the balance.

First came the experienced trainer, who was the first to jump off his back, followed by the Tidecaller who was preparing to cast a spell, the Evil Guardian responsible for striking the rhythm of the drum, and then two Evil Guardians operating the ballistae.

They activated the rings on their hands almost simultaneously, in an attempt to escape the shadow of death.

The giant tortoise that had lost its life plummeted from the sky like a burning meteorite, crashing into the ranks of the spearmen.

The sounds of impact, cracking tortoise shells, and tearing air mingled with the tremors of the ground, followed by agonizing screams. The formation was like a stone wall with a large chunk missing, and the entire battle line immediately became unstable and turbulent.

However, such losses did not deter the seafood feast. On the contrary, this blow acted as a catalyst, igniting an even fiercer fighting spirit within them.

The advantages of biological weapons were fully demonstrated at this moment.

The position of the Eagle Claw Ballista was revealed the moment it fired, but the Evil Guards in the air did not hesitate. They immediately deployed long-range firepower, and their height advantage completely made up for their lack of range. Arrows, spells, and crossbow bolts poured down from the sky like a sudden rain.

After paying the price of two Evil Guards being shot down by crossbow bolts, the firing point was finally destroyed. The ballista was torn apart, burned, and exploded, turning into a pile of smoldering wreckage.

The two Evil Guards who were originally operating the crossbows on the back of the giant tortoise became unlucky. The Eagle Claw crossbow team that had achieved the victory miscalculated the altitude and the speed of the giant tortoise this time, so that the crossbows that were originally aimed at the giant tortoise hit them instead. Blood mist exploded in the air, and a patch of scarlet stain appeared on the shell instantly.

As a veteran commander, Astarion's tactical arrangements were extremely cunning and treacherous. Instead of concentrating his only Eagle Claw Ballistae to form a fire net, he dispersed them like a viper, hiding them in the shadows of different volcanic cones, waiting for his prey to come into range.

Of course, this was also because there was no time to spare. The hasty deployment made the layout of the ballistae somewhat uncoordinated, which also made it more unpredictable.

These scattered ballistae, like anti-aircraft guns wrapped in camouflage nets, are indifferent and silent, only revealing their fangs the moment they fire.

After the seafood feast had traveled some distance, a longtail war shark was suddenly ambushed. It was hit in the side by a ballista hidden behind the volcanic cone, and its thick armor shattered under the impact of the ballista.

The moment it was hit, the thresher shark lost its life, as if its heart had been crushed. Its entire body stiffened and fell. It was once a fearless hunter in the sea, but now it was like a fish without ideals, hollow and devoid of luster.

Then, the exposed ballista was removed. The battle, from the moment it broke out, entered its most brutal phase of exchanging blows, with no room for retreat or respite, only mutual tearing and crushing.

Fortunately, there were only eight Eagle Claw crossbows, and they were quickly wiped out, like dry tinder burned out in a flame, losing their last threat.

When Tyrandor returned after calling for help, he saw this scene.

Thick, dark clouds had gathered in the once clear sky, like a cold, giant hand enveloping the battlefield. Sudden, localized downpours mercilessly pelted the troops stationed in Asur, with flashes of lightning illuminating the wasteland stained with blood and steel.

Thirty-five demonic crabs split into three groups, spreading out between the volcanic cones and landing between Evil and Asul. Then, they launched a charge, their giant claws lashing out and their crab legs shattering the rocks.

It was as if this place had been transformed from a desolate volcanic field into a landing site.

The scene of the Demon Crab covering the Evil Guards as they charged towards the beachhead under a dense hail of arrows unfolded on this desolate land.

Deep-sea steeds, long-tailed battle sharks, sharp-toothed eels, and giant turtles still roamed the sky, their enormous figures almost suffocating people.

Once the threat of the ballistae was completely eliminated and their safety was guaranteed, the Evil Guards on their backs finally opened fire without any hesitation, and black crossbow bolts and arrows wove a net of death in the rain.

“Cruel!” Tyrandor commented expressionlessly, his tone filled with coldness and感慨.

He knew perfectly well why these sea monsters didn't just swoop down and tear them apart.

In this situation, these Asur are trapped with nowhere to run, like lambs to the slaughter, like a carefully laid-out delicious cake.

Meat?
It's simply a matter of how they eat, and the Stormweavers Order and the Navy chose the safest, yet also the most brutal, method: to eat slowly, to savor slowly, letting the enemy's hope wither away with each cut.

He glanced down and saw the Evil Guards still running and chasing, getting closer and closer to the Demon Crab. Their shouts and the sound of their armor scraping together created a deafening roar in the wind and rain.

After glancing at it once more, he looked back towards the path. Two hundred-man army squads, having broken free of the llamas and abandoned their attempts to regroup, joined the pursuit. Their steps were measured, their formations constantly shifting as they chased, like a bloodthirsty iron torrent gradually converging into a sharp blade.

When they launch their attack on Asur, their formation will be intact and their full strength will be on full display.

And now, bursting forth from the path are war chariots, the Disaster Walker War Chariots.

Because of the special nature of the 15th Army Group under his command, the supporting troops were naturally different from those of other army groups.

Unlike the transition between the old and new eras, with the passage of time, nowadays, in the Truch Army, each major legion is assigned a Cold Lizard battle group, consisting of a hundred-man squadron of eight Cold Lizard tanks, two hundred-man squadrons of Cold Lizard Knights, two hundred-man squadrons of Dark Riders, and a hundred-man logistics squadron.

By the time the 15th Army Group arrived, the Cold Lizard battle group had become the Disaster Walker tank battle group.

Unfortunately, the Fifteenth Group had too many war dogs, and these dogs often needed to be controlled by trainers.

However, the vehicle was a Cold Lizard Chariot, not a Disaster Walker Chariot, and the Cold Lizard Chariot was equipped with two warhorses...

The Disaster Chariot charged forward like a black blade tearing through a heavy curtain, its wheels grinding through the mud, causing the earth to groan. The scythes at the front and sides gleamed with a chilling light, like scythes of death; war drums and roars formed a somber prelude, announcing that destruction was about to unfold.

After seeing the scene he hoped to see, he raised his eyes again and looked up at the sky in front of him.

Dark clouds rolled in, and thunderclaps continued to strike.

"A lamb to the slaughter..." Alalos's tone was filled with a sigh, as if expressing pity, yet also a hint of sarcasm, "Unimaginable..."

Tyrandor responded with a cold laugh, then nodded, his eyes revealing a deep-seated agreement.

There's a way to eat big bites and a way to eat slowly.

As the Stormweavers slowly devoured their prey, they chose the most cruel and ruthless method.

He knew this was to avoid losses of sea monsters, but it was too... cruel, even chillingly cold-blooded.

While the Evil Guardians were firing, the Tidecallers were not idle either; they chose to take action.

Yes, the method!
It is not a spell.

These learned Tidecallers masterfully combined magic and physics, fusing the fury of nature with the sharpness of spells.

The sudden downpour was like countless whips lashing the battlefield, not only restricting Asur's movement but also quickly turning the ground into a muddy mess.

The accumulation of mud and water further expanded the conduction range of the electric shock.

The lightning surging in the storm is like a predator, greedily searching for its target.

Lightning is summoned by magic, but that doesn't prevent the most brutal physical effects from occurring at the moment of impact.

The direct hit on Asur was met with incredible energy, burning hotter than anyone could imagine. His metal armor was heated to red-hot in an instant, then incandescent, with tiny cracks appearing on its surface, while the flesh and bones inside were completely carbonized and vaporized in the next instant.

With a low, booming sound, only a charred, mangled remains, tightly locked within molten armor, remained, like some kind of horrific sculpture, nailed to the mud and water.

Moreover, the moment lightning strikes, a small-scale plasma explosion occurs, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap.

This was not just a sound, but a terrifying shockwave, like an invisible hammer crashing down, shattering the air on the battlefield.

The mud and ground directly below were ripped up, creating a radial crater, with sticky mud and gravel scattering everywhere.

Soldiers close to the shockwave had their eardrums ripped open instantly, bleeding from their ears and noses. Before they could be knocked down, the falling debris slammed into their armor with a clanging sound.

And that's not all...

Even more terrifying is the chain reaction of disasters caused by energy transmission.

Rain and mud are not merely natural elements; they are the perfect and cunning accomplices of lightning energy. They become conductors, butcher knives, and extensions of malice. Every drop of rain and every inch of mud is quietly preparing for this catastrophe, ultimately causing the damage to expand exponentially in an instant.

After the lightning pierced the soldier's armor, it didn't stop there. Like a restless, frenzied beast, it eagerly sought a path to enter the earth. The armor became its entrance, and the damp mud its stage for spread. Like venom, the current seeped outwards along with the rain and blood, spreading from the point of impact to the earth while forming a terrifying voltage gradient.

The nearby soldiers, those warriors who could not escape, were destined for annihilation simply because they stood with their feet apart. A huge potential difference would instantly be generated between their two legs, and the high-voltage current would not hesitate, choosing the most cruel path: entering from one leg, passing through the pelvis and internal organs, tearing apart the heart, burning the lungs, and then flowing out wildly from the other leg.

The consequences are inevitable and cannot be resisted by mortal flesh and blood.

Severe internal injuries, cardiac arrest, pulmonary paralysis, internal organs instantly roasted, and the nervous system utterly destroyed. It was a death with no room for struggle, a death in which even death itself carried a sense of humiliation.

What the naked eye could see were scenes of utter horror: some people froze and died in an instant, as if their souls had been violently ripped apart by invisible chains; others let out heart-wrenching screams, convulsed and collapsed, rolling in the mud. Their boots began to smoke, the soles softened and peeled off as if they had been heated in a furnace, their feet were severely burned, and even the seams of their armor emitted leaping sparks of electricity.

The scene on the macro battlefield is even more suffocating.

A dazzling blue-white flash burst forth, a light bright enough to tear the eyeballs apart.

The entire area that was struck was illuminated by an extremely dazzling, branch-shaped or ball-shaped lightning bolt that seemed to tear the sky apart.

In that instant, time seemed to be forcibly frozen by some ruthless will, all the colors of the scene were forcibly erased, leaving only high-contrast monochrome outlines, like a desperate charcoal drawing.

First came the blinding light, then the delayed thunder.

The sound was so loud it could almost shatter internal organs, like a heavy hammer slamming into the chest. The roar, war drums, and screams intertwined and echoed, forming a distorted war symphony that could even drown out the clamor of the entire battlefield for a moment, turning the heavens and earth into a wailing sound.

Centered on the point of impact, a large number of soldiers exhibited an extremely eerie synchronicity. As if an invisible giant hand had simultaneously gripped their nerves, they convulsed violently and unnaturally, manipulated by an unseen force like puppets on strings. The next second, they fell in droves, in perfect unison.

That was not a series of isolated casualties, but the instantaneous annihilation of an entire area; it was a mass extermination.

Even more cruel is the temperature.

The lightning, burning at extremely high temperatures, instantly evaporated the rain and mud from the soldiers' bodies, releasing a massive cloud of thick white steam. The steam smelled burnt, like a giant pot boiling flesh and blood.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of ozone, mixed with the smell of burnt metal, and even more so with the most nauseating and despairing odor—the stench of roasted meat.

On the battlefield, gaps appeared one after another like bald patches, and the battle lines were torn apart.

The surrounding soldiers stood frozen, watching their comrades die simultaneously in the electric shocks. They were terrified by this divinely condemned sight, and fear and chaos gripped the entire army.

Even so, as citizens of Caledor, they held on tenaciously, their hands still gripping their weapons, their knees still supporting their bodies.

Tragically, and cruelly, this extreme torture is far from over even after we've reached this point.

The rain was still falling, the lightning was still flashing, and on the dining table, this piece of meat had only just been torn and bitten into.

Next, the Stormweavers Order slowly opened their mouths again.

An even more intense level of torment is quietly brewing; a new terror is descending.

A magical mist suddenly appeared...

The mist, woven from the winds of Aigil and Urku, was no ordinary smoke or moisture. It was not easily dispersed by the rain; instead, it grew thicker with the moisture of the raindrops, like a curtain being pulled ever tighter, firmly shrouding the battlefield.

Even more terrifying is that this fog contains extremely strong conductivity. It is no longer an obstacle, but has quietly transformed into a huge, ubiquitous conductive network that permeates the air.

When lightning strikes down from the sky and hits a certain point, its energy not only spreads along the earth, but is also absorbed and drawn by the fog, then extends wildly along the entire network of the fog.

In an instant, countless dazzling arcs of electricity leaped, meandered, and branched wildly within the fog wall, as if an invisible hand had torn the sky apart, spreading out a vast and boundless blue-white electric grid that enveloped the entire area.

Although the power of lightning was greatly weakened by the fog, it became even more terrifying because its tentacles touched everyone inside the fog indiscriminately.

There is only one consequence: indiscriminate attacks.

The electric current not only relied on conduction through the earth's surface, but also poured directly into the flesh and blood of mortals through the air and fog. No soldier caught in the fog was spared; their bodies became the most vulnerable conductors. The milder cases resulted in complete paralysis, violent muscle spasms, and excruciating pain; the more severe cases caused cardiac arrest, internal organs to scorch in the electrical energy, and the body to be mercilessly burned.

As lightning and mist intertwined, the battlefield ceased to be a place of slaughter, but suddenly transformed into an invisible electric torture chamber. Thousands upon thousands of arcs of electricity lashed the trapped soldiers repeatedly, their screams rising and falling, mingling with the thunder like a mournful dirge played by the underworld.

From a distance, the entire misty area appeared as a spectacle unlike anything seen before.

It was a gigantic, ever-expanding source of light, bursting forth with blinding blue-white flashes accompanied by crackling explosions, as if the sky were collapsing and thunder was striking. From the outside, it resembled a restless ball of lightning suspended above the earth; but inside, it was a scene of utter apocalypse.

However, this is only a physical calamity, not yet taking into account the backlash and mutations caused by magic.

The mist itself already contained active and violent energy, making it highly susceptible to unstable resonance with external forces. The influx of lightning was like throwing a torch into an oil drum; it wasn't a simple conduction, but a complete ignition—an energy chain reaction suddenly erupted, and the mist itself seemed to be ignited, beginning to violently annihilate.

Strange phenomena then appeared.

The lightning was no longer its usual blue and white, but was 'dyed' by the energy of the mist, flowing with eerie and unpredictable colors. Purple arcs of lightning, like venomous snakes, snaked and lashed out; green lightning carried an aura of corrosion and decay; golden thunderbolts, like the whip of a god, were solemn and destructive. They crisscrossed, tearing through space, as if ripping the world itself open with a crack.

Deep within the mist, small-scale magical explosions continued to occur, accompanied by muffled roars and dazzling sparks of energy that scattered and illuminated the terrified faces of the soldiers. In some places, the explosions even collapsed into energy vortexes, instantly engulfing anyone who got too close.

But this is not the ultimate horror.

The lightning and mist released by Vilterley merged and evolved into a thunderstorm beyond human control.

Lightning surged and roared in the mist, but it had long since lost the natural laws of thunder. The lightning was bizarre and twisted in shape, and its colors were strange and grotesque. It not only brought deafening shockwaves, but also triggered large-scale magical illusions: some people seemed to see countless eyes peering out from the mist, some saw the outlines of giant beasts appearing and disappearing in the lightning, and some even saw their own future corpses burning in the lightning and fire.

The garrison at Asur was completely disorganized in this catastrophe; their attempt to survive the ordeal failed.

Organization collapsed, commands were instantly silenced by thunder, the chain of command was completely broken, and leadership was wiped out. The once orderly army formation was now reduced to scattered, isolated individuals, torn apart one by one by lightning.

The battlefield descended into chaos.

Dol Blackwing kept pacing back and forth, never daring to venture into the storm zone. Fear and hesitation flickered in its eyes, as if it feared it would be torn to shreds by the lightning at any moment.

"I want to go back to Azsorloth." Witnessing this scene, Alaros felt his mouth go dry. He swallowed hard, his eyes filled with fear and shock at the unknown. "The outside world is too complicated..." (End of Chapter)