Chapter 561: Fine, I’ll Make Do

Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation  Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

The next morning, a paladin led a battalion consisted of noble-hired mercenaries and individual sorcerers siding with the Church departed from the city of Shamshire where they had made their base. They stopped at a plain about ten kilometers away from Arfin and set up a camp in preparation for the upcoming siege attack.

Through expert commands of magic, a massive temporary fortress rose above the earth within a day. The distance between their new fort and Arfin was so short, yet no one from their enemies had come to disrupt them during the process; the fort was built with practically zero opposition, which shocked even the Church.

The Paladin Grand Cross, who had taken up the mantle as the general of the Church’s army, thumbed through the latest report, a scornful smile shadowing his lip. He looked up from the pages and considered the Chief Judge who had come along with the Church’s vanguards. “It seems that our enemies are too chicken to try to stop us.”

“‘The Void is afraid of nothing,’ they proclaim. What a puff of hot air,” the Chief Judge smirked. “Ignorance and arrogance are indeed poisons to a man’s wits.”

“May we not fall for the same vices and take them lightly.” The more cautious one of the three upper-echelons, Archbishop Austin, quickly stepped into the conversation. The leader of the Church’s clergymen, Austin was present during every meeting with the Pope; this time, his sturdy grip in theurgy landed him the role as chief of the army’s magical resistance.

These three were the representatives of the Church’s top dogs who were to join the war on the ground, as the Pope and the newly-elected High Priest remained in Canningham to receive the Angels or good news about the war — whichever came first.

Frankly, the three heads were not exactly shining examples of powerhouses. Among them, only Archbishop Austin had devoted himself to his theurgical training for years enough to attain Demigod level; the youthful-looking Chief Judge and the Paladin Grand Cross had both only reached Holy level. It seemed that putting too much mind in pursuing positions of power could remove one’s devotion to pursuing a different kind of power.

Their less bragworthy power levels were not seen as a shortcoming to the Church’s army, however, because ten saints had joined the fight, including Saint Jola. Two of the saints were Demigods, three of them were at the edge of a breakthrough, and one was just an Awakening away from rightfully claiming the title of a Demigod. Then there was Saint Zachary, the leader of the Church’s templars and a demigod for years. Even without the Angels, the Church was no short on powerhouses of their own.

Mercenaries hired by Church-siding nobles were less impressive. The best among them was a mere Holy-level fighter, while some, despite the fortune the nobles had spent, managed to buy only a few Legendary-level sellswords. It seemed that most of the best warriors in the continent were averse to working for the rich and the aristocrats.

Whatever gap the nobles’ lackluster contributions could not close, though, the Sorcerers Association filled as much as they could. The battery sent to the Church was led by one of the Association’s presidential candidates, Haydyn, who was one of the six Holy-level sorcerers in the army.

The Association seemed to be sincere in their aid — in fact, the Church’s magical fort was built by these sorcerers and would not have been able to go up so soon without them. Regrettably, there was no Demigod-level sorcerer among the Association’s team, and even more unsettlingly, VP Grant was one of the Holy-level sorcerers who had come to join the Church’s army.

Grant’s excuse was that he was here as a neutral witness to the war and to oversee uses of transportal portals to prevent abuses — according to the Association’s internal guideline, a tool for public services, such as these portals, should never be used in a war of power struggles.

The excuse was enough for Grant to impose bumps after bumps to any of the Church’s requests, earning himself a spot in the organization’s blacklist as a result. After a while, as if finally realizing that no one could possibly prevail against the Church and the Angels who would come after to aid them, he gave up his futile retaliation and joined them as a supervisor of the portals to prevent them from being destroyed or used for malicious purposes.

“There’s a buffoon who can’t take a clue. Look at him! All of the power and uppitiness had earned him nothing but a pathetic position as a supervisor. I guess it’s for his benefits to have him join the war and witness the fall of his faction. Then maybe he’ll understand the influence and power of the Church over this continent, and more thoroughly understand the fundamental gaps between him and myself,” VP Haydyn said haughtily. He was confident that when everything was said and done, he would be able to gain massive support for his presidency just by sucking up to the Church right now.

There were also a few smaller guilds and organizations making up a small percentage in the Church’s army, but they were too lacking in funds and power to contribute anything more than average mooks. One could wonder if they were only here to watch the show from the front-row seats since they had almost nothing to write home about.

“Our troops are moving into Fort Praxidike as we speak, so make sure that our defenses — especially the barriers — are up to speed and well-maintained. We need to keep our eyes open for the enemy’s magical attacks because we’re only about seven to eight miles apart from them. Remember: we can strike them easily from here, but the same could also be said to them,” Sir Aaron said, issuing an order, a map spread widely on the table. In spite of his overconfidence, the Paladin Grand Cross did not forgo the professional rigor of a general.

Fort Praxidike — a lofty name for a fort, used during a lofty war fought to punish those who went against the One True God. The Church had even named the conflict between themselves and the demons of the Void as “The Just War”.

“There’s no need for concerns. Master Haydyn and I have set up adequate defenses and magically resistant barriers around the fort,” Archbishop Austin answered.

“I won’t allow those demons to pull a fast one on us, not even by a sliver of chance! For our war, I’ve brought my family’s most precious ancestral treasure: the Eye of Providence. With it, even the most silent of magical pulses will be revealed as long as they are within three miles — the absolute limit of all known ranged magic. If they are foolish enough to make even one attempt, those Walkers can kiss themselves goodbye as they face our retaliation,” VP Haydyn said, boasting while carefully explaining how far he had gone for the Church.

“But then again — pardon my frankness — I don’t think it’s even necessary to put up so many defensive spells. Those snakes are so terrified of the light that they didn’t come out of their hiding hole to stop us from building Fort Praxidike even though that was, strategically-speaking, the most optimal time to strike! It really put their cowardice on full display, doesn’t it? They rather hide and bid their time until we take them out,” Haydyn said, growing more animated. Then, with a slight dip of dramatic regret, he continued, “It’s too bad. I spent so much time on the contraptions and traps around our fort, hoping that they would be brave enough to charge at us. We could have taken some of them out right here and now… What a waste of effort.”

Apparently, the sorcerers had set traps around the fort in hopes to catch the Walkers when the latter was lured into attacking Fort Praxidike. After all, it was common knowledge that while sorcerers were better at aerial battles than terrestrial ones, they were at their most effective if they combined magic with terrains. If a sorcerer could bait their enemy into a battlefield pre-outfitted with offensive and debilitating runes and formations, then the battle was already tipped to the sorcerer’s favor, no matter how powerful their foe may be.

“Perhaps they saw through this part of our plan. I hardly count this as somber news, though — we’ve already achieved our first victory by successfully building Fort Praxidike,” Sir Aaron replied reassuringly. He pointedly made no mention of the material costs of the unused traps.

Archbishop Austin appeared to be better at flattery. “Well, with Master Haydyn’s aid, this battle is already set up to be an easy win!”

Just like that, the first “duel” between the Church and the Void had ended with the latter’s self-awarded victory. To the Voidwalkers, however, the Just War had not even left its overture yet.

“They created all these childish defensive gimmicks just to build a puny little thing like that?” The Archmage scoffed from his spot on top of the city wall as he overlooked the small black dot in the horizon known as Fort Praxidike.

“Maybe they thought we were gonna ambush them?” The Thane Walker asked in amusement.

“What’s the rush in ambushing a sandcastle? I would wait till more of their people squeeze into that little place before squashing it, wouldn’t I?” The Archmage sneered. “Just as I thought. Only people who are severely lacking in brain cells will end up joining a religion.”

“They’re delusional, alright, but watching them succeed in building a fort right under our nose can still be a demoralizing sight for the troops,” the Thane Walker pointed out.

“Oh, did you just say we need a morale boost again?” The Archmage seized the only word he was interested in as his hand began to move.

“Not that s*** again! Stop, do not play, we’re begging you!” The Thane Walker immediately caught the Archmage’s hand and pulled it away from his violin to prevent another musical apocalypse. “Look, I spent a lot of time to persuade our soldiers that there wasn’t a monster among us, okay?”

“Tsk. Looks like Vidomina’s troops are woefully ignorant of our powers, huh?” The Archmage grumbled, his eagerness to play the violin like a carpenter sawing a log instantly forgotten. “Very well, then. We shall station them on the city wall tomorrow and let them witness our prowess.”

On the next day, a small train of paladins and cavaliers trotted slowly towards Fort Praxidike with horse-drawn wagons filled with food, ammunition, and others. They were the first group to deliver the Church’s logistics.

Towing behind the wagons were siege weapons: siege towers, catapults, battering rams, and others, all of them so imposing in size and power that Arfin’s city wall looked about as sturdy as eggshells against them.

The supply-and-siege train moved too slowly for the incoming war, but the soldiers appeared undisturbed, taking up the slow gait as a chance to admire their surroundings as though they were having a walk in a park. Their enemy lacked calvaries or other troops with similar mobility and the train’s route was under watchful eyes of scouts and surveillance magic; on top of that, they were coming from the rear instead of the front where the best of the enemies’ attacks may land. They were as safe as traveling in their own backyard, so there was no need to rush. [1]

A dragonfly was resting lazily on top of an erected lance. Out of his sunny mood, the owner had opted not to disturb the little creature, and so its polygonal eyes took in the surrounding from one of the highest points among the train, including the wagons and siege machines trailing behind it— and sent whatever it had captured back to the Walkers in Arfin.

“So? Clear as eff, right? This is the combination of Earth’s best tech and ours into making the best surveillance marionette Isythre has ever seen, taking the shape of a nondescript dragonfly. I’ve named it… Tinkerbell!”The Engineer introduced proudly.

The Archmage glanced at the holographic images and grumbled in displeased, “Just how low quality is this? I can see goddamned pixels!”

“Low quality?! Why, it’s probably your inferior eyesight caught up in that old age! These images are in fricking 40k, 0801pixel clarity, sir!” The Engineer scoffed before mentioning a graphic quality metric which its origin was a mystery.

“Fine! I’ll make do. What else can I do, huh?” The Archmage said, shaking his head before grabbing a staff studded compactly with mana-buffing gemstones. He had not even given a name to this staff yet.

Then, quietly, he grumbled, “It’s all because I pass my Book of Servitude to that ungrateful excuse of a son that I have only this now. Fine, fine. I’ll make do. What else can I do …”

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