Shadow of the Evil God

Cesar looked in Fils's direction. He saw her standing by the bed, reaching out to him, like a motionless sculpture. But she was more than just Fils, for there was a slender figure, taller than him, overlapping hers, staring ahead with a smile.

The person was wearing a tight black robe, and her skin was like a well-maintained corpse, not only pale, but also with a faint dark blue; her lips were colorless, dyed a light gray with paint; her eyelashes were creepy black, tangled and intertwined, blooming like the end of a Venus flytrap; in the ash-like whites of her eyes were ghostly deep blue pupils.

He couldn't help but suspect that this person was related to Fils. From her flaxen hair to the color of her eyes and her demeanor, it all sparked a chorus of suspicion. Her ears and hair were adorned with strange ornaments, including a small hat perched atop her head. Upon closer inspection, it revealed a miniature black skull. From the skull's hollow eye sockets flowed large, blood-red threads, resembling a mass of worms or a tangle of blood vessels.

Was she Firth's ancestor? The one who existed in her school's records? But why did she seem... alive?

As Cesar observed the phantom before him, she and Phils reached out to him together, as if they were actually the same person. Phils, who had been motionless, now moved closer, faster than the chaos that was about to engulf him.

For some reason, he felt a surge of fear, as if the phantom itself was even more terrifying than the chaos that threatened to consume him. Her dead-gray eyes held an inhuman gleam, as if they wanted to peel the skin and bones off everything in sight, seeing it clearly.

Yet, at that moment, Firth had already passed through the fog, not only shattering the illusion but also embracing him. Before the darkness engulfed him, their touch had created a tiny gap. This gap might not have been necessary, but it was crucial to him, allowing him to retain a glimmer of humanity.

César fled into this void, as if to an island surrounded by a black ocean. This willful act transformed him into a child, and fortunately, so did she. They were both children, sitting together on the narrow ground, huddled between the dark sky and the dark ocean, as if forgotten by the world, suspended in the vastness of nothingness. He felt as if he were falling, falling into a dark abyss.

He understood his own inevitable path, but he also knew that it wasn't the same for her. She was a mage, someone who knew how to delve into the other side of the world without being corrupted by it. She didn't have to send herself into this darkness, to feel the curse, to experience the meaning of transformation.

However, when people realize that the other person has his or her own path to take and may not necessarily walk the same path as them, they will do many unimaginable things to keep the other person.

He had been terrified by it, so why wouldn't she be?

Phils still hugged her knees, staring into the distance and muttering to herself, only clutching the edge of his clothes with one hand, the movement so light that it was almost imperceptible. He held her thin, cold hand tightly with both hands, not wanting to think about the two sides of the world, nor what he had done to gain this identity and status. He simply hugged this ghostly little girl, put his head close to hers, and listened to her whispers in her sleep until he too fell asleep.

When Cesar woke up the next day, he felt as if he had just woken from a dream, and felt that a hidden island was floating in the ocean of his soul, like music floating on the lake. Phils's expression was still gloomy, but when she talked to him about the stability of her path, she was able to cheer up.

She told him that he could now enter the Crimson Realm in his dreams at night and wander, walk, and even travel there like the Beast Man. When he found some place that was incredibly magnificent, he could remember it and prepare to go through some kind of door or something else.

"Aren't you afraid you'll fall too?"

"That's not called a fall," Firth corrected. "It's taking more radical measures during research and exploration. A long time ago, there were wizards who did this. We called them cursed wizards. Well, I still don't like the term wizard."

"For example, the ancestor in the black robe?" Cesar described the phantom to her.

"You mean ancestors? I don't have any such ancestors." Firth said, "You must be mistaken."

"I'm not sure." He began to doubt what he had seen.

“I don’t know

. ” She picked up the wolf claw and carefully put it in his pocket. “Remember to take it with you,” she added. “If there is trouble, or if something unimaginable happens during the siege, this thing can really help.

To save lives."

"What do you think that wolf is?"

"The records I found say they were the Beastmen's Firstborn," Firth said. "I don't know why Firstborns still exist in this era, because they were born directly from Analik's curse. There are only records of them from the time when the Kunar Empire collapsed. However, the Firstborn's body parts are indeed your sacred relics. You can take them."

Chapter 69 My Good Sister

......

The next day, upon reaching the city walls, Cesar saw the grasslands' fortifications stretching as far as his eye could see. Trench trenches stretched like blood vessels beneath the skin, and earthen and stone forts piled like bumps on the surface of the city's outskirts. The scene was so bizarre that he thought the changes he'd experienced the previous night had damaged his brain, and now everything he saw was an illusion.

Seshia said that the layout of the trenches and the construction of the temporary fortresses were exactly the same as those on the northern battlefield. There must have been someone knowledgeable who was guiding them, but she couldn't understand how the grassland people could complete such a large-scale fortification overnight.

Cesar certainly didn't understand. After much deliberation, he came to only one conclusion: those distinguished sword dancers had lowered their status to work like oxen, digging ditches, moving stones, and piling up earth, even using shamanic techniques to overdraw their physical strength, all in the hope of building a sufficient scale of fortifications overnight.

This had never happened in previous records of grassland invasions.

This sounds like ordering the nobles in the city of Noien to dig out manure, and they have to do it all night long.

If this were indeed the case, then the determination of the grassland people had surpassed previous levels, and this war was more than just a siege with internal and external support. It held extraordinary significance for the grassland people, or rather, for the Sasulai people, far exceeding the predatory wars of the past.

In terms of external pressure, the steppe people may be facing a severe year of disaster, with a poor autumn harvest and heavy winter snows. Every tribe is suffering, so simply plundering other tribes will not make up for the losses. In terms of internal cohesion, although there is no so-called Khan to unify all tribes, there is likely some kind of leader who can both understand the northern battlefield and unite the chiefs of the various tribes.

After the news broke, unrest erupted within the city. Fortunately, they had numerous countermeasures in place, preventing the situation from escalating into a riot. Driven by rumors and panic, many people fled to the port, crowding outgoing ships. Had it not been immediately blocked and evacuated, the port would have been in chaos. The grassland people found it difficult to blockade the port, making it a crucial location, the only channel connecting the city and the outside world, maintaining the flow of personnel and supplies.

But then again, things have come to this point, and abandoning the city and fleeing is absolutely impossible.

First, the ships at the port couldn't carry tens of thousands of residents from the lower city. With so many people frantically fleeing to the port, the streets and squares alone would have been blocked more than ten times. If everyone really had to be transported away, even without the steppe people attacking the city, it was doubtful whether they could be transported before the arrival of early spring.

Secondly, if Thane still hoped to maintain his frequent sacrifices, he couldn't flee with his wealth. He needed more than a one-time payment, but a steady stream of tax revenue. These days, even the wealth of ancient kingdoms buried beneath the earth in fairy tales, when measured against the ever-growing scale of economies, would only equate to a single trading city's annual turnover. The old earl was forced to maintain trade and commerce with Noien. The day he abandoned Noien would be the day he could no longer sustain his so-called cause.

After eliminating the upper and lower ends, the wealthy and local nobles in the middle are likely to flee. Fortunately, they all live in Upper Noien, so there is no need to change course until Noien shows signs of decline. But if it does show signs of decline, things will be difficult to predict.

Cesar walked down the wall and stood outside the tower, watching the soldiers in charge of security escorting groups of people home. He had to find the people he needed from the crowded crowds on both sides, and he had to invite Captain Ceshia over among countless staring faces. It felt strange, like attending a grand wedding while still wearing his home pajamas.

He knew he had been too lazy to wear armor lately, his clothes unwashed, his beard unshaved, and his hair a mess, but there was nothing he could do. During the day, he was busy with city defense affairs, at dusk he would inquire about the defeats of many days ago, analyze the enemy situation from absurd folklore, and at night he would explore inhuman things. He really had no time to clean up himself.

But then again, he actually pushed the most troublesome part of these three things to others.

When it comes to the arrangement and implementation of city defense affairs, it was actually Ceshia who was in charge, including the handling of the riot just now. She was the one who commanded soldiers at all levels to move out in an orderly manner according to the plan they had discussed in advance.

Specifically speaking, when it came to collecting stories from the defeated soldiers, he actually treated Brother Kallen of the temple as an unconscious intelligence dealer. In name, it was exchanging stories, but in reality, it was much more effective than the torture of Inquisitor Canadai.

Specifically speaking, when it comes to exploring the other side of the world, to be more precise, Phils would complete his research during the day and give him the results directly at night.

"Thank you for your hard work," Cesar said.

Seshia put away the sword and glared at him. Yesterday evening, he took a bunch of

She recorded the story she got from her son and handed it to the mercenary captain. This morning, she was called up again to deal with the riot. She was probably the busiest person in this matter.

"Stop talking nonsense and give me something practical."

"I will give you from the treasurer

You fight for higher pay," Cesar added.

Cecia followed him up the circular steps of the tower. "Not bad. I'll wait for your good news," she said, adding, "There are so many things going on here. I've never been in charge of such a large-scale matter in a city, even if it's just the outer city."

"Never?" asked Cesar.

"If it were us at Black Sword, we would definitely have to discuss this with multiple captains, and then hand it over to the leader, deputy leader, and Black Sword's mages for discussion. How could we possibly leave it to me alone?"

"With this experience, perhaps you will be eligible to fight for a higher-level position."

"You are the one who makes the plan, I just follow the instructions," Cecilia reminded him.

"Didn't we discuss this together?"

"Don't flatter me." Ceshia waved her hand, walked to the city defense artillery and looked out along the firing hole. "Just transforming a group of rural artillerymen who are paid for nothing and making their accuracy close to that of the elite troops on the northern battlefield, I can't get involved. That's the Kingdom Academy of Sciences of Olidan..."

Seeing her leaning her arm against the window, hunched over for breath, Cesar handed her a canteen. "Isn't seniority enough?" He observed her quenching her thirst with water and casually remarked, "The details aren't important. Everyone knows you're my instructor in battlefield command and swordsmanship, so you'll undoubtedly receive much of the credit. When you return to the Black Sword, it won't be a question of whether you strive for a higher position, but rather how they'll view you."

She choked on the water she was drinking.

"Is the power struggle all that's on your mind?"

"Can comradery still be a thing in a mercenary group the size of yours, Black Sword?" Cesar asked. "Just looking at the subcontracting system, each captain is both a collaborator and a business competitor. The captain and deputy captain aren't military leaders in the traditional sense, but rather the heads of a commercial gang. I heard your deputy captain used to be a lawyer? He must be very good at suing people for money."

"Okay, okay, you're right." Cecilia threw the kettle back.

"Besides, if you really had any comradeship in the past, everything that should have happened must have happened on the edge of the battlefield. How could it be my turn to come over here? Although if there really was any, it wouldn't be difficult to poach your people..."

"You are such a little bastard."

"Do you have to add 'little' to everything you call me?" Cesar asked, picking up the telescope from the box in the tower. "As if I'm really that much younger than you."

She took the binoculars and turned to look at him with annoyed eyes. "If my back and shoulders weren't sore and I couldn't lift the sword, your extra body parts would have been spraying blood on the ground."

Cesar placed his hands on Cecia's shoulders, groping through the thick cotton and leather armor, pressing down on where her muscles were tense, and then running his fingers along her shoulder muscles to her angular shoulder blades and then to her neck. She seemed about to refuse, but then she took a long breath and hummed twice, as if she felt a strange sense of fatigue.

"No one will stumble upon us here," Cesar said. "Of course, even if they do, it's no big deal. It's just a swordsmanship apprentice helping his teacher relieve muscle stress, right?"

The mercenary captain lowered her neck, brushed aside her red hair, and leaned her elbows against the window, letting him massage the back of her sore neck. "What did you do before? How come you seem to know everything?"

"If I didn't know you were a descendant of a knight who fled after losing his fiefdom, I'd be tempted to ask how you could possibly know so much." Cesar noticed her gazing through a telescope at the trenches and fortifications in the distance. "So, what are your thoughts on this situation?"

"You rubbed me for so long just to let me catch my breath so you can continue working?"

"I'm just asking for your opinion." Cesar pressed on her shoulders again, pressing up along the muscles behind her shoulders.

Ceshia hunched her shoulders and exhaled. "Ideas... um... ideas. My personal idea is to call in the artillery and have them fire a few shots at the most obvious targets."

"Is there any reason?"

"Not only are you asking me for my opinion, you're also asking me for the reasons?"

"Give one at least, my dear sister," Cesar said to her in a soft voice.

"Don't call me sister in such a coy tone! Tsk, there's no reason." Ceshia lowered her voice unconsciously as she trained her telescope on the mist-shrouded stone fortress in the distance. "It's purely a personal impulse. Watching the enemy slowly digging trenches and building fortifications gets me annoyed. If I could only watch, I'd go crazy."

"It's not slow," Cesar said.

"It's really fast." The mercenary captain said softly, "That means..."

"Those distinguished sword dancers have lowered their status and started digging." Cesar nodded. "By the way, why are our voices getting lower and lower, as if we're afraid of being heard?"

"I don't know, and you'd better tell me you don't know." Cecia raised her voice and pointed in the direction she chose. "That fortress, see it? Call the artillery over and put it

Boom! We'll be lucky if we can kill a few Sword Dancers or other powerful tribal leaders along the way."

Chapter 70 I didn't feel anything

Although Cecilia's words were casual, Cesar listened to her and sent the dog guarding the gate out to find the captain of the artillery in charge of the tower.

Come on. The artillerymen needed to practice their theory, and there were so many shells that the warehouses could not hold them all. They were piled up in the barracks, gathering dust for so long that it would not be a big deal to consume a dozen or so before the battle.

"Tell me the distance." He looked at the several captains who had rushed over. Although he only called one captain, all of them still rushed over.

Several artillery captains measured with their rangefinders near the gun ports, then discussed for a moment. "About a kilometer away," the leader replied. "Maybe a little further. We're at the maximum range, and our accuracy will be very poor."

"Okay," Cesar nodded. The outer city towers' defense guns were all light artillery, and couldn't be expected to match the heavy artillery. "Call the soldiers to prepare," he said. "It doesn't matter if the shot misses. First, test the wind today, and then slowly adjust the angle based on the impact."

Aiming a light fortress at a distance of a kilometer using a light fortification gun was extremely difficult, and Cesar had never conducted such an experiment. Fortunately, today's event was just a test, a teaching experiment. They had a warehouse of ammunition available, and their goal was to demolish the most obvious fortress.

To ensure accuracy, the gunpowder bags were repeatedly checked and loaded to perfection. The artillery captains checked the elevation and azimuth angles on the indicator, repeatedly checked the sights, adjusted the direction, and finally, a captain personally inserted the fuse and ignited it.

Cesar gave the binoculars to Ceshia and asked the artillery captain for another to peer into the distance. With a resounding boom, a solid shell slammed into the snow, far off the target fort, through the hazy morning mist. The captains paused to assess the wind's impact, then, after the artillerymen had cleared the gunpowder residue and debris from the chamber, resumed loading. After two adjustments, the shell grazed the edge of the earth and stone fort, causing no damage, but it was enough.

After confirming the angle was right, Cesar told them to switch to grenades. At Fort Noien, gunpowder-filled grenades were in short supply compared to solid iron bullets, and their production cost was much higher. The timing of their use needed to be considered, but he felt there was no better time than now.

The effect was very satisfactory. They fired two grenades, one of which exploded in the snow, and the other blew down the earth and stone fort. Through the telescope, they could see several stone-built steppe people torn to pieces, their bodies mixed with gunpowder and shrapnel scattered all over the ground. This was undoubtedly a warning. If the enemy leader used the spy's intelligence to spread the weakness of the defenders to his subordinates to boost tribal morale, now was the time for them to reconsider their actions.

He wasn't playing cards; he couldn't hide everything and hope for a decisive victory at the critical moment. While undermining the enemy's morale and shaking their already determined decisions was one thing, boosting the morale of the defenders and residents within the city was another. By noon, the story would be embellished and spread throughout Neuen, serving as a weapon of public opinion against spies and informants who were trying to shake public morale. Of course, there would inevitably be a lot of fabrication involved.

......

As Musali reached the fortifications, he saw Monuk, clutching the bloody remains of his arm, leaning against the lowest point of the trench, gasping for breath. The tribe's shaman knelt beside him, tending to his wounds. The earthen fortress had been struck by an incredibly accurate artillery shell, shattering to smithereens. The surrounding area was littered with corpses, fragments of iron, charred smoke, blood, and a large amount of rubble.

"You told me that the artillerymen of Noyen were useless and were just getting paid for nothing," Monuk said with a numb expression. "If I hadn't gotten down quickly, this pile of rotten flesh on the ground wouldn't be my arm, it would be my head."

"This is indeed accurate intelligence," Musali said calmly. "The artillery is still commanded by the same people, and the artillery captains who rose to power through scheming are still the same people. Furthermore, our fort is located far beyond the range limit. Even if we recruited professional officers from further north, they wouldn't be able to fire with such accuracy."

"So what went wrong?"

Musali recalled the report at the time. "An informant said that the newly appointed noble young master gave the artillery captains a ridiculous pre-war mobilization, but..."

"But no one takes this war mobilization seriously?" Monuk asked.

"How do you want me to take this seriously?"

"I know, but now I still have to reconsider your opinion." Monuk let out a long sigh. "Either the Frank or Kasar spies are at fault, or the intelligence they brought is flawed. Look around here, it's as chaotic as a herd of sheep frightened by wolves. Considering the great victory in the last encounter, I won't blame you, but the other tribal leaders who are about to come here may not be so sure. In order to provide cover for that cursed monster, to pretend that we are really facing the artillery fire with our own flesh and blood, how much sacrifice are the tribes willing to make?"

Yes, that was true, and the meaning was obvious, Musali thought. The two-headed snake was terrifying, and the old legends about it were deeply rooted in people's minds. However, listening to the stories was one thing, and actually participating in them was another.

How many tribesmen would they have to sacrifice in order to disguise their real plan, disperse the forces in the city, and cover its approach to Noien and destroy the strongest part of the city wall in one fell swoop?

The Sasoulai people have not faced a war of this magnitude for many years.

and hunting, content to protect the boundaries of the abyss, will sooner or later be left behind by the Franks and the Cathars in the east. Therefore, no matter how many sacrifices are made, - no matter how many, the purpose of this expedition is to

achieved.

A long-term route must be opened. At least that's what Mussari thought.

"I'll be responsible for convincing them that the gunners in the watchtowers will be dealt with by ambushes within the city," Musali said. "Also, the trenches can be dug deeper. Be resolute, okay? This is for our people."

......

"How was the bombardment this time? I mean, how did you feel?" After walking out of the tower, Ceshia said to him, "When we suppressed the dog pit riot, you only provided advice, and the orders came from Askrid. This time, I provided advice, and you became Askrid, who gave the orders. Things are different again."

"It's hard for me to say," Cesar replied.

"When it comes to war, the more you participate and the more you see, the more you need something to justify it." She climbed the stairs, her fiery red hair flowing down her back. "Some fight for faith and doctrine, some for their tribe and compatriots, and some for honor and merit. All of these can make people determined."

"What about you?" Cesar asked her.

"People like us go to war for survival or for money."

"It's hard to be resolute when you hear that."

Ceshia walked to the top of the city wall and squinted her eyes facing the gray sun at noon.

"Now you know why I can't talk to you about this," she said. "You nobles always have some reason to be resolute, but it doesn't work for us at all."

"Garcia, for example?"