The initial defeat did not shake the dark races’ determination to assault. Though they suffered heavy losses on the first two lines of defense, their vast numbers allowed them to quickly regroup. Dark warriors kept pouring in from the reserve areas, densely filling the offensive positions.
During the reassembly, the dark races scavenged and assembled a considerable number of heavy artillery pieces, continuously bombarding the Bright City’s defenses. In the exchange of artillery fire, the mercenaries of Darkflame would never back down.
Within the city, heavy cannons spewed flames, raining shells onto the dark races’ artillery positions. With overwhelming firepower, the dark races’ cannons were constantly silenced, but this time they were determined, replenishing at an unusually rapid pace. New cannons roared, no matter the cost, to keep the pressure on the mercenaries.
The human forces, always outnumbered by the dark races with their multitude of soldier servants, prioritized eliminating the enemy’s heavy artillery. This limited the coverage over the assembling dark forces.
Under Pratt’s strict orders, the dark elites stopped conserving their primordial force and began intercepting the aerial bombardment, greatly reducing the effectiveness of the Darkflamine cannons.
As the dark army completed its assembly, a chilling horn sounded, piercing the vast battlefield. The mournful, distant note roused every dark warrior, igniting their fighting spirit.
With the battle cry sounding, dark warriors leaped from their positions, charging towards the Bright City’s defenses.
The vanguard warriors had just entered range when a sudden flash blinded them. Instinctively, they tried to close their eyes, only to realize it was not a flare, but a continuous line of fire along the entire perimeter of the city walls, a result of the sheer number of primordial flame projectiles.
In an instant, the leading dark warriors hit an invisible wall, falling in droves.
Yet, the following dark warriors charged over their fallen comrades, unheeding. The flames along the city’s defenses flickered, forming an unbroken line. Primordial force rounds rained like a storm, reaping lives in rows.
The mercilessly dense firepower of the Darkflame mercenaries caused the dark warriors to suffer horrifying casualties in mere moments.
What was once a precarious second line of human defense, after a brief respite, had become a meat grinder.
On the warship, Pratt remained expressionless, his eyes reflecting the waves of dark warriors falling. Advancing each step towards the Bright City’s defenses came at a dire cost.
“My lord, should we…” a spider-demon baron cautiously asked.
Pratt firmly replied, “That’s all they have left! Pass my command—let all those below the rank of marquis charge the front!”
The baron was shocked, quickly adding, “My lord, Qian Ye is inside the city!”
“So what? Even Maderos has fallen. Are you still thinking of hiding? Charge!”
The baron bowed, “As you wish, my lord. But, that werewolf has been holding back his strength, perhaps we should…”
Pratt pondered for a while, his eyes gradually filled with a cold murderous intent. “Send Marquis Redfang to the front to oversee. He’s too far back now.”
“What if he disobeys, my lord?”
“Then I will personally persuade him.”
The baron took his leave with the order.
After sustaining heavy casualties, the dark army twice breached the Bright City’s defenses, but were pushed back. Not all front-line dark warriors were fearless madmen; when the loss neared total annihilation, even the most frenzied werewolves would retreat.
They reassembled outside the primordial force rifle range, preparing for a larger assault.
The third charge began, noticeably different from the previous ones. The attacking force included many elite dark races, who swiftly pressed forward despite the mercenary fire, destroying fortifications with their formidable individual might.
Fighting in the open fields this way was a crude tactic, but under any circumstance, filling the battlefield with bodies was the most effective method.
The Darkflame mercenaries experienced minor disarray, but the seasoned veterans knew that retreating meant death. They fought back fiercely, hoping for a chance of survival.
However, with the addition of numerous elites, the dark races gained the upper hand in close combat. As more dark warriors flooded the defenses, mercenary casualties surged.
On the city wall, Song Zining, overlooking the second defensive line, observed, “Seems like an impatient one, throwing out his elites so soon? I thought it would take until the city gates to force your hand.”
He took out a black-silver mask, donned it, and reached out, a spear presented by a waiting attendant.
Song Zining leaped, disappearing into the air with his spear in hand.
On the battlefield, a spider-demon viscount unleashed his fury, decapitating three mercenaries with a single swing of his heavy axe. The hot blood splattering on him made him roar with excitement. But then, his laughter abruptly stopped as a non-metallic, non-jade spear tip protruded from his throat.
Song Zining yanked the spear out, turned, and with three swift steps, struck down a dark elite with each step.
In the thick night, Song Zining, clad in white, wielding a long spear, stood out prominently, sweeping through the ranks, unstoppable.
In a blink, the black-silver mask and white robe were stained crimson.
Seeing their leader fight so, the mercenaries’ morale surged. The once precarious defenses stabilized again.
After impaling a werewolf baron, Song Zining’s previously unpredictable, almost untrackable figure momentarily became clear. After a series of bloody battles, even his domain of Three Thousand Floating Leaves was unstable.
In that momentary lapse, the night suddenly flared red, and a large red fang clearly appeared behind Song Zining!
Song Zining jolted, drawing his spear to counter. Without seeing, he knew he was locked in, unable to avoid the fatal strike. His only option was to force the opponent to abandon the attack by going for a mutual destruction.
No one knew the expression beneath Song Zining’s mask, but the assailant, who could exploit such a fleeting gap in the chaos, was likely not much weaker than Song Zining. How could one easily turn the tables against such an opponent?
A faint shadow intertwined with the battlefield’s flames, nearly impossible to catch with the eye. The shadow darted past the spear, circling behind Song Zining, and lunged for his back.
Just as the claw was about to touch Song Zining’s white robe, the werewolf, now a shadow, sensed a sudden, ominous warning. A glance at the distant sky revealed Qian Ye, and oddly, he saw his own shadow in Qian Ye’s eyes.
A chill gripped his heart. The werewolf felt the strange sight was almost an illusion, yet he couldn’t identify his fear. Qian Ye, no matter how powerful, was a kilometer away. What could he do?
Despite his turmoil, the werewolf’s strike continued, tearing through the white robe and inner armor, piercing flesh, finally meeting resistance—Song Zining’s ribs.
A surge of Dawn Primordial Force collided with the werewolf’s alloy-tearing claws, clashing with the prepared Dark Primordial Force. In such close combat, the human body’s weakness was apparent. The werewolf, ready to rip out Song Zining’s heart, suddenly felt a bone-chilling cold, irresistible!
He strained to look back, spotting a fleeting shadow hundreds of meters away. It was Qian Ye, but just a shadow.
The werewolf spun, pulling his claw from Song Zining’s back, swiping outward. But as he turned, he saw only a flash of sword light. The werewolf’s upper body separated, soaring into the sky. Only then did Qian Ye’s figure fully materialize.
Qian Ye gazed at the sky, slightly surprised, “A marquis, huh?”
“Can’t you tell?” Song Zining approached.
“A bit weak, though.”
“Weak? I nearly died, and you call that weak?” Song Zining said, exasperated.
Qian Ye smiled, “With me here, how could you die? Is your injury serious?”
Song Zining shook his head, “Just a scratch, nothing major. Didn’t even break the skin.”
Only then did the severed half of Redfang land with a thud, still struggling to rise. But the burnt flesh at the cut, scorched by Qian Ye’s Dawnlight, was lifeless, showing no chance of survival.
Qian Ye glanced at the struggling marquis, puzzled, “You’re right, he was indeed a bit weak.”
“Why do you think so? His primordial force level should be higher, but Shadow Wolves aren’t great in melee. Wait, let me see you.”
Qian Ye, confused, looked at Song Zining. Song Zining scrutinized his eyes, then said, “I see, your eye technique has improved.”
“Is that so? I didn’t notice.”
Song Zining glared, “Didn’t notice? Could you bind a marquis before?”
Qian Ye thought, “No, I couldn’t.”
“Exactly. Prepare to retreat, we’ll cover the rear.” Song Zining rose, non-metallic spear drawing arcs in the air, then stood with his hands behind his back.
Another round of flares shot up from the Bright City, heavy cannons roaring, covering the battlefield in a barrage of fire.
Only the dark elites could penetrate the double blockade of flares and cannon fire. But there, standing in the center of the battlefield, were Song Zining and Qian Ye.
They waited for challengers, but with Marquis Redfang felled by Qian Ye, who dared to come?
All eyes in the Eternal Night side fell on Pratt. Only the Duke of Spiders, taking the field, could break through Qian Ye and Song Zining.
Pratt stood motionless, statue-like.
Moments later, the flares faded, the cannon fire ceased, and the smoke cleared, revealing the outline of Bright City. The second line of defense was empty, all mercenaries having retreated within the city. Qian Ye and Song Zining hovered before the gate.
Pratt stared at Qian Ye, his pupils narrowing.
Sensing something, Qian Ye turned, their gazes meeting across the kilometers.
Qian Ye’s brows arched, a cold smile playing on his lips, a thin line of blood rising, displaying his full might, waiting for Pratt to make his move.
Pratt looked up, a full moon in the sky glowing with a faint, bloody hue.
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