Chapter 613: Thunder Offensive

Chapter 613: Thunder Offensive

On the banks of the Twar River, where the grass grows lush and the sun is warm, lies one of the most famous pastures of northern Aether. It is said that only here can the purest and tallest Aether warhorses be raised.

A well-equipped, well-trained cavalry force is stationed here. The neighs of warhorses mix with the whistling wind, creating a cacophony.

In this thousand-strong force, nearly every cavalryman wears resplendent armor of gold and bright silver with vivid crimson cloth, rides a tall, powerful warhorse, and wields a five or six-meter lance, its tip crowned by a bright flag streaming in the wind.

Most striking of all, each cavalryman bears on his back giant wings of metal frame and feathers.

—They are the Aether Winged Cavalry, the sharpest spear under Walter’s command.

This unit, founded centuries ago, has an illustrious record, having wiped out orc clans and giant tribes from the northern Aether plains, bringing decades of peace.

Though they seem insignificant compared to the godborn legions of Fadlan, they can sweep away any northern kingdom.

The iconic double wings on their backs come from the military tradition of Holy Fadlan. The cavalry emulate the godborn angels, hoping for the courage and strength of the divine.

But the wings are far more than decoration. Designed by Fadlan’s mages, they boost speed and impact.

In recent years, the Aether cavalry also carry muskets, giving them ranged firepower in the chaos of broken formations.

A single set of winged cavalry armor weighs more than a hundred kilos. Only a professional warrior could wear such heavy gear and still ride with agility and freedom.

Four-digit numbers of professionals—unthinkable for most duchies—form this terrifying army of more than a thousand. The Aether Winged Cavalry are just that.

It is said that when they charge en masse, the earth trembles, rivers flood, and even dragons shudder at the shriek of their wings.

Even the bravest warriors’ legs give way at the sight of a winged cavalry charge, reaping lives without mercy.

The current general, Count Leoni Garcia, sat astride his mount, gaze solemnly northward.

He appeared to be in his fifties, with a carefully trimmed mustache, clad in armor even grander than his soldiers, a figure of authority and presence.

Legend says Leoni nearly became godborn himself. After Holy Fadlan fractured, he lost his chance—his lifelong regret.

As a former general of Fadlan’s cavalry, Leoni is incredibly powerful.

Even his mount is extraordinary, rumored to have dragon blood, with immense strength and gray-white scales.

In the winged cavalry’s ranks, lances stood like a forest, a solemn air pervading, banners bearing the sun and wings fluttering high.

Leoni rode before the troops, scanning them sharply before drawing his saber and raising it high.

The bright silver blade gleamed in the sunlight, fine engravings flashing, its silver hilt wing-shaped.

—This was the first saber of the Aether Winged Cavalry general, forged from true silver, a symbol of their unyielding faith in victory.

Leoni now raised it to rouse morale, to recall their past glory and belief.

"Warriors, you know as well as I—war is upon us!

The evil dragon and his kin from the north are not satisfied with their barren land. They covet Aether’s fertile, beautiful fields—they want to destroy our home!

Can we simply watch this happen?"

"No—!"

Lances shook, banners crossed, the cavalry’s shout shook the earth, even their steeds pounded the ground in rhythm.

"Thud, thud, thud—"

The ground trembled, drumming with the hooves; the cavalry made the earth itself their war drum.

"No! We cannot allow such tragedy!"

Leoni swept his saber in an arc and pointed it straight skyward, its tip lit by the sun.

"Look! The holy sun still hangs above, eternal and unsetting! We are still Amanata’s chosen, the noble, proud people of Fadlan!

For a hundred years, Fadlan conquered others—never have we been the victims! Anyone who angers us will be destroyed!

Remember—so long as the sun shines and the gods’ law holds, Fadlan endures!"

"For Fadlan!"

An earthshaking cheer erupted, louder than the hooves.

The cavalry raised lances and banners in frenzy, shouting "For Fadlan!" until hoarse.

Chests out, prideful, they felt as if they’d returned to Fadlan’s golden age, the continent’s greatest, proudest citizens.

Someone began the old song—even devils from hell dare not provoke Fadlan.

Years of war have idealized the old empire in their minds, a pillar of hope and spirit.

For these Aether Winged Cavalry, chasing the old Fadlan’s glory is their eternal inspiration—they would die for it.

For some reason, the ground trembled harder now—but the cavalry, caught in the fever, didn’t notice.

Leoni gazed at their zealous faces and murmured: "Yes, just like that. Never forget our Fadlan pride.

Even dragons are nothing to us.

In Fadlan’s history, Emperor Aragon led us in slaying countless arrogant beasts—white dragons, blue dragons... you name it."

"Vmmm—"

A sharp noise overhead cut Leoni’s thought short; far away, sinister shadows swept across the grassland.

"It’s been less than three days—how so fast?"

Leoni looked up, face dark. Hundreds of wyverns spread their wings, forming a wedge-shaped formation, flying straight for them.

What startled him most—these wyverns had metal-edged wings to slice the air, and carried humanoids on their backs.

Their formation was as strict as any military—nothing like the disorganized monsters he remembered.

"What are those?"

"Damn! The Ember Empire attacks so soon!"

"What were those scouts doing—how did they get in so deep?!"

Watching the oncoming wyverns, the cavalry cursed, but did not panic or break.

To them, wyverns were tough, but not truly dangerous.

Leoni just raised his saber and shouted: "Careful! Wyverns! Hold defensive formation—shoot down those damned flying lizards!"

The cavalry shifted skillfully, raising dust as they repositioned their horses.

They’d fought flying foes before—white dragons, griffons, devils—so were experienced against air attacks.

Shield-bearers galloped forward and formed a wall, shields high to block the wyverns’ dive.

The second row raised spears through shield gaps, ready to skewer any descending beast.

The rest slung muskets and bows off their backs, aiming skyward, ready to fill the monsters with holes.

In the center, Leoni stared at the dragons. But they kept diving at a hundred meters, never coming down to attack directly.

Their shadows stretched across the ground like omens of death.

Were they just scouting?

For some reason, Leoni’s heart beat faster—a sense of foreboding.

"Whoosh—"

A piercing roar made Leoni’s hair stand on end—his fear proved right!

The wyverns released their claws; black specks appeared in the blue sky, hundreds of bombs falling like rain on the tightly packed cavalry.

No—!

Those are the real weapons! These cunning wyverns never meant to close in!

Leoni screamed in horror: "Scatter—!"

"Run! Run!"

Too late! Though the cavalry reacted fast, they couldn’t outpace the bombs.

"Boom!"

The explosion was deafening; flames split the earth to pieces.

Blast after blast tore apart the packed formation—shrapnel, limbs, blood everywhere.

Smoke and dust turned everything to chaos.

"So hot!"

"My leg!"

"I can’t hear! I can’t hear!"

Horses shrieked, cavalry screamed—the elite were broken.

Some lost arms and legs, others half a head, some were burned alive astride their mounts.

In this first bombing alone, nearly two hundred winged cavalry were killed or wounded.

The wyverns nimbly climbed, circling for another run.

Seeing his men devastated, Leoni’s rage was monstrous, his face black with smoke.

"Damn monsters! You will pay with your lives!"

Leoni spurred his horse, charging at the dragon swarm.

Eyes red, he grabbed a lance and hurled it skyward with all his might, venting his fury.

"Whoosh—"

The lance soared nearly a hundred meters, a comet streaking for the dragons.

"Ah!"

A sharp scream—a wyvern rider was skewered and plummeted.

Watching the fallen foe, Leoni growled: "Never anger a Fadlan!"

The battle turned to chaos. With the air threat, the cavalry couldn’t regroup—just scattered wildly.

Suddenly, Leoni froze; the ground shook with a strange thumping—the cavalry weren’t charging, so why...

He realized in horror: it wasn’t their horses this time!

The shaking grew worse, stones danced, the noise heavier.

He spun, searching for the source—his face froze in shock.

"Emperor Aragon..."

Smoke and dust blotted out the sun; steel behemoths appeared on the horizon, thundering toward them, like mountains on the move, even the river behind them shuddered.

The battle-hardened cavalry, just escaped death, now cried out in disbelief.

"God!"

"By Amanata—can they fly, too?!"

"We’re a hundred kilometers from Kartepa! How did they get here?!"

They thought it was a miracle of war, never imagining the truth—tank columns and "aircraft" advancing together.

Leoni muttered: "When the winged cavalry charges, the ground shakes, rivers flood, and even dragons tremble..."

Words once used for his men’s glory and pride now fit the enemy better.

For it was they who made the earth and rivers shake.

In the old days, he would’ve charged fearlessly, for the Holy Fadlan Empire stood behind him.

Now, for the first time, he hesitated.

Could they really hold back the Ember Empire, keep northern Aether?

The firmest Fadlanist of all, Leoni, now felt lost. His lips quivered, his saber hand trembled with sweat.

"Can we... really win this war?"