Chapter 480: Fall and Temporary Retreat

The first round of curse probing failed—costing one seventh-ring wizard and more than forty sixth-ring wizards their combat effectiveness.

The struggle over the fate lines failed—costing three seventh-ring wizards.

Because of these seemingly negligible losses in combat power, their side was slowed by a single fraction of a second when breaking through the traps laid by Noren Workshop’s vanguard legion.

And that single fraction allowed Noren Workshop’s vanguard to set three additional rounds of traps.

Those three rounds slowed their advance by another 1.2 seconds.

Then came the second round, the third, the fourth…

“One step slow, every step slow.”

Mordekian opened his eyes, bitterness filling them.

In the end, they were exactly four minutes and seventeen seconds behind the planned “optimal attack timing.”

Those four minutes and seventeen seconds turned Noren Workshop’s defensive line from “initially formed” into “impregnable as gold and iron.”

Those four minutes and seventeen seconds transformed what should have been a lightning-swift assault into a brutal war of positional attrition.

And now, less than twenty minutes into this war of attrition, their cannon fodder units had already suffered losses exceeding three billion.

Though the vast majority were third-ring or lower fodder, the sheer number was still staggering.

Even more fatal: on the high-tier wizard battlefield, the sixth-ring wizards rotating to unleash high-intensity attacks in order to suppress Clark were nearly at the bottom of their mental power reserves.

They could hold out for at most another five minutes before a large number of sixth-ring wizards would lose combat capability due to extreme mental exhaustion.

And Noren Workshop?

Their defensive line grew steadier by the moment, the roar of artillery growing denser.

Mordekian had even noticed, through battlefield monitoring, an abnormal firing frequency from Fortress No. 7: the damn thing was only getting more spirited the longer it fought, and that wizard’s mental power intensity had actually broken through mid-battle!

“This opening engagement…”

Mordekian drew a deep breath; his rotted chest cavity wheezed like a broken bellows.

“We’ve lost.”

The instant he made that judgment, he did not hesitate.

Retreat.

Retreating now would still preserve the bulk of their effective forces.

The high-tier wizards were exhausted but mostly still alive.

Though cannon fodder losses were heavy, core high-tier cannon fodder units had suffered less than ten percent casualties.

Continuing the fight would only cause losses to snowball, potentially spiraling into a rout.

“All units…”

Mordekian’s voice, transmitted through the highest-authority mental network, reached every wizard in the Chaos Secret Cult and Tower of Annihilation alliance:

“Execute the ‘Withdrawal’ contingency plan.”

“High-tier battlefield—maintain suppression and withdraw in echelons.”

“Mid- and low-tier battlefield—cannon fodder units cover the rear; wizard primaries withdraw with priority.”

“Repeat: execute withdrawal contingency plan. Begin immediately…”

The moment the order was issued.

A tiny, almost imperceptible “stutter” appeared in the attack rhythm of the wizards besieging Clark.

It was not deliberate—it was biological instinct.

Upon hearing the word “retreat,” taut nerves instinctively loosened a fraction, attack intent weakened by a sliver, focus on charging dropped by a hair.

In an ordinary battle, such a stutter would mean nothing.

But against an existence of Clark’s caliber…

“Opportunity.”

For the first time, a sharp glint flashed through the calm eyes of Clark, who had remained in a purely defensive posture until now.

This was exactly the moment he had been waiting for.

In the same instant the besieging wizards’ attacks faltered…

Clark moved.

Facing the composite attack torrent unleashed simultaneously by thirty-seven seventh-ring wizards ahead—a flood powerful enough to obliterate an entire plane cluster in an instant—he took a single step forward.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!

The terrifying assault instantly engulfed his figure.

Amid the chaotic energy storm came a grating, teeth-aching tearing sound.

The next second, Clark’s form burst out from the far side of the attack flood.

But the man who emerged was utterly transformed from before.

His black wizard robe hung in tatters, exposing a body covered in deep, bone-revealing wounds.

His left arm was gone from the elbow down; his right leg was missing below the knee. He hovered in the air, his mutilated body swaying slightly.

Across his face ran a hideous gash from forehead to jaw, flesh peeled back to reveal gleaming silver-white bone beneath.

Gravely wounded.

Unquestionably gravely wounded.

Yet Clark’s expression remained terrifyingly calm.

He did not even glance at his own injuries.

His gaze pierced through the chaotic battlefield, through layer upon layer of defenses, locking precisely onto Mordekian.

The distance between them now was only twelve hundred meters.

For a seventh-ring wizard, that was no different from standing face-to-face.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Clark’s voice rang abruptly beside Mordekian’s ear.

As though the words had been engraved in Mordekian’s soul from the beginning and were only now being “played.”

Mordekian’s pupils contracted to pinpricks.

Because in the instant he heard those words, he also saw.

The black-robed wizard had somehow appeared right in front of him.

Less than three meters away.

That scarred face was almost pressed against his own.

Clark’s remaining right hand was slowly rising, index finger aimed directly at the center of Mordekian’s brow.

“…You!!!”

Mordekian wanted to roar, to counterattack, to teleport away.

But he discovered in horror that his body… could not move.

His brain issued the command to “raise hand,” yet the order vanished without trace the moment it left the conscious level.

His soul screamed to “release witchcraft,” but every rune forming the spell model self-destructed the instant it took shape.

His soul wailed; his very existence trembled.

At such close range, facing an existence who—in his prime—could instantly crush seventeen seventh-ring wizards, even heavily wounded, Mordekian stood no chance of resistance.

Clark’s index finger gently touched the center of Mordekian’s brow.

The motion was light, slow, as though caressing a fragile piece of porcelain.

But the instant his fingertip met skin…

Mordekian’s body began to “disappear.”

Like a pencil sketch being erased by a rubber, he was wiped from the level of “existence” in an instant.

It started at the point of contact between brow and finger: skin, muscle, bone, organs… layer by layer turning to nothingness.

Then limbs, torso, head.

In the end, not even a shadow of his soul remained; he was completely annihilated into the void.

The entire process was utterly silent.

In the end, this commander of the Chaos Secret Cult became the first seventh-ring wizard to fall in this war!

Only after Mordekian had completely vanished did the surrounding wizards react.

“Lord Mordekian!!!”

“Kill him!!!”

Roars of rage, shock, and terror erupted like a volcano.

Nearly a hundred ferocious attacks smashed toward Clark at the same moment.

But Clark did not even turn his head.

He simply stared at the spot where Mordekian had disappeared, a thoughtful gleam flashing through his eyes.

In his vision, at that location in the void, a faint “imprint” flickered dimly.

It was a complex three-dimensional symbol formed by thirteen threads of different colors, now slowly dissipating.

“A revival artifact…”

With his mastery of alchemy, Clark instantly identified what it was. His thoughts turned; the index finger of his remaining right hand twitched slightly.

In his current state, completely destroying that revival imprint was not beyond him.

But after a moment’s consideration, he lowered his finger.

No need.

The Star Ring Federation’s rules for “coordinated warfare” were clear: any wizard “killed” within an arranged battlefield—whether truly dead or revived through an artifact—was barred from re-entering the same conflict.

In other words, even if Mordekian could revive, this war no longer concerned him.

Since that was the case, there was no need to pursue total annihilation.

After all, this war—fundamentally—was a “coordinated war” conducted under Star Ring Federation supervision, not an apocalyptic war of mutual extermination.

Going too far would be inappropriate.

With that thought, Clark’s figure was once again engulfed by the frenzied attacks unleashed by the reacting wizards.

But this time, the besiegers were noticeably more cautious.

They dared not relax in the slightest. While maintaining dense suppressive fire on Clark, they began an orderly, echeloned withdrawal.

Command authority over the Chaos Secret Cult and Tower of Annihilation alliance swiftly transferred to a peak seventh-ring wizard from the Tower of Annihilation.

That tall, gaunt figure, entirely wrapped in gray burial shrouds, issued the same order in a dry, rasping voice:

“All forces, withdraw.”

“Maintain vigilance. Prevent pursuit.”

The command was executed with strict discipline.

On the high-altitude battlefield, the wizards besieging Clark began alternating cover as they withdrew.

On the mid- and low-tier battlefield, the cannon fodder legions began contracting, with high-tier cannon fodder units covering the rear to shield the wizards’ primaries during evacuation.

The entire process was orderly and methodical, showcasing the exceptional military discipline of the two major factions’ alliance.

Noren Workshop, for its part, showed no intention of pursuing.

Dionysius Spencer hovered above Fortress No. 7, watching the enemy tide recede into the distance like an ebbing wave, and gave a gentle shake of his head.

“Do not pursue a cornered enemy.”

His voice spread across Noren Workshop’s command network.

“Consolidate the defensive line. Treat the wounded. Assess battle losses.”

“This opening battle—we’ve won. But the war… has only just begun.”

Inside the fortress, Jie Ming slowly released his hand from the console.

He opened his eyes to find his entire body drenched in sweat, face pale as paper, his brain throbbing with waves of needle-like pain.

Yet the corners of his mouth curved upward involuntarily.

They had won.

Though it was only the opening engagement, though it was merely a victory in a positional defense battle.

They had won.

Jie Ming drew a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

Beyond the window, beneath the lead-gray sky, the smoke of battle was gradually dissipating.

Across the earth lay mountains of cannon fodder wreckage.

In the sky, the enemy forces slowly retreated.

And behind the steel defensive line, the fortresses still stood tall.

The first battle of the coordinated war thus drew to a close.

But everyone knew…

This was only the beginning.