Chapter 460: Greek Gift Sacrifice
The central river was constructed to be long enough to split the entire island in half and wide enough to make the other side look like a distant coastline.
The churning waters were so violent that they would drown you in seconds if you misjudged the currents. Even the most capable swimmers were reluctant to dip their feet in it.
Unless a Cadet possessed some kind of water-affinity innate ability or their Arsenal was stacked with aquatic-type Acquire Cards, to even think about crossing the river without a bridge was nothing short of suicidal.
And yet, right in the center of the roaring silver expanse, a bloody battle was taking place. Dozens of fighters were clashing directly on top of the tumultuous river.
Spells were detonating everywhere, throwing cascades of frothy water high into the air.
Icicles as thick as ancient tree trunks were being conjured from the torrent, serving as temporary, slippery stepping stones for Brawlers to leap across before the surging waves smashed them to pieces.
The sky above the Great Divide was also in plete chaos.
Casters rained down hellfire and lightning and energy beams, aiming to decimate anyone on the other side. Aerial specialists unleashed turbulent winds and summoned flying beasts to tear each other out of the sky.
It was absolute madness.
And it went on for three straight days.
Ivory and Ebony armies fought again and again and again, neither side willing to give up even an inch of ground, river, or sky.
By the afternoon of the third day, the water of the Great Divide was tinted a murky red, choked with scorched floating debris and shattered ice blocks.
No one was killed. Thankfully.
The field Instructors were really working hard.
Whenever it seemed a Cadet’s life was in real danger due to an ining fatal attack or a sloppy mistake on their own part, a shadowy blur would sweep in and whisk them away to safety.
They were considered eliminated. But they lived.
Of course, that didn’t mean no one was injured.
Every day at noon, the two sides would start with fresh bodies and high spirits, only to limp back to their camps by sunset. Cracked ribs, deep burns, and broken legs were all as mon as bruised egos.
It was a brutal war of attrition. Just like Samael had wanted.
Because he held the upper hand in the skies, his long-range fighters made it practically impossible for Thalia’s troops to salvage a single supply drop.
A stalemate was reached… for now.
Everyone knew the Ivory faction would eventually start to run out of steam.
Their soldiers were starving. Without food and healing potions to patch up their wounds, they were fighting on empty stomachs and frayed nerves.
It was simple math, really. Even an Awakened human body could only take so much beatdown before it just gave up.
So, no one questioned anything when Thalia ordered a massive push directly into the middle of the river on the fourth evening.
She seemed to have lost her patience and was going to target one of Samael’s two Knight Sectors.
It looked like their last-ditch effort, the last gasp of a dying army.
Hundreds of Ivory Cadets went all out, trying to cross the Great Divide and force a landing.
They didn’t care about strategy or formation anymore.
They just threw themselves into the raging current like a wave of hungry beasts, mindless and frantic.
Samael reacted predictably. He redirected most of his Pawns toward the center of the river, intending to crush their desperate final push once and for all.
Then something strange happened.
The Ivory army fought fiercely for twenty minutes… and then suddenly retreated.
They didn’t even take heavy casualties. They just stopped fighting and ran, tucking their tails and scrambling back to their side.
No one knew it was a distraction until too late.
•••
The grand river branched into countless tributaries — thinner and calmer streams that snaked deep into the dense rainforest.
You needed to know which stream to pick to reach the heart of a Sector. Pick the wrong one, and you’d end up lost in a maze of dark foliage and dead ends. The enemy scouts would later find you on their patrol and either turn you over to their King or eliminate you right there.
Casey Torr Snowrite decided she’d like to avoid such a scenario.
So while the chaotic madness in the center was drawing everyone’s attention, she had quietly led a small platoon of handpicked personnel straight through the winding waterways of the western marshlands across the river.
Her target was the Ebony faction’s western Bishop Sector, sitting at the very edge of their territory.
Sneaking in there wasn’t the difficult part.
The difficult part was everything that came after.
Casey and twenty of her faction’s finest had slipped through the translucent barrier of the Emerald Bishop Sector.
They had taken every single precaution possible.
They used sound-muffling abilities, moved strictly through the tree canopy, and avoided all the main trails they could until they were near the clearing where the Sector’s mand post was supposed to be.
That was ten minutes ago.
Once they reached the mand post, all hell broke loose.
Dozens of Cadets were guarding a heavily fortified camp. Sentries and Brawlers. All armed and ready for a fight.
They spotted the infiltrators immediately.
Casey didn’t even have time to curse before a volley of razor-sharp wind blades sliced through the branches under her feet, forcing her to jump down into the muddy clearing below.
Her squad followed right behind her, leaping out of the canopy with weapons drawn and Cards materializing.
Spells detonated everywhere all at once.
The quietness of the forest was swallowed by thundering booms of earth-shattering strikes and the harsh clashing of steel against steel.
There seemed to be thirty Ebony Cadets present here. That meant the enemy outnumbered her side three to two.
Normally, three to two would be a problem.
But even if the opposing Scouts had spotted her a little earlier than she wanted, the element of surprise was still on her side.
So Casey didn’t let her eyes wander. She kept her focus locked dead ahead.
Standing at the center of the camp, behind the wooden barricades of the mand post, was a tall, silver-haired boy.
Around his neck was a pendant. A chess piece — a bishop — carved from a chunk of polished emerald. He was speaking into it in a panic, no doubt alerting the Crown.
His gaze was scanning the ongoing skirmish until it settled directly on Casey.
Casey grinned back. “There he is! Don’t let him make the full report and don’t let them regroup!”
She kicked off the mud. Her body blurred forward into a streak of motion as her hand went to the long, curved shashka on her hip.
The silver-haired boy flinched. Then his face hardened as he abruptly broke the connection on his pendant and thrust his hands forward, casting a massive wall of blue flames directly in her path.
Casey clicked her tongue. Now she would have to draw her sword one move early. Not ideal.
But right then, a loud voice called out to her from her left.
“I got you, Lady Casey!” a stout boy yelled, stepping up beside her and slamming his glowing fist onto the muddy earth.
An arc of rattling shockwave erupted from the impact, blasting a wide hole through the wall of fire.
Casey’s grin returned. She picked up speed.
•••
Ivan dodged a knife aimed at his throat, ducked under a swinging longsword, and swept the feet of a third attacker before delivering a kick to their ribs.
His attacker collapsed into the mud, coughing, but Ivan barely had time to catch his breath.
Damn it, Samael! He thought inwardly. You could’ve told these people I’m on their side!
He would’ve appreciated them going a little easy on him. He knew doing that would blow his cover, but he still felt the need to plain.
All around him, the clearing had dissolved into plete bedlam.
Mud flew as bodies slammed together.
Fireballs ripped through the low-hanging branches overhead, setting the dark canopy ablaze and showering the battle in flickering orange light.
Sighing, Ivan gripped his trident tighter and prepared to swing it at the nearest Ebony Cadet when a massive shadow tore through the nearby smoke, sending two of his squadmates flying.
“What the—?” Ivan started, hastily turning to see what just happened before something large slammed into his torso with the force of a moving truck.
The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs.
Ivan was sent backward like a toy, tumbling through the underbrush until his back slammed against the trunk of a moss-covered tree.
Sparks danced across his vision, and his ribs ached as if a boulder had just fallen on them.
Groaning, he blinked the dizziness out of his eyes and pushed himself up onto one elbow, trident still clutched tightly in his right hand.
Standing there in the center of the clearing, where the dust had begun to settle, was a tall man with dark violet hair framing a gaunt, angular face.
Serrated bone spikes jutted from his spine, torn flesh stretched taut around their bases as though they had forced their way out from within his body.
But that wasn’t all.
Thick, muscular tentacles burst from his abdomen, slick with dark fluid and thrashing through the air with minds of their own. Each tentacle was as long as a fully grown anaconda and thicker than a human torso.
“Arghh, fuck you, Samael!” Ivan sobbed.
That guy… was Riener Tovak. Leader of the first-year moners and one of the strongest Cadets in the batch.
Things had gone from fine to bad. And Ivan had no doubt they were about to get worse.
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