Chương 423: Chapter : 423

The energy hit the fire wall. The flames let out a sharp, horrible hiss — and went out. Instantly. Completely. No smoke, no embers. As if the fire had never existed at all.

"How is that possible?" Thomas breathed. He stared at the empty air where his flames had been. His voice had lost all of its usual confidence.

"The fire is just... gone." The leader raised his other hand. The blast of dark magic that followed hit Brandon's stone wall without ceremony or drama. Just impact, and then the rock cracked — a sound like a mountain deciding it was tired — and then it shattered into a cascading rain of rubble that scattered across the dead grass below. The grandmasters looked at each other, and in that single exchange of glances, they all understood the same terrible thing at the same moment.

The enemy's magic didn't just overpower their defenses. It didn't struggle or strain against them. It simply erased them, the way a flame erases paper. The Black Magicians pressed forward toward the golden shield. They unleashed a relentless, thundering magical bombardment that filled the valley with rolling sound. The golden shield trembled. The noise was incredible — like being inside a storm cloud while lightning chose you specifically.

"Hold the line!" Grandmaster Sylas shouted. His jaw was set. His eyes were fierce. But his hands were shaking badly now, and the golden light beneath them flickered like a candle in a draft. Roger appeared at his side without a word. He summoned a massive wave of water and threw it over the shield, trying to cool the mounting magical pressure. The water hit the barrier and vaporized on contact, producing a thick, rolling cloud of steam. The Black Magicians didn't even acknowledge it.

They moved with a coordination that wasn't just practiced — it felt almost inhuman, like a single mind operating dozens of bodies. They raised their hands together, and a massive orb of dark purple energy began to form in the air above them. It grew quickly, drawing in the surrounding darkness, and the ground directly beneath it turned black and crumbled slightly, as if the earth itself wanted to be elsewhere.

"They are combining their spells!" Kaelen shouted. He was already moving, hands slicing through the air, summoning wind into a focused, violent tornado. He sent it screaming toward the orb with everything he had. The wind struck the orb and dissolved into it. The dark magic absorbed the entire storm like a sponge absorbing a drop of water. If anything, the orb grew slightly larger. The leader of the Black Magicians turned his masked face toward the golden shield.

He pointed one finger at its center with the quiet precision of someone identifying something they've already decided to take. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. The orb launched. It crossed the valley like a falling star — fast and inevitable and breathtaking in the worst possible way — and struck the exact center of Sylas's shield with a sound that seemed to compress the air into something solid. The entire mountain range groaned in response.

For one brief, defiant moment, the golden shield held. It pulsed brilliantly, fighting back against the dark pressure with everything it had. Then, slowly, inevitably, a hairline crack appeared in the center of the light — thin as a thread at first, jagged and growing.

"The barrier is failing!" Sylas screamed. He threw everything left in him into the shield. His feet slid backward across the stone wall. His face contorted with the strain of a man lifting something that simply cannot be lifted. His eyes were wide and bright with a panic he was still, somehow, too proud to fully surrender to. It was not enough. With a final, resonant crash that echoed off every stone surface in the valley, the golden shield shattered completely.

The light dissolved into a million tiny sparks that floated briefly and then vanished into the dark fog like fireflies that had simply given up. The outer gate was open. The valley was lost.

"Fall back!" Brandon's voice cracked across the walls like a whip.

"Retreat to the inner keep!" The grandmasters ran. For the first time in their long and decorated careers, the most powerful mages in Bluemoon were running away, and every one of them knew it. Below, the Black Magicians passed through the broken gate without ceremony. They entered the outer streets of Bluemoon as though they owned them already. The citizens had been watching from windows and doorways, praying that the golden shield would hold. When it shattered, something shattered in them as well.

The panic that swept through the outer streets was the kind that bypasses reason entirely and goes straight to the body. Mothers swept children off the ground mid-stride without slowing down. Elderly men stumbled over their own feet on the stone paths, reaching blindly for walls to steady themselves. Shopkeepers simply ran, leaving everything behind — fruit rolling in the dirt, bread left on wooden racks, coin pouches sitting open and unattended beside abandoned stalls.

The dark purple mist crept over the white stone buildings steadily, almost gently, as if savoring the transformation. Wherever it touched, the flowers in window boxes drooped and blackened. The air turned cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. It became difficult to draw a full breath, as if something unseen was pressing down on every chest.

"Run!" a guard shouted from the inner walls. His voice was cracking with emotion he could no longer contain.

"Get inside the stone walls! Do not touch the fog!" The grandmasters reached the inner keep. They threw the massive wooden doors shut behind them and drove three separate magical bolts home. The sound of each bolt clicking into place felt less like security and more like the closing of a coffin lid. Grandmaster Thomas leaned his back against the door. His chest heaved. Soot covered half his face, and his uniform was torn at the shoulder.

"They are too fast," he said, between labored breaths.

"They are completely ignoring our attacks. Everything we threw at them — they just absorbed it and kept walking."

"They are not here to fight us," Grandmaster Roger said. His voice had gone very quiet, very flat — the voice of a man working hard to stay calm while something cold moved through him.

"They want the seed. They are heading straight for the core." Inside the inner keep, the silence was suffocating. It was the particular silence of a place full of frightened people trying very hard not to make noise. King Justin stood at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at his grandmasters. In that moment, seeing them — bruised, exhausted, stripped of their usual composure — he looked older than he had that morning. His face had gone pale in the way that has nothing to do with cold.

"The outer gate has fallen?" he asked. His voice came out barely above a whisper.