Legend of the Empyrean Blacksmith Chapter 485 Invasion II

CHAPTER 485

INVASION (II)

Huruk sat on top of a hard-stone chair, slumped slightly back, tapping his fingers against the armrest, seemingly deep in thought. A detailed map of the Western Continent lay stretched in front of him, tiny figurines rising ever so often, depicting his and enemy’s forces. The temporary tent was otherwise empty, armsrack to his right, to his left a praying mat.

Though the outsides bustled in noise, he seemed impervious to them. He felt a decent deal of reservation, being sent on this expedition — he wasn’t even the one to propose it, Manvas was. Yet, there he sat, trying to gain a foothold on the alien land. It wasn’t a terribly important part of the overall plan, but it could alleviate pressure from other factors if he managed a victory. So far, that looked to be the case.

Whoever was commanding the defending army had at most a base knowledge of what they were doing. They shuffled the soldiers too much, mixing regimes that clearly didn’t have any experience fighting together, stretching their forces too thinly, under-using scouting to pry into Huruk’s plans.

He was a bald man, well over a million years old by now, and one of the respected Commanders of the Aeonian Sect. A light-worn, leather armor was draped tightly around his muscular body, his pair of black eyes dulled for a moment, barely reflecting any light. He wasn’t too worried about things going awry; even if they did, and he failed, he wouldn’t lose much.

What put a dent in their plans, however, was Ashtar’s fall; no one expected the Devil to cave in so easily, effectively eliminating an entire battlefront. Now they could focus on defending east, reshuffling their forces, making it perhaps ten times as difficult to besiege them. Huruk grunted, straightening into his chair just as his steward entered the tent, bowing respectfully.

“They figured it out?” he mumbled, noticing the steward’s conflicting expression.

“Yes, Commander.” the man nodded.

“… hm, so someone better took the command,” Huruk shrugged, seemingly having expected it. “Have our forces slowly withdraw and start piling more ships to the shore. If things go beyond the capacity to handle them, we can’t have them suspecting anything.”

The steward bowed once more before leaving. Huruk stood up, looming over the map, shuffling the figurines slightly back toward the shore. This was always a long shot, he knew, which is why he was frustrated to be the one here. They gave him pitiful numbers and the most basic element of surprise. How was he to gain the footing within the borders of a massive Empire with barely a hundred thousand men?

Even the hasty response of an inexperienced general was enough to stall his progress and prevent him from rapidly taking over enough land to gain some decent footing. Now that someone who knew what they were doing took reins, it meant that he couldn’t do anything except try to save as many men as possible and prevent exposing their methods of arrival.

He left the tent, landing on the open shore. Ground sand stretched on both ends, a massive cliff looming overhead, providing shade. The ocean’s waters were rather calm, rolling up on the shore and withdrawing. Men and women alike rushed about, but Huruk couldn’t understand why. He spotted quite a few young; perhaps it was their first time being a part of something greater than themselves. He envied them slightly, what with their capacity to feel joy over being sent here.

Glancing up at the sky, he grunted lowly, hands clasped behind his back. It was still starlit, an occasional flash of color bursting out in resplendent brilliance, turning the night sky alight for a moment. Why did Ashtar give up so quickly? Plenty of theories circled about, but he cared little for the musings of the idiots. There was a reason. No matter how powerful the Empyrean was, it would be impossible to storm the Hell so quickly and destroy it. Huruk himself knew — he’d led several expeditions, and they were lucky to come out of it having killed more than lost. No human army was ever able to establish a footing there — partly because they were chased out, and partly because of the destitute air that permeated the entire, massive thing.

Empyrean didn’t lead an army — unless one considered the single Empyrean an army. It was a solitary expedition, within which he not only managed to kill Ashtar, but destroy Hell itself. Huruk couldn’t even imagine the levels of destruction that were necessary for that to occur. The massive pillar of light that stretched across the sky for less than a minute flashed into his mind; he stood frozen at the balcony, his entire body shaking. Would he survive being at the epicenter of it? No. Nobody would. Nobody except the Empyrean.

He was jolted by the sound of rippling waters, glancing sideways; the shore was now lined by roughly eighty ships, far from enough. But, for a quick distraction, it would work. Chances are, they’ll suspect the rest streamed off on the open sea, hidden by some formation. He shook his head, withdrawing into the tent. It was pointless, all of this. Whether he won today, or tomorrow, or whether any army in the future obliterated Empyrion’s… it didn’t matter. The outcome of the battle rested on a single fact — can the top figures of Gaia kill the Empyrean? If yes, they would win. If no, then they wouldn’t. As simple as that.

Yet, it seemed that nearly every war needed the theatrical prelude, the sort of a verse to a song’s chorus. Soak the planet in blood, so that those who will determine the outcome have a perfect stage for their bout. He hated it, yet couldn’t do anything to change it. Just like most, he was a pawn — a small figurine. Just like the ones on the map.

“You look tired,” a melodic voice pulled him from the depressing thoughts. Looking up, he saw a familiar face smiling at him; her golden eyes were slightly slanted, eyebrows arched, lips curled. Dark-brown skin seemingly shone as an occasional burst of light pierced into the tent, hardly hindered by the cumbersome armor. “I saw you ordered a withdrawal. Someone better took reins?”

“… yeah,” Huruk relaxed, smiling back. “You had fun?” he asked, walking to the other end of the table, pulling a few strands of her black hair behind her ears.

“Just enough to excuse the trip,” she chuckled, wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him in. “You ready to go back home?”

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“… I’ve a feeling I won’t stay long,” Huruk sighed, leaning his head against her shoulderpad, relaxing for a moment. “They won’t let me.”

“…” she said nothing, merely stroking his hair. How long has it been since he last saw his daughter? Or any one of his six sons? Years? Yes, it must have been years. If Eyrine wasn’t so devout, he might have not seen her either since he last left their home, over six years ago. “Ayla sent a letter,” she said softly after a moment of silence. “Apparently, Prince Lumis has taken quite a liking to her. He’s been visiting at least thrice a week.”

“Bah, damned kid,” Huruk’s mood immediately soured as he pulled back, a look of disgust on his face. “Doesn’t he already have four wives? I’d rather kick a bucket than let him lay a hand on her. Tsk, I’ll ask for a temporary writ of leave just so I can go back home and scold that girl. She’s been taking more and more liberties since I’m not there.”

“… ha ha ha,” Eyrine laughed, the color of her voice pulling out all of Huruk’s frustrations. “Don’t be too hard on her. Wasn’t I a lot like her when we first met?”

“Aye, but I was no Prince Lumis,” Huruk said. “I was a proper lad, if you can remember. Courted you with respect, fought your father in a duel to prove my worth–“

“If my memory serves me well,” Eyrine said, her lips curling up into a smile once more. “You stormed into my house when you learned my father was planing a betrothal, nearly killed him, and quite fancily kidnapped me in the process. Our Elders nearly went to war because of it.”

“… khm, in either version, I come off far better than that snake, I think.”

“You do,” she chuckled, nodding lightly. “I’ll talk to her, don’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

“When do you plan to withdraw completely?”

“A day, at most,” Huruk replied. “I can’t do it too quickly, otherwise I’ll raise suspicion. But, any longer than that and I risk being trapped without a way out.”

“Hm,” she nodded in agreement. “I’ll see to it that we lose as few men as possible.”

“Sorry to burden you.” Huruk sighed, looking rather defeated for a moment.

“Burden? Nonsense,” she said, kissing him gently before turning toward the exit of the tent. “Compared to the one you imposed on me by giving me the ring, this is nothing.”

“…” Huruk’s eyebrows twitched for a moment as he glanced back. His wife really had a tongue on her when she wanted; otherwise entirely innocent and meek-looking, it came as quite a surprise when he first learned of the quirk. Though, he didn’t mind it. In many ways, she’d sacrificed far more than he had; she deserved to swing at his ego ever so often.