Chapter 141: Variables

Amy knew nothing of the curiosity and suspicion Gladys Archibald harbored toward him.

All he knew was that the future he had glimpsed in his death omens would no longer become a cruel and frigid reality.

The battle was progressing steadily. Just as he had seen in his prophetic dreams, the Deep Ones had not gathered their forces for a final encirclement along the way. Instead, they had simply used small squads to lure them deeper, drawing them toward a pocket.

While it is generally true that knowing a trap is laid by the enemy means one should not step into it, the Scions of Glory did not have that luxury.

To advance with caution and calculated, steady steps—who wouldn't want that if they could? However, with the awakening of the Great Old Ones imminent and the final countdown to Hermetica’s destruction underway, the Scions had no time to spare. If they could not purge the minions of the Old Ones in short order, they would be forced to abandon Hermetica and open a front in the Deepest Night, engaging in a grueling war on two fronts.

Therefore, even knowing that moving forward meant walking into a pocket woven by monsters, they had no path of retreat. Or perhaps, they welcomed the opportunity.

With a tacit understanding between both sides, it did not take long for the Scions to reach the Wall of Sighs. Their gazes converged simultaneously on the blood-etched chaotic magic circle beneath it.

"Is this it?" came the inquiry through the mental network.

"This is it," Amy nodded, crouching down to dip his hand into the blood on the ground. "Shall we try to destroy it?"

"Our objective is to annihilate the enemy. Even if we cannot wipe them all out, we must at least make them bleed and break them," said the young lady of the Archibald family. "There is no need to show them any mercy."

"I understand." With these words, the boy looked up into the darkness. His gaze lingered briefly on the figures squirming in the deep, narrow alleyways before he cut the conversation short. "It seems we have no time for idle chatter. They are here."

As expected, those ancient minions from the deep sea bared their fangs in the darkness—from all directions!

From the alleys, from the streets, from the rooftops—some walked upright on two legs, while others bounded forward on all fours. As far as the eye could see, the sky and the ground were filled with a dense mass of black silhouettes and the glow of their crimson eyes.

They were here!

And so, the roar of artillery fire erupted, flesh and blood flew, and amidst the clamor of slaughter, the final battle that would decide the fate of Hermetica commenced!

There was no hesitation, no testing of strength. Like gamblers who had lost their minds, both sides pushed all their chips into the center.

It was a fight to the death!

This was a war neither side could afford to lose. On one side were the Scions of Glory, whose individual combat prowess was overwhelming; on the other, the minions of the Old Ones, who held an insurmountable advantage in numbers. The hatred, inherited from the dawn of creation, caused this ancient war to erupt with a fierce and desperate intensity.

Kill, kill, kill!

There was no mercy, nor any room for compromise. Both sides were locked in a feverish frenzy. Beyond the rumbling of artillery, the entire battlefield was consumed by roars—some shrill, some hoarse, some sharp, and some high-pitched. The whole world had been stained a deep, vivid red.

At that moment, the blood scattered on the ground flowed as if it had a life of its own, defying the uneven terrain to gather at a single point. It was the chaotic magic circle that everyone had overlooked.

Charging, charging, charging—

The blood-red light began to flicker and intensify as the profane magic of chaos took effect. Dozens, nearly a hundred, tall Deep Ones adorned with bone ornaments emerged within the magic circle, and as they appeared, they raised the spears in their hands high.

Throw!

But before they could complete their throw, a surging sea of fire swallowed everything.

Amidst desperate wails and roaring flames, the Deep Ones—who had dealt a devastating blow to the Scions in another timeline—were transformed into fuel for the fire, and in that moment... they were burned to ashes.

"Nice work!" Amy gave his friend a thumbs-up after witnessing the scene.

Directional detonation.

This was Joshua’s ability. He could freely manipulate his own blood, igniting and detonating it. The blood serving as the power source for the chaotic magic circle at their feet had been mixed with his own. The moment it activated, the silver-haired, red-eyed Scion unleashed his power, incinerating the entire teleportation point and leaving the arriving Deep Ones to struggle and drown in a sea of flames.

Using the advantage of the prophet to consume the enemy’s reinforcements entirely!

"Success on the first attempt," Joshua said, his pale face breaking into a weak smile. "I told you to trust me. There was no need to waste manpower preparing a second or third contingency."

Indeed, a total of three contingencies had been prepared for this plan. First, Joshua Onions would mix his blood into the circle and ignite it at the critical moment. If the enemy wasn't completely wiped out, or if the plan hit a snag, the first contingency—the detonation of "psionic bombs" buried within the circle—would take effect. If that failed, there was a second contingency, "Lightning Strike," and a third, "Spacetime Seal." Regardless of the crisis, every precaution had been taken to prevent accidents.

If all else failed, Amy Ulysses, with his ability to foresee the future, could make temporary corrections to the plans and arrangements. With such thorough preparation, the Deep Ones who had walked into the trap naturally had no chance of survival.

However, unlike the success here, the main force was facing significant difficulties.

The reason was simple—both Gladys and Amy had underestimated the number of Deep Ones.

Thousands? No, that was far too simple. There were at least fifty thousand!

Fifty thousand—perhaps many would not have a real sense of that number, but the total population of Hermetica was only a little over one hundred thousand. And that wasn't just the Upper District. It included the total population of the Upper District, the Lower District, and the Mist District.

In other words, the entire half of Hermetica shrouded in darkness was packed with these half-human, half-fish monsters!

How could that be? Gladys, who had been sweeping through the city, knew very well that her earlier guess was impossible. But the numbers did not lie.

Therefore, there was only one truth—there was more than one teleportation node like the one beneath the Wall of Sighs. The monsters’ reinforcements were endless.

Under the suppression of the city’s defensive artillery and the bloody struggle of nearly seven hundred Scions, the situation had not improved in the slightest. Instead, it was sliding continuously into an abyss of despair.

Yes, perhaps most of the Scions, immersed in the slaughter, had not noticed, but as the central commander connecting them all, she could clearly perceive that—though the margin was small—the efficiency of their killing was beginning a slight but irreversible decline.

Human stamina has its limits, after all, and no one can sustain such high-intensity combat indefinitely. Gladys knew clearly that as the battle dragged on and time passed, the situation would not only fail to improve, but would continue to worsen.

What should she do?

Splitting the force to find other teleportation nodes in the city—the idea was sound, but it was not realistic to implement. Not only would they have to traverse a sea of monsters in the darkness to find the nodes, but they would also have to find an opening to destroy them while under heavy assault. If the enemies were all weak fodder, the difficulty might be acceptable, but she feared encountering elite units capable of matching the Scions. Mixed in with the fodder, they would be even harder to handle.

One wrong move, and the dispatched squads could face total annihilation.

Thus, the young lady of the Archibald family fell into a rare moment of hesitation. As a commander on the battlefield—though this was her first time truly commanding—she, having been trained as a strategist at the academy, had a very clear understanding of the situation. She knew exactly what she needed to do to turn the tide, but...

She could not bear the responsibility. She lacked the resolve to acknowledge the weight of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of lives.

She was afraid—the twenty-one-year-old girl was terrified that one wrong decision on her part would bury the companions who trusted her and entrusted their lives to her.

This was only human.

Yet, the instinct of an excellent commander told her that indecision and inaction would only lead everyone to fall into the abyss of despair together.

She could not let this continue. A decision had to be made.

Gladys wavered between weakness and strength, but her final decision did not lean toward either side. Since she could not make the choice herself, she would pass the power of decision to another.

This was not an act of cowardice. In life, people always encounter problems they cannot solve or overcome; learning to rely on others is a lesson everyone must experience in the process of growing up.

And so, through the mental network, she established a connection with Duke Galsworthy.

After briefly explaining the situation to the Scion who stood at the very pinnacle of Hermetica’s power pyramid, Gladys Archibald waited patiently for the new orders. As the lord of Hermetica, he had the qualifications and the resolve to make the call.

But to her surprise, Duke Galsworthy did not provide a clear answer.

"Continue," was all he said after a brief silence.

"I," as the frontline commander, Gladys was naturally entitled to raise an objection, but facing the elder whose name had become a legend in Hermetica on the other end of the mental network, her voice trembled slightly. "I don't quite understand..."

To let the situation worsen without seeking change would sooner or later lead to being overwhelmed by the half-human, half-fish monsters. That was her assessment. And she believed that the legendary figure standing at the top of Hermetica’s power pyramid could not be unaware of this.

However, the Scion who was coordinating the overall situation from the rear offered no explanation.

"There is no need to understand," he said. "You only need to do as I say—"

Such comforting words brought no sense of relief, even coming from Duke Galsworthy. But the next sentence carried an unquestionable power.

"Leave the rest to me."