Chapter 197: Destructive Meteorite

The Artifact: Silent Forest. During the Academy incident, it was deployed against Stevenson Magic Academy. It should have been drawn into the void alongside the school, only to be recovered later by that old man who called himself "Roland."

However, due to the interference of Wang Yu and Avia, the entire affair veered wildly off its intended course, and this artifact fell into the hands of the Kingdom of Alastair.

This artifact is the bane of all mages. Within its radius, all magic is rendered inert; neither spells nor mana can manifest any effect under its influence.

One might say that for any mage, being within the reach of the Silent Forest is effectively the same as being a cripple.

Yet, this group of Alastairians, riding their horses straight toward the Sevantan military formation, were all mages to a man.

The leader, an old man, was none other than the former Chief Advisor to the Royal Mages, a top-tier Archmage who had spent years attempting to scale the peak of legend without success.

This lent a bizarre air to their mission: a band of mages carrying the very artifact known as the mage-killer into the heart of the Sevantan enemy lines—it was almost impossible to comprehend.

Nevertheless, the mad and daring plan they had devised earlier was clear; all that remained was to see it through to the end.

The Sevantan camp ahead began to come into view for these mages, whose physical constitutions were far from robust. Their column of a dozen horses had been spotted long ago by the scouts stationed at the Sevantan perimeter.

A mass of soldiers gathered at the edge of the camp, swords and shields held in grim readiness, while the crossbowmen behind them raised their bows and bolts.

The only reason these Sevantan soldiers did not attack immediately was that the riders bore no insignia of rank. Their faces and forms were shrouded in black robes, making it impossible to discern their origin.

This brazen, undisguised approach felt uncanny to the Sevantan soldiers. They did not look like the usual Alastairian raiding parties; such a small, open, and direct approach seemed utterly devoid of purpose.

"Halt! State your identity! You are permitted no closer than one thousand meters from our lines, or we will open fire and kill you where you stand!"

An officer in charge roared a warning, demanding they stop their advance or face immediate, merciless assault.

As the words fell, the horses obeyed the commands of the robed figures, coming to a halt well beyond the thousand-meter mark.

The leader said nothing. He simply materialized the Artifact: Silent Forest from the void above his head, displaying this strategic-grade weapon—which Sevantan had used in several campaigns to suppress the Alastairian mage legions—to the soldiers waiting in formation.

"It’s the Silent Forest!" a soldier with keen eyesight and superior physical conditioning immediately recognized the object in the leader's hand.

"It must be someone from the capital. This strategic artifact has always been held by those royal researchers who study the gods and the void. I’d always wondered why they hadn't brought such a perfect tool for countering the Alastairians to the front lines. It’s finally here, though not a moment too soon..."

The higher-ranking officer who had issued the warning spoke without lowering his voice, half to himself, half to explain to the soldiers nearby.

Upon learning that the artifact in the robed figures' hands was indeed the Silent Forest, the soldiers, though they did not lower their weapons, felt a tension in their hearts ease, unbeknownst to them.

This strategic artifact was simply too famous.

In many battles against Alastair—a kingdom that far outstripped Sevantan in the path of magic—this "mage-killer" could neutralize vast swaths of Alastairian magical power the moment it appeared.

It had even caused those detestable Alastairian mages, who used flight spells to harass and skirmish, to plummet from the sky and be crushed into pulp.

"My apologies, gentlemen. While the artifact you carry is sufficient proof of your identity, necessary checks must still be performed. No offense intended, but duty leaves me no choice. Fetch a formal mage; let him judge whether this is truly the Artifact: Silent Forest."

The officer spoke loudly, offering an apology to the robed figures while ordering his men to retrieve one of the few formal mages in the camp to verify the artifact.

"No matter. You have done well; it is your duty," the robed leader replied. He felt no resentment toward the officer's caution; it was, indeed, a necessary step.

Before long, a gaunt, pale-skinned necromancer, likely suffering from a lack of sunlight, emerged from the camp, accompanied by a single skeletal soldier.

He said nothing, merely directing the skeleton to walk toward the robed party.

As the distance closed, reaching roughly a thousand meters, the skeleton took one more step and, in the next instant, collapsed into a pile of bones devoid of any mana. The soul-fire maintained by necromantic arts in its eye sockets flickered and died.

The necromancer’s expression shifted. He walked forward himself to the spot where the skeleton had crumbled and extended his palm. After about three seconds, he bowed solemnly to the robed group—a gesture of respect to superiors. The result was self-evident.

"It is genuine. It is the Silent Forest. People from the capital have arrived. Good news."

"It’s those researchers from the capital. I wonder if they have anything else besides the Silent Forest. I just want those damned Alastairians to rot in hell."

"Yes, even if it costs me my life. The researchers' tools are cruel, but if they can deal a heavy blow to the Alastairians, that is enough!"

Once the authenticity of the Silent Forest was confirmed, the soldiers lowered their swords and shields. No one doubted the identity of the robed figures anymore; this strategic artifact was enough to explain everything.

"Please, enter the camp." The officer signaled for his men to clear a path, allowing these "officials" from the capital to pass.

Without hesitation, the group of Alastairian mages in disguise walked into the Sevantan camp, showing no trace of insecurity or unease.

"Gather as many elites as you can. The more, the better. Bring them to this sector. Tomorrow at dusk, we launch a surprise attack on the Alastairians. We will carry the Silent Forest and lead a force of your finest to pierce their lines and shatter their main strength."

The cold, ruthless, and low voice came from the robed leader. As he passed the Sevantan officer, he imparted this "surprise attack plan," tasking the officer—a man of Great Knight caliber—with the assembly of the elite force.

"Yes!" The officer saluted immediately, his heart surging. So, it was true: once the capital brought out the ultimate anti-magic weapon, the thunderous strike against Alastair was finally beginning.

He could hardly wait. Sevantan could no longer afford to drag this out; he had already witnessed the desolation of the capital.

The miserable living conditions of the city's residents revealed the fatigue of a kingdom that had started a war it could no longer sustain. They were at the end of their rope; only a decisive, absolute victory could pull Sevantan back from the brink.

"Find us a quiet place in the vicinity, free from interference. We have some sorcerers who need to prepare additional materials."

The robed leader continued his demands. As he spoke, fluid darkness seeped from his sleeves, circled the area, and returned to his hands.

"Is that the power of the forgotten gods? Indeed, those fellows at the Royal Research Institute kept a trump card. Was all the previous preparation just for this moment?"

The officer’s excitement grew. The "visitors from the capital" were exceptionally well-prepared, filling him with confidence for the coming plan.

He was impatient to join the elites and charge into the Alastairian lines, tearing through their fragile defenses built of spells.

"No problem. I will prepare a site for you in the center of the forward camp. It will be convenient for you to issue orders and for the elites to assemble."

The officer spoke respectfully and led the robed figures toward the center of the front lines. When he informed the other soldiers and officers of their status as envoys from the capital, they immediately and voluntarily cleared a camp for them.

"I will go gather the elites at once. By midnight, all preparations will be complete."

The officer saluted once more and retreated from the tent, moving with great efficiency to execute his task.

Silence fell within the tent. After a long while, the leader spoke, his calm voice tinged with emotion and relief.

"It is done. I was prepared to deactivate the Silent Forest and unleash our spells the moment we reached the thousand-meter mark. I never expected them to let us walk right into the heart of their camp. It seems the intelligence gathered by the Night’s Edge members who infiltrated the Sevantan capital was perfectly accurate."

The other robed figures lowered their hoods. Beneath them were faces etched with grit and experience, yet possessing the sharp, intellectual aura of seasoned scholars. A powerful mage is, invariably, a learned scholar.

"The way those researchers from the capital prove their identity is just like this—secret codes, and because they hide their presence, they cannot use fixed methods to verify themselves... We were actually able to exploit that."

"Sevantan clearly didn't broadcast the news that the Silent Forest had fallen into our hands. The blow to the morale of their soldiers would have been too great."

As they discussed the success of their plan, the Alastairian mages began their work.

Every one of them was a formal mage, and at least of high rank or above. Dozens of mages at this level represented an exceptionally precious force, even for a kingdom as magically advanced as Alastair.

That they were now gathered in the center of the enemy camp meant that if discovered, the consequences would be catastrophic. The situation was, in a sense, absurdly surreal.

"Let us assemble the array. We have ample time. It should be enough to complete this pseudo-eighth-circle spell created by Stevenson Magic Academy. While it lacks the precision of a true eighth-circle spell, its power should exceed one."

Following the leader's words, the mages pulled plate after plate from their robes, the magic circuits etched upon them so complex they were difficult to behold.

The materials used to forge these varied metal plates were treasures only the royal family could provide: Cordite metal, currently recognized as having the highest mana-bearing capacity outside of the dwarves' secret hoards.

Its superb mana conductivity, combined with a terrifying capacity to bear mana flow, made the metal unimaginably expensive and nearly impossible to acquire.

Only the resources of the royal house could have produced dozens of magic array bases cast from Cordite.

"Assemble it. Bring the mana crystals." The old man took charge of fitting the array bases together, while the other mages dragged crates from the horses, opening them to reveal a vast quantity of extremely pure mana crystals.

The purity of a mana crystal determines its storage capacity; the purer the crystal, the more mana it holds.

This scaling is geometric. A single one of these ultra-pure crystals held dozens of times the mana of the relatively pure crystals found in the Weaver’s Tome used by Wang Yu.

Likewise, the mana fluctuations emitted by these crystals were intense—a mage tens of kilometers away could easily sense them.

But here, these crystals, which meant nothing to the Sevantans, had been brought into the center of the camp without a soul noticing. All of this was thanks to the Artifact: Silent Forest.

The Silent Forest not only rendered magic inert but also completely masked every fluctuation of mana.

For a mage, this held a special significance. It was not merely a weapon to suppress other mages; it was the ultimate tool for a mage to truly and completely hide every trace of their own power.

Unlike the mere suppression of magical fluctuations, this was an absolute, total shielding that left no room for oversight.

With the aid of artifacts from the Silent Forest, these mages from Alastair successfully smuggled the spell array and the mana crystals powering it into the very heart of the Sewintan military camp.

What remained was simple; the effect of the Silent Forest prevented spells from manifesting, yet it did not cause mana to vanish into thin air—the energy contained within the crystals remained intact.

One only needed to assemble these components correctly and dispel the Silent Forest’s influence for the array to awaken and unleash the formidable spell trapped within.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" the old man asked, gazing with a faint smile at the completed diagram and the piles of mana crystals surrounding it, turning to his fellow mages from Alastair.

"Yes," they replied in a firm, unified chorus, each drawing a vial from their robes and downing the draught within.

"For Alastair! For the Truth! To magic, and to us!"

These words, spoken not with volume but with fervent devotion by men no longer in their youth, hung in the air as the leader dispelled the Silent Forest’s shroud, allowing all suppressed mana to return to its rightful place.

The potion they had consumed began to burn; the "Mana Combustion Draught," a concoction exclusive to mages, sacrificed the user's mana vortex and soul to grant a terrifying, fleeting surge of power.

"Is this what it feels like to be a legend?" the elder murmured, staring at his own palm; the searing agony was nothing compared to the awe of glimpsing a new world of magic through this newfound strength.

"A pity, that after all these years of striving, I only see the scenery of the legendary realm at the very end of my life. But, it is worth it."

Mana became fluid, easy to command, as if plucking the strings of a harp; the old man used his own body as a conduit, bridging the vast mana crystals to the foundation of the spell array.

The array required power, and the crystals were the source, yet they had designed no mechanical link between the two.

For the mages present, having consumed the combustion draught, were themselves the conduits connecting the crystals to the spell.

The moment the Silent Forest’s effect vanished, a terrifying surge of mana swept through the camp; the resonance of such vast, pure energy caused the very fabric of the material world to warp and buckle.

The Sewintan necromancers opened their eyes in terror, unaware of the cause, yet their internal mana vortices shuddered under the impact of this incomprehensible, frenzied energy, fracturing under the strain.

Their souls were lashed in turn, wracked with blinding pain and vertigo; only the most iron-willed managed to stumble out of their tents, clutching their heads, desperate to understand the catastrophe.

And so, they beheld the most horrifying sight of their lives—the last sight they would ever see.

Above the Sewintan camp, a sphere of rock, so unimaginably vast it dwarfed the surrounding mountains, was plummeting from the heavens.

Extreme heat had ignited the surface of the stone, melting it into a roiling, magma-like state.

The meteor grew more blinding with every passing second, flames rising as the concentration of fire and earth elements surged to impossible heights.

A violent gale, born of the falling mass, reached the ground first, tearing tents, soldiers, and everything in its path into the sky.

"What... is this?" the officer, who had just gathered his elite forces, stared up at the burning star with a look of impossible despair, his will collapsing as he whispered to the void.

Pseudo-Eighth-Tier Spell: Cataclysmic Meteor.