"Pff! Pff! Pff! Pff!"
Just as the Wyverns swept over Babylonia's defenses and dove toward the city, hundreds of spears launched into the air.
The wind howled sharply. Several Wyverns flying too low were caught off guard, their bodies pierced like pin cushions. Screaming, they plummeted to the ground.
Under the command of Tim, the officer stationed at Eresh, Uruk soldiers who had slipped along the city walls from the East Gate barracks executed a precise volley, temporarily stalling the Wyvern assault.
Immediately afterward, using the precious time bought by Leonidas and the East Gate forces, arrays of glowing patterns lit up across the Astrology Tower, the sacrificial site, and the shrine maidens' quarters.
Magus began activating spell formulas, priests performed rituals to drive off Magical Beasts and cast curses, and shrine maidens whispered obscure divine chants.
Mystic mechanisms scattered across Uruk roared to life, desperately intercepting the swarming Wyverns.
However, these beasts, now wary, dispersed their formations, climbed higher, and began targeting weak points in the city's defenses with deliberate precision.
In an instant, hundreds of black shadows swooped down, tearing through rooftops, snatching up the living, and spreading chaos at a terrifying rate.
For the first time, the seemingly indestructible Absolute Demonic Front revealed a near-fatal flaw—an utter lack of aerial defense.
Uruk might have been shielded by a wide-reaching and powerful Magecraft barrier, but it wasn't designed to block birds, let alone Wyverns.
These creatures relied entirely on their physical prowess to soar and dive, bypassing the magical barrier almost flawlessly.
Besides, this defense system had clear limits. Even the great goddess Ishtar could come and go as she pleased.
The so-called dispelling spells at the sacrificial site worked fine on ordinary beasts and low-tier Magical Beasts, but bloodline monsters that stood atop the food chain, beings imbued with dragon might, were completely unfazed.
As for the divine chants of the shrine maidens—ever since the gods turned their backs on humanity, their power had dwindled. Their effectiveness now was pitiful at best.
The Astrology Tower had some utility, sure, but standard Magecraft range often fared no better than a bow and arrow.
Even though Wyverns were a degenerated species bearing diluted dragon blood, their natural resistance to magic rendered them immune to all Magecraft below two tiers in power.
On top of that, spellcasters had to hit fast-moving targets, avoid collateral damage, and ensure their own safety.
Those pampered elites who usually acted as stationary artillery, living in luxury, had no experience handling such crises. Inevitably, they panicked and failed to manage the chaos.
Compared to the turmoil engulfing Uruk's streets, the central Royal Palace Tower remained eerily solemn and still.
The Wyverns, sensing danger with their sharp instincts, dared not come near the terrifying aura emanating from that place.
Under the flickering torchlight of the throne room, the slender figure of the white-haired Incubus was reflected on the floor.
The Magus of Flowers, his brows furrowing and relaxing in turn, looked silently at the hovering Wyverns above the city. His lips moved several times but ultimately fell quiet.
On the throne, the diligent king calmly reviewed a clay tablet, his expression indifferent.
In the silent hall, only the soft scratching of stylus on clay could be heard.
"King..."
"If you've chosen to defy the heavens and sever ties with the gods, then don't expect mercy."
"Humanity is no longer a child, and I am not their babysitter."
"Whether it's negligence, trial and error, or facing disaster head-on—this is the path they must walk themselves."
Gilgamesh responded coldly without lifting his head, continuing to inscribe the tablet as he heard the quiet murmur from below the throne.
But then, the King of Heroes paused slightly, his crimson eyes casting a glance at the court Magus.
"As for you, same goes—I don't care what you do."
Merlin nodded in understanding, clutching his staff as he backed away. Once he slipped past the doorway, he poked his head back in with a dry chuckle.
"You say that, but still... be careful."
As soon as he spoke, the white-haired Incubus hunched his shoulders under the cold gleam of the golden vortex and scattered into pink petals, drifting into the heart of Uruk.
Tsk. One day that mouth of his is going to get him in trouble.
Gilgamesh frowned with a low grunt of annoyance, lowering his gaze to the clay tablet in his hands.
On the ochre-colored surface, lines shaped like interlocking fangs depicted schematic designs for a new type of linear armor—nearly complete, with all parameters meticulously recorded. An empty space beside it held the design for a newly improved cannon, based on the prototype of the Dingir.
"Hopefully, the Fangs of Napishtim and the Melammu Dingir will still be of use."
A cold wind passed through. His shadow stretched long under the wavering torchlight. Fingertips brushed the magical device drawn by his own hand as the murmured voices, source unknown, slowly faded into silence.
The flock of Wyverns breaching Babylonia's high walls was troublesome, certainly.
But only troublesome.
As long as the defensive lines held, and with Uruk's massive population to draw on, even if it meant piling up bodies, they could still wear down those flying lizards through sheer attrition.
And that Goddess of Demonic Beasts—holed up in the cedar forest and seething with hatred for mankind—there was no way she would waste such a rare opportunity after tearing open a path with her own hands.
No. The real threat still lay outside the city.
The true trial had only just begun.
It wasn't that Gilgamesh was unwilling to intercept the Wyverns. It simply wasn't necessary.
The king was a piece not yet ready to be played.
With his finely honed instinct for human behavior, Merlin had quickly grasped the nature of his new employer.
Though that man was blunt about his desires, he had a strange, almost tsundere reluctance when it came to openly admitting his affection for humanity.
In short, best to respect his pride and not push the point.
So it would be the kindly big brother himself who stepped in to help these curious little lives.
Under the cover of night, a certain old trickster who had just poked at Gilgamesh's pride now raced toward Babylonia's front lines—dealing with the Wyverns he encountered along the way.
...
Meanwhile, Leonidas, barely recovered from a brush with death, was still shaken. His grip on his javelin had grown clammy and stiff.
"Roar!"
The Great Dragon's front claws slammed down on the city wall as it stretched its neck forward. Dozens of pale marks marred its scales, and seven or eight spear-like weapons jutted from the gaps between the armor plates.
The two deepest had pierced its neck, dragging out splotches of blue blood—their sharp tips dangerously close to its heart.
One spear had lodged in its lower jaw, nearly skewering its skull from below.
Naturally, the ones responsible were still scrambling across the top of the wall like a pack of noisy vermin.
The Blue Dragon Bašmu climbed up, enraged, crushing forward as it swept its bat-like wings—bristling with vicious bone spurs—horizontally across the rampart.
"Down!"
Leonidas' pupils shrank sharply as he shouted, commanding the soldiers in their Spartan phalanx to duck and avoid the beast's onslaught.
At the same moment, the descendant of Heracles grabbed a fallen javelin, slid low, slipped between the dragon's claws, and drove the weapon straight into a gap in its broken scales.
"Graaah!"
Another burst of dragon blood sprayed out as the Great Dragon screeched, flapping its wings to retreat from the savage assault.
Leonidas tried to seize the moment and press the attack. But just as he rose and raised his arm, a piercing whistle ripped through the night—the sound of a venomous, snake-like spearhead chain hurtling toward his chest.
"Ana!"
At the last second, two figures vaulted up from within the city wall. Their sharp cry echoed through the blood-soaked night.