Divine Flame Crystal

Chapter 644: Moonfall Blade

The next morning, the singing began. The voices were lower than ever, like a piece of sunken wood sliding along the riverbed. Ilio led a section of the suture song and suddenly realized something: "We don't sing to make ourselves feel better, but so that someone can catch the next beat. This way, we all become stronger. And once the song is complete, it will quickly feed back into us, increasing our combat power."

"Sometimes this is how things are done. We cannot be blinded by temporary happiness. We must pursue stronger strength and make ourselves a little uncomfortable. After we get through it, we will become happier. We should make a little progress every day and surpass ourselves from yesterday." Xingluo said, looking at the dark crowd below.

This was not considered a pre-war mobilization. Although Xingluo and his men had gained an absolute advantage, the Holy See of Light was not completely destroyed. Instead, it became more resilient and turned from open to covert. He had recently heard that a force of the Holy See of Light was rising rapidly and was very powerful. He was not idle either. While mobilizing troops to go there, he began to talk to everyone about some ideological issues.

Ilio's voice didn't rise as usual, but instead was suppressed, creating a flat ground for the singers in the back row, making it easier for them to complete the entire cycle.

On the evening of the third day, a new gray stele was erected in the center of the square. It was not tall, like a still-polished anvil. Inscribed on it was a simple sentence: "Every time one dies, the others will be more stable." Some frowned, finding it cruel and cold; Cyrus nodded, believing it was the way it should be. After all, it was the truth. They were pioneers, and this road had never been traveled before, fraught with the thorns of death. Death would make it easier for those who came after them to follow this path, increasing their chances of success. The stele simply spoke of an objective truth.

From then on, the Embers considered the day of defeat a day of recuperation. They didn't practice knives on that day, only practicing dark beats and echoes. They ate no meat, only drinking salt water. They didn't talk about victory, only discussing "where the beat fell apart." They viewed failure as a blessing, for it taught them: next time, where you'll need to stand up immediately.

"Seven Fingers Field" south of Shuangling.

The terrain resembled an open hand, with seven shallow trenches radiating outward. The Starfall Alliance formed their battle array in the palm, with a mixed group of French cavalry on each flank. This formation was more than adequate for a conventional charge, but not necessarily for a group of newly empowered Embers.

Cyrus did not want to break the center, but to pull the flanks. He divided the army into three groups:

The Grey Cloaks, commanded by Celine, are responsible for building the Sound Well to make the power of the singing even stronger;

The wick supply team, led by Mara, carried lamps, oil, and salt;

The chorus responsible for consolidating the Colossus, with Valerian himself in charge, is responsible for consolidating the shape and changing the skin.

"We're not competing to see who's faster, we're competing to see who's steadier." Cyrus's final words were addressed only to the other beat directors. "Remember: steady isn't slow; steady is accurate, and the sound is accurate."

The opening prayer was similar to the one at the Willow Crossing, but even shorter. Valerian didn't use a long note, but instead used three short beats to condense the colossus, causing it to appear at an angle. The blade didn't swing horizontally, but slashed vertically, driving it like a nail into the flank of the army.

The French cavalry on the Starfall Alliance's left flank reacted immediately, circling the Colossus's blind spot and attempting an attack. Celine abandoned her original position a step ahead, leading the Gray Cloaks to cut diagonally into the enemy, seizing a gap in their command—a most dangerous moment: she staked everything on the attack, hoping to catch the enemy off guard.

She knew someone would fall.

She even thought of a position for them: to fall next to the lights we had prepared, paving the way for those behind.

Ilio rushed into the second line. Behind him, the two young carvers approached, the light on their chests like a mark carving on their bodies. When the first broken drum beat came from the opposite side, the two men paused for half a breath, "absorbing" the drum vibration into their chests, and then exhaled together in the next breath—returning the drum's chaotic sound.

This was a small episode of the first round of sacrificial assault. Two Scribes fell to the ground on the spot. Celine didn't look back, but just raised her hand and waved: the lamp was lit, Mara's people put the lamp forward, and Echo immediately had a new anchor.

"Go on." Cyrus's voice was like a rusty ruler.

When the giant blade plunged down for the third time, the left wing's beat was truly severed—not from the soldiers themselves, but from the very source of the chain of command. The front row waited for the back row to "join," but the back row couldn't get it; the drummers couldn't find their starting point; the ritual's "breaking illusion" couldn't find its form, because the other side was no longer singing the "form" part, but the "change" part.

"Tear!" Carlon's wooden leg thumped, and the gray-caped team's half-step back from the well-stepping position landed squarely on the opponent's "snap." Reinhardt's Ashfire Slash wasn't a sweeping strike, but a pinpoint strike: the point where the opponent's shoulder was most likely to be engaged. The blade's impact was silent, yet the next strike left the opponent feeling weightless.

A visible collapse appeared on Qizhiye's left flank. The Starfall Alliance's flagship sent a rapid signal, dispatching a magic suppression team from the center to fill the gap. Valerian completed a skinning operation in the center, scattering the colossus's shoulder line into countless thin blades, like a continuous rain of beads, shattering the first order to fill the gap.

"Retreat from the center, seize the left." The coalition forces fighting against the Church of Light waved their flags, and a silver-white flag was hoisted high in the formation. That wasn't just any general's flag; it was the signal for the Starfall camp to mobilize its space displacement team to provide support.

The Space Displacement Team was formed on a whim by Xingluo. The night wind blew, and Xingluo stood with his hands behind his back atop the territory's high tower. In the distance, the fire in the dwarf blacksmith shop was still training. Mo walked out of the shadows and asked softly:

"Do you really want to form such a force? Thirty people, and entrust the fate of the entire legion to them? It's too risky."

Xingluo did not answer immediately, but raised his hand and waved it, causing a circle of tiny ripples in the void, as if the air was being pulled by an invisible thread.

"Do you see it?" He pointed at the almost invisible trace. "This is the breath of space. Most people will never be able to capture it in their lifetime, but those who can capture it... even with a hint of talent, are enough to become my candidate."

Mo frowned. "So you picked hundreds of people from the academy, city-states, and wandering magicians and threw them all into that...horrible trial?"

Xingluo smiled and turned around, his eyes reflecting coldness in the firelight: "Selection, not a treat. I want people who can open their eyes in the void, not show-offs. And they are willing, if there is even a trace of fear, I will let them go. We don't have much time, or rather, humanity's time is running out."

I don’t know how much time passed, in a wasteland.

Thirty survivors formed a circle, their foreheads dripping with sweat. Xingluo stood in the center of them. His voice was not loud, but it exuded an irresistible power:

"Breathing must be synchronized. Heartbeats must be synchronized. You are not thirty people. You must think of yourself as a spatial anchor. If one person makes a mistake, the entire army will be buried in the rift."

A young student gasped for breath from nervousness, and instantly, a chaotic spatial vibration surged through the circle. Everyone was thrown dozens of meters away, falling to the muddy ground, vomiting blood.

Xingluo slowly walked over, squatted down, and patted the young man on the shoulder: "It's better to die in training than on the battlefield. Get up and try again."

The young man was stunned, tears in the corners of his eyes. He was ready to be taught a lesson, but he didn't expect Xingluo to just pat him lightly. He gritted his teeth, quickly stood up again, and joined the team.

The training became increasingly brutal.

Xingluo will suddenly throw them into the Storm Canyon, letting the strong wind cut their spirits like a knife; he will send them into the abyss of the snowfield, forcing them to find their coordinates in the extreme cold; he will even release phantom beasts to hunt them down, to see if they can maintain the unity of the team on the brink of death.

Some are trapped forever in the rift, others suffer mental breakdowns and shattered souls. But those who remain grow stronger and stronger.

Until one day, the thirty of them finally achieved perfect synchronization of breathing, like thirty valves of a heart contracting simultaneously, releasing a steady and majestic spatial ripple. Xingluo watched this scene, a rare flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. "Very good. From today on, you have a name—Moonfall Blades."

A few months later, the Battle of Nightash Plains broke out.