Published at 4th of May 2026 7:34 am

Chapter 1712 No Remorse

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The world was drenched in red.

Dozens of barrels containing special oil created by Mikael the Mad exploded

one after another. The chain reaction resulted in an explosion that even Prince Marlow hadn't expected.

Despite being protected by the mana barrier, the shockwaves from the giant explosion caused him and several other Amberfall Magi to stumble on their feet. Strong winds whipped up and tore through the air.

The barrier shuddered violently, but in the end, it still managed to hold. After all, this barrier was directly connected to the one that surrounded the entire city, and was significantly stronger than the one that had recently been broken through by the enemy.

Cracks appeared along the southern walls, and for a long time, crimson filled the vision of every Magus watching the apocalyptic scene unfold.

Marlow subconsciously raised a hand to shield his vision. He squinted and gazed at the scene beyond through the gaps in his fingers. He truly hadn't expected the barrels of oil to light up so fiercely.

So many years had passed since they had been stored in the tunnels beneath the palace. He believed that the effects of the oil would diminish significantly over the centuries. But he had been wrong. Terribly wrong. He had truly underestimated the creator of his oil.

The corners of his lips curled into a menacing little smile, and he said, "Oh, Mikael... you fucking madman!"

He scanned the battlements and noticed that his men were staring at the curtain of red with wide eyes. Their faces were a mixture of awe and terror. Even Kasper, who was standing right next to him, was the same.

With victory within reach, Marlow knew this wasn't the time to get

complacent. He had read about enough kings and generals who got cocky right when they were at the cusp of triumphing over their enemies, only to be defeated and killed.

Marlow was not a fighter like his sister, and he wasn't a spellcaster like his father. He was a student of history, and he had read enough to learn from the mistakes of his predecessors.

So knowing that this was the most crucial point in the battle, he gripped his sword tightly and strangled the feelings of arrogance and vanity blooming in his heart. Instead, he barked out further instructions.

"Stop gaping!" he roared. "Prepare for the next wave! Archers!"

The thousands of Magi snapped back to their senses. Some were puzzled at the need for preparing to strike again, when it was clear that the explosions would have likely dealt with all of the enemies. While others simply obeyed without hesitation.

"I said prepare for the next wave, or I'll have your fuckin' heads!"

At once, the men scrambled to their feet, retrieving spell components to cast spells or simply readying their bows and arrows.

Several moments later, the curtain of red finally dissipated, and normal colors bled back into the world. What Marlow and his men witnessed was a scene of utter ruin.

Over a hundred and twenty ships were destroyed. Masts lay broken, sails burned to ash, and wood and iron splinters were scattered across the water. Corpses filled the sea, drifting between the wreckage, while the surface still burned with fierce crimson flames.

There were many whose body was enguled in red fire. They flailed their arms around wildly and rolled on the surface of the broken ships. But the fire never died. As a last resort, many plunged into the ocean of crimson flames, only to never rise back again.

Scores of men died every minute, all brutally burned to death. However, there were still some who had survived the catastrophic explosion. These were the ones who had prepared defensive spells and artifacts beforehand. They might have survived the explosion, but they were hardly in a state to fight.

Prince Liam Haynam was one of them. He was fortunate enough to survive thanks to many of his defensive artifacts. But the state he was in was ghastly. His armor was destroyed, and his robes scorched. His exposed skin was an ugly map of severe burn marks and fried blood.

He was completely unrecognizable. He used to be a handsome and charming prince of a great empire, but now he was reduced to only half the man he used to be. One of his hands was destroyed from the explosion, and half of his face was burned away.

Yet the fury and vengeance in his eyes blazed fiercer than ever. He quickly scanned his surroundings and noticed hundreds of men still alive - albeit barely. But that didn't matter. As long as they drew breath, he would send them to battle. And he would personally lead them.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto a long row of broken ships that had formed a makeshift bridge to the port. Consumed by bloodlust and anger, he didn't even think of retreat. His pride was far too hurt for that. He had come here with over two hundred ships and twenty thousand men at his command. And now, this was all that was left of his army. How could he retreat? How could he show his face to his father? He could not live with this failure. "Brave warriors of Haynam!" He let out a defiant roar. "Follow me to battle!" With that said, he leaped onto the bridge of broken ships and charged toward the southern wall.

Seeing his blood-stained figure, with one arm missing and a sword in the other, charging fearlessly toward the enemy, many Haynam Magi found courage and followed behind him.

"For the Empire! For the Empire!" they screamed with weapons in hand and charged forward.

But many more could not find the courage after what they'd experienced and survived. Crimson flames were etched into their hearts like a never-ending nightmare. And so... they turned and fled.

Standing atop the southern wall, Prince Marlow felt admiration for the enemies

still charging at the city walls despite what they'd gone through. But that was it. Respect was all he felt. There was no remorse for what he'd done and what he was about to do.

His cold words echoed across the battlement as he ordered his men.

"Fire away"

In the next moment, the sky above the blazing port filled with arrows and

magical spells. In the distance, a dragon's roar cut across the crimson haze.

This grand and bloody battle would come to be known as the Battle of Summer

Sea.

And the bards would sing of it for generations to come.

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