Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 373: War of Annihilation 5

Before the midday sun reached its highest point in the sky, several lightly armored scouts were already galloping towards Holy Thunder City. They carried sophisticated surveying tools on their backs, poisoned daggers tucked into leather sheaths at their waists—they were tasked with searching for enemy outposts and accurately marking them on the map.

Soldiers from the two legions took advantage of this rare moment of rest and recuperation to sit in groups of two or three. Standard water bags were passed around, soaking the brick-hard rations with water. Several young soldiers were slicing dried meat with daggers, making the hard-to-swallow rations at least appear palatable.

Twenty paces from the camp, in the lee of the rocks, Caesars was stirring the ingredients in a frying pan with a short knife. Salamander livers curled into golden waves in the boiling oil, the crackling of fat mingling with the pungent aroma of rosemary. The fat dog named Bread lay beside him like a mountain of flesh, its wet black nose twitching constantly, its dripping saliva leaving dark streaks on the sand.

"Bread, you glutton!" Caesars tapped the canine's wet nose with the back of his knife. "The bacon I stole this morning is still stuck between your teeth."

The fat dog's whimpering suddenly rose an octave, and its short, thick, and powerful tail lashed the ground, raising clouds of dust, as if it was playing some kind of impatient drum beat with its tail.

"Bread! If you whip that damn tail of yours again, the dust will end up in the pot!" Caesars brandished a long-handled spatula and roared at the fat dog lying beside him. "Believe it or not, I'll really cut off your tail and fry it in oil as a snack!"

The fat dog responded with a puff of hot air. Its stubby tail stopped lashing the ground, not out of fear of its master's threat, but out of concern that the dust might spoil the taste of the food. A tail that had once bathed in lava wouldn't care about the temperature of a mere frying pan. Its scarlet eyes stared intently at the sizzling frying pan on the stovetop. Its pink tongue drooped from its mouth, and its glistening saliva formed a small puddle on the ground.

The salamander liver in the frying pan was bubbling with fire elemental energy, a culinary phenomenon unique to high-level magical beasts. Kaesus had to wear leather gloves and constantly duck to avoid the grease that spurted out of the pan like tiny lava. His salamander leather apron was already covered in grease stains, as if it had been attacked by a swarm of angry fire bees.

The fat dog quietly shifted its sturdy frame, and the large magic steel food bowl hidden behind it clanged. This specially forged bowl, forged by a craftsman, was now half-filled with stolen military rations. It also contained five loaves of rye bread, three smoked fish, half a roasted rib, and three sausages scavenged from who knows where, all piled high like a small mountain. All it needed was a slice of fragrant salamander liver to complete its third meal of the day.

Caesars suddenly caught sight of the gleaming food bowl, and nearly dropped the spatula in his hand. "Bread, I remember when you were a kid you could bathe in this bowl! Now even a bowl of it won't fill you up!" He wiped the sweat from his forehead and watched the fat dog easily push the magic steel bowl filled with forty or fifty kilograms of food towards him. "Sooner or later, you're going to bankrupt me..."

The fat dog purred contentedly. He didn't care about the size of his food bowl. In his simple worldview, if one bowl wasn't enough, he could eat from two, and if two wasn't enough, he could eat from three. He ate at least six bowls a day, nearly two hundred pounds of food.

At that moment, Vivian came over like a whirlwind, her cloak leaving a trail of shadow behind her, and the three daggers hanging from her waist jingled with each step. Before Caesars could warn her, she had already drawn her sharpest combat dagger and, with the speed of a cheetah, picked up a piece of liver from the frying pan.

"Wait! Ma'am, the seasoning hasn't been sprinkled yet!" Caesar's exclamation was stuck in his throat.

Vivian took a bite, the scalding food sizzling between her teeth, a wisp of fat escaping from the corner of her mouth. The warrior, who could strangle a white crocodile with her bare hands, simply frowned, her throat rolling twice before swallowing the scalding food. "A bit bland," she commented, reaching for the frying pan again. "Sprinkle some seasoning on me."

Caesars frantically grabbed the bottles and jars nearby. He first sprinkled the piece of liver on the tip of Vivian's knife with snow-white crystal salt, which can enhance the flavor of any food tenfold. Then he shook some pink mineral rock. These salt grains, produced from underground veins, made a slight crackling sound when they came into contact with the food.

"I want the one in the pot, too." Vivian tapped the edge of the pot with the tip of her knife, sending scalding grease splattering everywhere. The fat dog took the opportunity to push the food bowl forward another half foot, only to be gently tapped on the nose by Caesars with a spatula.

"Bread, don't be impatient, add the seasonings one by one!"

As Caesar spoke, he sprinkled some of the powdered fire flower from a bottle into the pot. The moment the red powder touched the food, a cloud of orange smoke erupted from the pot. The fat dog craned his neck, gazing at the salamander liver, which had already begun to take on a perfectly charred brown hue.

Vivian drew another dagger from her waist, gleaming with a cold light. In that split second, the fat dog impatiently extended its front paws, ready to pounce on the sizzling frying pan. Quick-witted and quick-handed, Caesars stepped forward to stop the fat dog and lifted the scalding pan high.

"Stop it, don't overturn the frying pan. I'll distribute the food!"

The fat dog withdrew its claws in frustration, a whimpering sound emanating from its throat. Seeing this, Vivian slowly sheathed her dagger and retrieved an intricately carved silver plate from her storage ring. Caesars then placed the pan back on the hob and carefully measured the salamander's liver with a spatula. He drew his dagger, the blade slicing a silver arc in the sunlight as he precisely divided the food into three equal portions.

Caesars gently placed the first portion onto Vivian's silver plate. The second tinkled as it landed in the fat dog's washbasin-sized bowl. With a flick of his wrist, his dagger deftly stabbed the final portion. Caesars pulled out a still-warm, milk-scented bread. The aroma of wheat and milk mingled with the wind.

He walked to a wooden chair and sat down, gazing at the faint outline of Holy Thunder City in the distance. As he was about to depart, Caesars, making an exception, forgoed his usual wine and quietly poured himself a glass of water. Sunlight filtered through the crystal glass, casting swaying specks of light on the ground. He silently munched on his bread with the water, occasionally glancing up at the fat dog devouring its meal.

Shortly after noon, the legion began to march out, with Caesars riding his fat dog at the forefront. He needed to destroy the sturdy gates of Holy Thunder City. If the legion's soldiers were to attack the city, it would surely be a fierce battle with heavy losses.

"Bread, once we enter Holy Thunder City, let's head straight for the nobles' mansions!" Caesars sat on the fat dog's broad back and patted it vigorously twice. "They've hidden the best bacon and cheese in the cellar, along with barrels of mead. This time, we must fill up our storage rings!"

At the words "grab the food," Bread, who had been lazily wagging his tail, suddenly perked up. His ears, which usually drooped lazily, suddenly perked up, sticking straight up like two small flags. The fat dog's mouth opened wide, revealing jagged fangs, and a cheerful snort emanated from his throat. His four sturdy, short legs suddenly picked up speed, kicking up dust like a wild boar whose tail had been stepped on.

"Bread! Slow down!"

Caught off guard, Caesars was thrown upside down and nearly bit his tongue. He frantically tried to find a foothold on the dog's back, but the fat dog's fur was as short as sandpaper, making it impossible to hold on. In desperation, he could only scramble forward and grab the pair of erect triangular ears.

"You damn greedy dog!" Caesars gritted his teeth, feeling his butt crack. "If you throw me off, I'll skin you alive!" He glanced behind him. The legionaries were already laughing, some even whistling. But the fat dog turned a deaf ear to them. He ran even faster, tongue lolling, his fat body swaying from side to side like a small boat in a storm.

Caesars took out a rough animal hide rope, skillfully wrapped it around the fat hound's neck twice, and tied a slipknot to serve as a bridle. The greedy fat dog didn't care. Its eyes were now only focused on the delicious food in the cellar, and it rushed forward like a mad bull.

The towering outline of Holy Thunder City was already in sight. This strategic military town, located just over twenty miles from White Bone Castle, served as the most crucial supply artery for the Holy Laurent Empire. As the empire's largest logistics hub on the western frontier, it was permanently garrisoned by an elite legion.

Within the towering city walls, dozens of massive granaries stood like iron giants, their stored fodder sufficient to feed hundreds of thousands of troops for an entire year. Even more formidable was the fact that the border nobles entrenched here each maintained a considerable private army, these well-equipped private armies constantly guarding their lords' mansions.

To storm this impregnable military fortress would inevitably encounter unprecedented and desperate resistance. Gazing at the distant city, Caesars recalled the toxic bombs he had dropped during the previous assault on the Bone Castle—the tactic of turning the entire city into a dead zone—would not work here. After all, there were over half a million innocent civilians within Holy Thunder City; their lives could not be harvested like grass.

As the fat dog galloped like the wind, Caesars drew closer and closer to Holy Thunder City. The towering city walls in the distance gradually became clear. Over twenty meters high, the gray-black ramparts were densely packed with powerful crossbows, each one poised for discharge. Even more frightening were the massive structures covered in thick black tarpaulin. Their vague outlines revealed them to be powerful magic cannons, their muzzles seemingly pointed directly in his direction.

When they were still three or four miles from the towering city walls, a low, rapid horn suddenly rang out from within Shenglei City. The sound, like the roar of a wild beast, echoed across the wilderness. Clearly, it wasn't a welcome for the guests from afar, but rather a stern warning. The defenders on the city walls were already in battle formation, their cold weapons gleaming eerily in the sunlight.

"Bread, stop and rest for a while, we have to wait for the army behind us to catch up!"

Caesars shouted at the top of his lungs. He patted the fat dog's thick back hard, and could clearly feel the warmth and trembling under his palm. Bread reluctantly slowed down his pace, and his thick limbs dragged several deep marks on the ground.

Caesars looked back in the direction they had come from. The Roland Empire Legion was no longer visible on the horizon. Those heavily armed soldiers were advancing at a slow pace to conserve their energy.

"Huff huff—"

The fat dog, with its scarlet tongue hanging out and saliva dripping onto the ground, circled around its owner non-stop. It repeatedly bumped Caesars' calves with its fat body, whimpering in grievance, like a naughty child begging for candy.

"Alright, alright!" Caesars spread his hands helplessly. "Bread, if you're not afraid of crossbows, you can go grab some food yourself. I'll give you the empty storage ring first!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the fat dog, the size of a bison, stopped dead in its tracks. Its wrinkled face suddenly relaxed, its mouth twisting dramatically towards its ears, revealing two rows of sharp white fangs. To others, this was a terrifying, bloody maw, but Caesars understood the ingratiating nature of it—it was the fat dog's characteristic "smile."

Caesars pulled out a handful of glittering storage rings from the leather pouch at his waist. He expertly strung them onto the bright red knot around the bread's neck, each ring making a crisp sound as it clashed.

"I know you are not afraid of magic cannons, but don't underestimate those crossbows. Don't let yourself lose this body of dog meat before you get the food. You were raised by Master Caesars with great effort, and this body of dog meat is mine!" Caesars patted the fat dog's meaty neck and said earnestly.

The fat dog's neck tumbled like waves, its thick flesh trembling under my palms. But it couldn't wait any longer. With a kick of its hind legs, it raised a cloud of dust and in the blink of an eye, it turned into a black dot in the distance.

Caesars watched the figure disappear into the distance, shaking his head in frustration. He slowly and methodically retrieved a reclining chair, the small charcoal stove, and the cast iron kettle he'd been using for years. The charcoal fire quickly ignited, and the water in the kettle began to simmer softly. The afternoon sun shone obliquely on his shoulders, and the aroma of tea gradually filled the air. For him, nothing was more important than enjoying a cup of afternoon tea in this chaotic time.

Meanwhile, Fat Dog was approaching Holy Thunder City at an alarming pace. Atop the towering city walls, the defenders were already bracing for battle. With a command, powerful crossbows roared, and specially crafted magic steel arrows pierced the air. These massive arrows, over three meters long, were engraved with intricate magic patterns, and their weight of over twenty kilograms made them potent defensive weapons. Amidst the shrill whistling of the arrows tearing through the air, pale flames suddenly erupted from Fat Dog's body. Its body accelerated sharply, dodging left and right in a strange trajectory, forcing its way through the hail of arrows.

When the fat dog advanced to within a hundred meters of the city gate, the crossbows on the wall ceased their roars—the distance was beyond their angle of attack. The defending archers immediately responded with additional fire, but they had clearly underestimated the beast's speed. With barely enough time to unleash a hail of arrows, the fat dog was reduced to a white afterimage, instantly plunging into the shadows of the city gate.