Above The Sky
Chapter 73 - 73 70 Intertwined

73: Chapter 70 Intertwined 73: Chapter 70 Intertwined At the edge of the horizon, a pure white column of smoke shot up into the sky.

The rain clouds reversed like mountains, covering the heavens, spreading out in all directions.

Dark purple lightning flooded between the clouds, while deep in the waves a golden-red light tumbled, the two colors intertwining mid-air, making the forming storm in the distance seem like a vessel for both flames and thunder, with torrential hot rain now falling across the southern coastal region of Bison.

And within the city before him, the pitch-black explosion’s dust dispersed with the gusting wind, allowing even Ian, who was situated on the eastern coastal streets, to catch a whiff of gunpowder.

“…It seems the real target is over there.”

After a brief moment of shock, Ian quickly regained his composure.

The natives’ target was the Viscount’s Mansion, which wasn’t hard to understand; whether they aimed to strike at Viscount Grant’s prestige, saving face, or to steal treasures and resources, it all made perfect sense.

After all, the Viscount’s Mansion was the only place in Harrison Port where Ian could see the purple mist!

But the defenses of the Viscount’s Mansion were also stringent.

He and Elder Prude had taken note of the layout when they visited, and although it appeared to be just an ordinary noble’s residence, it was actually very well suited for defense and solidly built.

Even though Viscount Grant himself was still leading troops at the frontline, the natives would find it very difficult to take down the mansion.

Don’t be fooled by the earlier explosion, which seemed terrifying; at most, it might have collapsed just a section of the outer wall.

It would be impossible to destroy that small castle, completely made of solid stones.

“We need to reassess the natives’ resolve.”

Shaking his head, Ian noticed the wind around him growing stronger, carts on the street now uncontrollably rolling, and all sorts of stones and wooden debris swirling through the air.

Although the great storm had turned to the south, its aftermath would soon sweep across the entire Harrison Port.

“First, I’ll go home.” He made his decision.

At the same moment.

“They’ve started.”

Harrison Port, on the northeastern side of the city.

This was where Ossenna and Ian once resided, and also the area that hadn’t been fully repaired after the great storm eight years ago.

The streets were flanked not just by ruins from past storms, but now by the wreckage of a recent fire as well.

Inside a seemingly half-destroyed house, whose interior structure had been reinforced, the red-haired Mercenary Leader set down the tattered remains of a Native Hunter’s corpse.

He spoke calmly to his fully armed and armored subordinates, wearing light armor on either side, “It’s the same as the information we previously interrogated out of them, these natives will attack the Viscount’s Mansion during the great storm.”

The Mercenary Leader, Lubeck, had dark skin and was slightly sickly in his thinness.

His pair of green eyes, however, always emanated a ruthless and indifferent cruelty, and his strength and behavior matched everyone’s stereotype—he was an extremely dangerous and bloodthirsty man.

The fresh blood dripping from his hands, along with the mutilated corpse of the Elite Hunter, was clear evidence of this.

But to these subordinates who had fought side by side with him over the years, Lubeck’s tone was quite peaceful, “Today is a rare opportunity, you guys go to the Viscount’s Mansion to help that old man defend his garden, don’t follow me.”

“As long as you hold off those Redwood People, Lord Grant will give you enough rewards to settle down in Harrison Port comfortably.”

The fully armed mercenaries, who had been aware of the planned native assault for several days, looked at each other, and one braver individual couldn’t help but speak up, “Boss, what about you?”

“Where are you going?”

The red-haired mercenary didn’t immediately respond to his subordinate’s question.

He seemed en trance d as he stared at the distant storm at sea and the wisp of dissipating black smoke in the city center.

After a while, he calmly said, “It’s none of your business.”

The man’s green eyes fixed on the dimly lit street in the storm, and he murmured to himself, “What follows, is personal business.”

“What could that Grant guy possibly have in his hands?”

In the city center, only a few streets away from the Viscount’s Mansion, inside the commerce guild headquarters.

The Guild Master, Imur, stood beside a window, revealing only half of his head as he cautiously observed the surroundings, “The entire Great Redwood Forest tribes have poured out—drawing a Wind Totem requires a cup of Wing-tailed Monkey blood, and to draw several dozens at once in a short period, they must have killed at least seven or eight to make it possible.”

He lamented, “Such a waste!”

The other guards standing at the window, holding crossbows on alert, exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders.

They were accustomed to their superior lamenting over things that weren’t his own.

The balding, well-rounded middle-aged man was holding a bulky alchemical firearm which looked like a metallic cylinder with a handle, as thick as a man’s arm, and even had a slowly rotating base at the bottom, engraved with complex inscription circuits.

The alchemical firearm was massively powerful, one shot able to collapse a stone wall, and it wasn’t an overstatement to call it a small cannon.

But unlike cannons with sufficient power supply components, it was difficult to fuel, had inadequate endurance, and could not be fired continuously.

Even though the City of Knowledge had already developed simple gunpowder firearms and cannonballs capable of dozens of consecutive shots, and small revolvers were particularly favored by the elderly and noble maidens, with the physique of all creatures on the Terra Continent, mere gunpowder as a propellant had too little killing power.

If one wished to hunt Behemoths or Magical Beasts, alchemical modules would be required to charge the bullets to cause significant damage.

“Forget it, probably just some good stuff old Grant snatched from the natives back in the day…”

After mulling over it for a long time, Imur still couldn’t figure out what treasure Viscount Grant might possess to cause such an uproar among the Redwood Natives.

He shook his head, “We just need to protect our own turf—that’s an excellent achievement, protecting the trading company from losses amidst a massive invasion by the Southern Ridge Natives.

Fellas, our promotion and annual bonus this year depend on this battle!”

“Oh!”

Upon hearing ‘annual bonus,’ all the guards immediately let out cheers in unison.

But the atmosphere was different on the side of the trading company.

Elsewhere, in the city center, Viscount’s Mansion, the situation was far more critical.

“Fall back, get inside, upstairs!”

At the location of the outer wall of the Viscount’s Mansion, which had already been blown open by explosives, Fiscal Officer Lamar was currently loudly barking orders, directing the now disorganized guards to retreat into the house to hold their position.

A hunter dashed forward swiftly, seeking to decapitate him, but the delicate-looking red-haired official’s gaze sharpened.

Wielding a longsword, he initiated a horizontal slash.

At the cost of his right shoulder being wounded by a poisoned blade, he cut the attacker in half at the waist.

Instantaneously, fresh blood mixed with the foul smell of viscera spilled all over him, while Lamar spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and fell back.

As he retreated, he saw several hunters who had initially intended to join forces in attacking him, or at least pursue and attack him as he withdrew, being driven back by the crossbow bolts fired in unison by the guards behind him.

“Well done!”

Once inside the Viscount’s Mansion, his face showed a tinge of pleasure as he praised the tense-faced guards: “Don’t worry, the Viscount’s Mansion was originally designed like a small castle.

The outer walls and load-bearing columns are all supported by inscriptions.

The natives don’t have enough explosives to break through here.”

Although he had just killed a hunter swiftly and decisively, Lamar’s physique was rather slender compared to the tall, burly guards around him, which made him appear even more delicate.

His soft red hair was soaked in blood and draped limply over his shoulders.

If it weren’t for the murderous look in those crimson eyes, he would seem almost like a delicate beauty, which is why the natives had aimed to behead this seemingly weak commander.

“First we need to stop the bleeding for the official!”

The guards were all very familiar with the Fiscal Officer.

Seeing Lamar’s wounded shoulder, they hurried to search for a bandage to stop the bleeding.

But the red-haired beauty shook his head: “No need.

Have you forgotten I am one of the Crimson People?”

He turned to look at his injured shoulder.

For some reason, the place that was clearly wounded just a moment ago had already healed over, leaving only a purple bruise where the poison had seeped in, causing a blood blister.

“Purple Thorn Necrosis?”

Lamar frowned, pulled a small knife from his waist, and cut open the shoulder blister, allowing the putrid, festering, poisonous blood to flow out—then, visibly to the naked eye, the cut began to close rapidly, healing until it returned to its original state within a few breaths.

Without even a hint of a scar.

The surrounding guards gasped in awe—the Purple Thorn poison could corrode the blood and muscles of ordinary people, leaving terrifying scars even after healing, making a complete recovery nearly impossible.

Many of the guards who had fought with elite natives had been forced to retire because of this poison.

Although they could still lead normal lives, they had lost their ability to fight.

But this was the regenerative power of the Crimson People.

Chalk, Crimson, Iron, Gold.

These are the four major races without distinguishing physical features, but each has its unique innate potential.

The Chalk People excel in Spirit Energy; the Crimson People have strong regenerative abilities; the Iron Folk are physically robust; and the Golden Folk are extremely adaptable.

Theoretically, despite being referred to condescendingly as ‘natives’ in the Redwood Forest, the Redwood People are simply the Golden Folk who have fully adapted to the jungle environment.

Scholars have conducted experiments taking a group of jungle natives to live in the plains inland.

Without intermarrying or mixing blood, after just three generations, the descendants of the ‘natives’ would become extremely similar to the ordinary plains people, and the differences would be indistinguishable.

Similarly, the Mountain People and the Descendants of the Sea are essentially either the Golden Folk or a portion of the Iron Folk—the Iron and Golden Folk are what’s commonly referred to as ‘ordinary humans’ in the Terra World.

However, even among the Crimson People, Lamar’s regenerative and detoxifying speed was somewhat extraordinary.

“Continue to the upper floors.

It will still take some time for Lord Viscount to rush back.

You go to the second-floor balcony, you and you, follow me.

We’re setting up our defenses on the top floor.

We must defend the mansion at all costs.”

After treating his wound, Lamar continued to command.

Most of the guards followed his directions, but those assigned to the second-floor balcony seemed troubled: “There are Lord Viscount’s favorite flowers on the balcony…

as well as the Sublimation Plants…”

“Don’t worry about it, I planted them,” said Lamar without hesitation.

“At all costs.

Do you understand?

Step on them if you must.

If you think eating a few Calming Herbs will help you hold the line, then by all means eat them.”

Without further ado, he led the team up to the top floor.

Lamar took the telescope from the hands of another guard.

The wind and rain were torrential, and had they not been clad in iron armor, they would have likely been blown away long ago.

The distance was blurred, but they could still somehow make out the situation around the nearby streets.

“Have all the surrounding towers been taken down?”

Seeing that the lights on the surrounding towers had dimmed, the red-haired Fiscal Officer couldn’t help but knit his brows.

Although he had expected this, he was surprised by the natives’ exaggerated actions, even using Crystal Sand Gunpowder: “Those people, I’ve told them countless times not to smuggle strategic materials.

Next time I catch them, they’re all going to be hanged!”

He had made the right decision, but now was not the time to think about future execution lists—through the telescope, amidst the howling wind and storm, more figures in straw coats appeared on the rooftops of surrounding buildings, standing opposite them across the ferocious wind and rain.

Meanwhile.

Viscount Grant, clad in armor outside the city, stared dumbfounded toward the southern sea: “A storm?”

“At this time?!”