Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Samael's trip allowed him to gather all the wealth and resources that the Roman Empire had secretly inherited and was able to exploit.

Nobody knows how to operate it or understands the tactics, that's okay, he knows it!

Don't forget, Samael not only copied and implemented Uruk's [Divine Seal Turret], but also faced Atlantis's full suite of advanced technology.

These are all things they've already mastered back in the day.

Unfortunately, due to the precedent set by Atlantis, the Olympian gods left the Romans with little legacy of advanced technology.

Otherwise, there would be no need for the Bronze Colossus Talos, or the True Mech God, which are such abnormal devices that are easy to mess up.

Even if it's the overwhelming self-controlled armaments of the Erkedna Armory, the elusive black ships and giant cannons of the Deep Sea Fleet, or simply mass-producing the power armor of the Olympian Guard!

These items, even just a few of them, would be enough for the Roman legions to easily wipe out the Persian army before them.

Oh well, it's just something I can only dream about.

Technology requires supporting infrastructure. Atlantis sank into the sea to raise fish many years ago.

It would have been virtually impossible for the Roman Empire to replicate such extraordinary magical technology using only its manpower and limited resources.

However, all things considered, Poseidon did do one good thing, preventing the gap between the Roman legions and the Persian army from becoming so vast as to be insurmountable.

Just as Samael was lost in thought, a dense chanting sound came from the Persian army, and beams of light rose up, forming a superimposed magic array that tightly blocked the bombardment of the bronze cannon.

Immediately afterwards, magic carpets rose into the air from the Persian army's ranks, and hundreds of spellcasters, seated cross-legged on them, held magic lamps and chanted divine incantations at high speed, swooping down on the low hill where the bronze magic cannons were set up, like bombers taking off.

Tsk, finally come to your senses and realize the pros and cons of this thing?

Samael watched as the Persian army gradually regained order after the bombardment, patted the cannon barrel, and shook his head helplessly.

Magic cannons that use ether as power and ammunition, in the end, still fall within the realm of mystical systems and can still be defended against by magical barriers.

Its advantages are simply that it saves the time of chanting and constructing magic circles, has a fast firing rate, and its attack range is longer than that of ordinary magic spells, allowing it to catch the opponent off guard by taking advantage of distance.

However, this thing also has obvious drawbacks: it requires human operation, is inconvenient to move, and is easy to become a fixed target.

The other side wasn't stupid either. After getting a beating, they immediately realized what was happening and sent the Persian Empire's signature human air force, which rode on flying carpets, to bombard them.

In this situation, it goes without saying that Pompey, who was very familiar with traditional battlefields, immediately mobilized magicians and priests to confront the Persian spellcasters in the middle lane.

The war has once again entered a stalemate.

Chapter Sixty: Greek hunk X Blue-eyed Persian cat?

"Great King of the Sky, Father of the Gods Jupiter (Zeus), thunder is your scepter, lightning is your roar, and your might is the thunder that pierces through the stars!"

On the hilltop, a group of magicians accompanying the army chanted the name of the chief god, cooperating with the priests to offer up their magical power and perform a large-scale ritual incantation.

Rumble…

The sky was covered with dark clouds, a strong wind was blowing, and dense, continuous bolts of lightning, resembling tree branches, tore through the clouds, with hundreds of dazzling blue-white arcs of light striking outwards.

In the blink of an eye, dozens of Persian spellcasters were pierced by lightning. Before they could even scream, they were reduced to ashes along with the flying carpet.

"Our Lord of Light, Mithras, the Father of Flames, fire is light. With this spirit of fire, we dispel darkness and purify impurity!"

But then, the Persian spellcasters in mid-air also chanted rapidly, raising their divine lamps. The flames spewing from the spouts of the lamps formed a golden film of light that, while burning fiercely, covered the spellcasters' bodies, blocking the bombardment of the lightning arcs. The arcs of electricity and the flames intertwined and flickered.

Zeus versus Mithras? A Greek hunk versus a blue-eyed Persian cat?

The stalemate on both fronts caused Samael, who had no way to intervene, to start to drift off course. As soon as these keywords touched his mind, certain images began to veer off course, and a scene of two men on top of each other appeared.

There was no way around it; it was that old acquaintance who was both friend and foe, who dared to sleep with anyone, regardless of species or gender—truly a fearless and ruthless stud in the world of stallions.

Realizing he had gone off-topic, Samael shuddered and quickly snapped out of the nauseating images in his mind, shifting his attention back to the battlefield.

Previously, due to the frequent battles between the old rivals Persia and Rome, they knew each other almost inside and out, and their spellcasters were basically evenly matched when they fought.

However, the Lupercalia tragedy led to the collapse of the Pantheon, the dissipation of its power, the assassination of dozens of high-ranking magicians and priests, and the fact that the spellcasters who were urgently dispatched to fight on three fronts also caused a significant decline in their skill level.

As the tide turned and the second and third waves of Persian spellcasters took to the skies, the Roman legion's magicians were gradually overwhelmed and their situation became increasingly precarious.

The Roman legions, which Pompey had placed high hopes on and which were to infiltrate the heart of the enemy, were blocked by an army of more than two thousand men dressed in black armor and carrying scimitars and round shields when they approached Darius III's court.

Under the simultaneous, chilling arcs of light, thousands of blades slashed down, the rapidly tearing air currents produced wailing and howling sounds. Where the cold air passed, blood splattered, and a group of Roman soldiers charging into the formation with their shields were cleaved in two by the sharp force.

As the black-clad army withdrew, drops of blood slid from the tips of their scimitars to the ground. In a single engagement, the Roman legion in front lost an entire elite hundred-man squad, while the Persian soldiers opposite suffered only single-digit casualties.

As for the wounded, even if their arms were severed or their abdomens were pierced by arrows, they could still casually press the severed arm against the wound and let the flesh grow back, or pull out the arrow from their abdomen and continue fighting.

The eerie glow of their silver masks and the chilling, emotionless look in their eyes sent shivers down the spines of their opponents.

"Long live Rome! Long live the Empire! Charge!"

With the arrow on the bowstring, the centurions brandished their swords and roared, as tens of thousands of soldiers charged forward.

Swing the sword, slash...

Swing the sword, slash...

Swing the sword, slash...

The Persian soldiers, clad in black armor, moved like emotionless machines, mechanically and precisely repeating these monotonous yet practical actions.

The continuous flashes of sword light, like layers of piled-up ocean waves, gave the seemingly flimsy defensive line a chilling, eerie blue hue.

One by one, the Roman soldiers who crashed into it were mercilessly struck down with their spears, cleaved through their swords and shields, and torn apart.

Even though the Roman legions were of higher quality than the regular Persian army, a single hundred-man squad could still overpower a Persian army of over a thousand.

But in the face of the black phantoms before them, the gap between them and these monsters became an insurmountable chasm. It often took nearly ten elite soldiers to barely take down one of the black-armored warriors.

Soon, the front lines between the two armies resembled a slaughterhouse, littered with severed limbs and scattered organs, and casualties on both sides surged.

Despite repeated assaults by the Roman legions, these black monsters, riddled with wounds, severed limbs, and disemboweled, stubbornly held their line, withstanding the enemy's penetration and division.

It's those damned undying soldiers again!

On the hilltop, Pompey watched the black phantoms that had retreated from the fortress to reinforce the city, which had blocked the advance of his own army. His expression was uncertain, and he cursed under his breath.

The opportunity has been lost; we cannot afford to delay any longer!

Pompey waved his hand dejectedly, signaling his troops to retreat. His eyes were filled with resentment, but he was also helpless.

If it were just these spineless Persian soldiers, even if tens of thousands more came, they would only be lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

But on earth where the Age of Gods had not yet completely faded, the gap between mortals and heroes was difficult to bridge with numbers. A mere two thousand retreating immortals held off tens of thousands of Roman soldiers.

And there are at least seven or eight thousand of these monsters in the city!

Once the remnants of the Tenth Legion are slaughtered, or more than half of the Undead complete their retreat, this legion, deep in the heart of the Persian army, will have no way to leave!

“Woo—woo!”

As the mournful sound of horns rang out, the Roman legions, having received their orders, assembled, formed shields, and retreated in an orderly fashion.

Want to leave? Not so easy!

As time went on, the Persian army's previously breached flanks were regrouped under the leadership of the old general Monon.

After stabilizing the royal court, the old general Monnon saw that the Roman legions were showing signs of retreating. He sneered and, together with the main force, flanked them from both sides, intending to surround and devour the intruding Roman legions.

At this moment, Pompey, who was on the hill, saw this and couldn't help but laugh in anger, coldly waving his hand.

As orders were relayed, a cloud of dust rose high, and two Roman cavalry units, each several thousand strong, charged out from behind the hills like two scimitars, piercing the Persian army's flanks with lightning speed. The Persian soldiers, who had just completed their assembly and maneuver, were overwhelmed and their horses were thrown to the ground before they could even turn around, their cries of agony filling the air.

The Roman legions were not just infantry!

A normally organized legion has a full complement of light cavalry to serve as vanguards and scouts, legionary cavalry to protect the flanks of the legion, and imperial guard cavalry to guard the command post.

Even with the Roman legions' century-old elite force, they couldn't defeat the Immortals, let alone deal with you Persian regular troops who are only fit to cheer from behind.

Pompey gave a sinister sneer, his expression arrogant.

"kill!"

Meanwhile, the centurions, frustrated by their defeat at the hands of the Immortals and seening their cavalry break through the Persian formation, immediately drew their swords and roared. They led their various detachments, skillfully splitting and flanking the fleeing soldiers, like perfectly coordinated killing machines, cutting down and slaughtering those who stood in their way.

A bunch of useless trash! Can't be helped!

When the old Persian general Monon saw his newly assembled Persian regular army scattering and fleeing like headless flies, his face twitched violently. He wished he could grab these bastards one by one and hang them. A strong sense of powerlessness welled up in his heart, and he could only watch helplessly as the Romans slaughtered a group of Persian soldiers and swaggered out of the encirclement.

Chapter 61 You tacticians are all cunning (1/4)

It's almost time.

As Samael listened intently, the shouts and clashes of weapons within the ruined fortress gradually subsided. He could see the Undead Army withdrawing from the chaos and returning to reinforce the Persian army. His eyes gleamed with a sinister light as he murmured to himself.

hum!

Immediately, the ancient serpent summoned the Spear of Creation. The spear's end struck the ground, and the crimson light, amplified by divine power, spread outwards in all directions like countless mycelium. A crimson magic array, stretching for thousands of meters, took shape in the sky.

Under this onslaught, the Persian spellcasters riding flying carpets in the sky were all trapped in a quagmire. The golden-red flames covering their bodies gradually flickered and shattered, and dozens of them were blasted apart by the lightning in a moment of carelessness.

Conversely, the Roman magicians and priests accompanying the army were as if they had been injected with adrenaline, feeling the surrounding ether concentration rise sharply and their activity level increase rapidly.

When inspiration strikes, they can effortlessly chant obscure and difficult divine words at high speed, and their resonance with magic is significantly enhanced.

"The magician chanted one to three short verses of divine incantation, divided into three levels, and fired the spell bullets in turn!"

Mars blesses you! The priest prepares the suppression incantation, chants the exorcism prayer, archers line up at a 75-degree angle, javelin throwers prepare their stance, begin the air cleansing!

Samael, holding the gun of nation-building, coldly issued his orders.

Under the magicians' swift counterattack, the Persian spellcasters, though not knocked down on the spot, were unable to concentrate on chanting their spells and could only dodge left and right, becoming quite disheveled.

At the same time, the crimson mist surrounding the low hill surged into the soldiers' pores, thereby enhancing their mental activity, muscle strength, and magic circulation speed. The battle intent that had accumulated to the extreme within them, which could not be released, formed a crimson smoke that soared straight into the sky.

As the Roman legions who had been stationed nearby as guards methodically lowered their shields, the priests and priests' chanting, which suppressed their violent and murderous aura, was drawing to a close.

Tsk tsk tsk!

Sharp, piercing sounds rang out in waves as the soldiers, their weapons gleaming with ghostly light and adorned with prayer inscriptions, mercilessly attacked the Persian spellcasters suspended in mid-air.

In an instant, spears flew in like walls and forests, sweeping across and covering everything. Arrows rained down, penetrating every crevice. One by one, the high-ranking spellcasters were pierced through the faint protective flames diverted from the divine lamps, becoming like hedgehogs. They fell miserably from mid-air, crashing to the ground and turning into piles of fleshy pulp.

After just three waves of attacks, nearly 20% of the thousands of precious Persian spellcasters were wiped out. The rest were terrified and hurriedly boarded flying carpets, trying to escape this deadly forbidden land that was baring its fangs.

However, the crimson magic traps covering the sky greatly weakened their strength, and with their sense of direction lost, it was even more difficult for them to break free from these blood mists that clung to them like maggots.

Samael raised his head slightly, looking at the Persian spellcasters who were bumping around like headless flies in the blood-red sky, a hint of mockery appearing in his eyes.

The advantages and disadvantages of the Bronze Magic Cannon are obvious to anyone who has just seen it, so how could I not know?

Magicians dare to swagger in without any support units to cover them? Do you really think you're some kind of invincible warrior?

The superiority of your military forces has made you completely lose your heads!

Did they really think we were just standing there watching the show while the Undead were in the city?

A bunch of arrogant idiots!

As for why I've kept you here until now...

Ha, if it weren't for you noble mages standing in the way, the Meteor Legion might have had to unleash a barrage of fire to cleanse the ground again.

Such a good enemy meat shield should definitely be thrown away during the final retreat.

Besides, we couldn't go back empty-handed since we hadn't broken through the Persian camp. We were just killing time anyway, so why not take advantage of the situation and teach you a lesson?

The ancient serpent grinned maliciously as it watched the Persian spellcasters flee in disarray, leaving behind corpses.

If you want to leave, this little bit of flesh isn't enough.

I'm going to die, I'm going to die!

At this moment, Scheherazade, trapped in the crimson sky, saw the situation worsening and his eyes widened in terror. He hurriedly threw a golden sheet of paper from his bosom, bit his finger, and wrote furiously on it.

"puff!"

Instantly, the golden pages ignited without wind amidst flashes of light, coalescing into a dazzling golden-red fireball, which then dispersed into several streams of flame that swept in all directions.

The crimson mist burned violently, like spider silk caught in a flame, emitting the screeching sounds of rats, and the rich color gradually thinned out.

A Persian sorcerer with the most outstanding mastery of esoteric arts noticed that the binding force of this blood-red sky had greatly weakened. He immediately poured magic into the flying carpet, leaving his many colleagues behind, and rushed out of the area first.

Under the leadership's command, the Persian spellcasters, whose numbers had exceeded 30% in a short period of time, scattered like birds and beasts.

Several hotheads who, seeing the blood mist dissipate, assumed the advantage was in their favor and turned to fight, along with those unlucky kids who were slow to react, were immediately left behind and became targets of spell bullets, javelins, and arrows. They were quickly overwhelmed by wave after wave of attacks.

Flame of Destiny!

At this moment, Samael, who was secretly watching the Crimson Sky in the army, stared intently with a look of considerable apprehension. The hand that was resting on the Spear of Founding the Nation quietly lowered, and he turned to give Pompey a wink.