Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 117: [Throne War: Parallax Protocol 8] Backline Blitz

Chapter 117: [Throne War: Parallax Protocol 8] Backline Blitz

The moment Raven logged in, he knew something was different.

No courtyard. No regrouping.

He spawned directly inside the heart of the inner sanctum—shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of players. Shields were already raised. Mages were mid-chant. Archers nocked arrows in taut silence. There was no room to move. No margin to think.

The defense line had shifted.

The battle was no longer scattered across Emberwatch. Now it was here. Right at the sanctum gates.

Fold pressure had intensified overnight. A second wave had broken through the northern corridor hours before Raven arrived. Since then, every defender had been pulled inward. Every corridor closed. Every fallback point erased.

This was the line.

Duskrunner appeared beside him in a shimmer of smoke, tail low, muscles tense. "Tight as a dungeon gate," it muttered. Raven didn’t answer. His focus was forward.

The Fold weren’t visible yet—but they could be heard.

The rumble of their war chants grew louder with every second. Marching feet, clanging steel, roars building in tempo. The sanctum door trembled from the pressure outside. Casters channeled their sigils. Ballista teams braced.

Then the breach burst open.

Fold warriors flooded through like a crashing tide—organized, shielded, relentless. Shocktroopers pushed first, brutes with tower shields. Behind them came the robed hexbinders, lobbing silence bombs into caster lines. The defenders held.

Barely.

The architecture of the inner sanctum made defense more difficult than expected. A colossal domed chamber with towering pillars created strange line-of-sight angles and obstructed quick movement. The outer gate led to an open field connecting to the inner city. Many defenders were confused, unsure where to position.

Several guild leaders shouted over comms to establish order:

"Cinderwall, form up around Pillar Six and Seven—create a V with casters at the rear!"

"Midnight Quill, pull your rogues to the flank, keep them cloaked and rotating—watch the hexbinders!"

"Shatterhelm, double-shield wall at the eastern arch! No gaps this time!"

Raven’s voice cut through it all, calm and commanding: "Build ballistas on the outer path—four directions, facing outward from the inner sanctum toward the city. We’re close to the spawnpoint—use that advantage."

He sprinted past the lines, breaking into the open field just outside the sanctum’s gate. With practiced speed, he placed the first ballista, facing the most direct route from the city breach.

"This is the killbox!" he shouted back. "Shoot them as they cross! Be ready!"

A deafening boom shook the earth.

All heads snapped toward the reinforced inner sanctum gate. Dust drifted down from the high domed ceiling. The next sound wasn’t steel—it was voices.

"MERIDIAN! MERIDIAN! MERIDIAN!"

The chant echoed from outside the walls, a thunderous rhythm that grew louder with each second.

BOOM.

It’s getting louder, closer. Metal groaned under pressure.

Duskrunner bristled. "They’re ramming the gate."

The defenders tensed. Every archer drew their bowstrings tighter. Every caster’s chant wavered for half a breath.

Raven’s eyes narrowed. "They’re coming in hard. Get ready."

With one final, bone-rattling crash, the reinforced metal gate gave way.

The doors didn’t swing open—they detonated outward in a shriek of steel and shrapnel.

"FIRE!" someone shouted. No one knew who it was, but the voice ripped through the sanctum like thunder.

In that instant, the sky ignited.

Fireballs arced like meteors. Ice shards glinted and screamed. And arrows—hundreds of them—whistled through the air.

A storm of death met the invaders at the threshold. Fold warriors, surging with war cries, were shredded in the choke. Some never made it past the rubble. Others collapsed mid-step, pierced, frozen, or burned alive.

Among the rain of death, Raven turned around, eyes scanning for defenders with a specific look in their stance—calm under pressure, commanding amid chaos. One figure stood out.

A player barking orders, managing his group with ruthless efficiency. A bastard sword strapped to his back. Berserker. Krant_SB.

Raven approached fast. "I have a plan to push them back."

Krant turned, sizing him up. "Oh really now? I don’t see you have any group. Why should I listen to solo player?"

Raven dismissed the adrenaline-laced jab. "I’m looking for someone not afraid to die."

He pointed up—toward the stairs leading to the top of the gate wall. "We circle around. Hit their backline. That’s where the glass builds positioned, on their backline. Mages, archers, damage dealers. If we crack them, the tanks in front will collapse easier because we will pinched them. But I can’t do it alone. And we’re running out of time—those high-speed units will breach soon and this kill box will be —"

Before Raven could finish, Krant barked to his team, "Leave your ballistas. We’re going to have a party!"

He clapped Raven hard on the shoulder and shoved him forward. "Lead us, you crazy bastard. That sounds like fun."

Raven chuckled and barked into comms, "Follow me!"

He lunged forward up the stairs without hesitation, not bothering to look back. He didn’t have to.

The sanctum defenders had turned the gate into a death trap.

At that moment, a shimmer of light blinked into the left flank.

System Message: [Sponsored Party ’Parallax Vanguard’ has joined the defense of Emberwatch.]

Parallax_Claude. Parallax_Mira. Parallax_Gunmetal. Parallax_Zero. Parallax_Devlyn.

They didn’t pose. They didn’t talk. They fell into position like they’d been there the whole time.

Claude reinforced the left line.

Mira set up a barrier wall of healing wards.

Gunmetal joined the shieldwall, dragging Fold spearmen back with grapples.

Zero sniped behind the statues with machine-like aim.

Devlyn laid traps that caught three Fold scouts flanking wide.

The killbox was effective.

Then came the move that would soon be remembered as one of the most iconic maneuvers in this season of Throne Wars.

Behind the Fold’s front—far beyond the chaos at the sanctum gate—a small strike team dropped from the high inner walls.

They didn’t descend. They plummeted.

One by one, they crashed into the stone streets below, legs buckling but standing fast. Green healing sigils erupted instantly beneath their feet—area casts from support casters waiting below.

"IGNORE THE TANKS! BACKLINE ONLY!" a voice shouted.

The speaker rode a massive black wolf. Twin dwarven daggers glinted in each hand. His face was obscured beneath a battle-worn hood, cloak trailing smoke. He didn’t wait—he carved forward.

Behind him, the others followed like a wave of precision.

One frail female mage in the middle of formation, ran forward, following the path the wolf rider has opened. On the flank of the mage, tanks, fighters, and a beserker protect her.

From the top of the wall, allied archers and mages provided cover fire, raining chaos down on Fold defenders stationed at the flanks. The Fold soldiers split attention, confused, hesitant—some turned to address the high-ground threat, exposing their backs.

The mages and shooters on the wall returned fire, didn’t even bother to dodge. They keep firing damage to the enemy below, protect the team that going forward.

That was all the strike team needed.

The wolf-rider and his group reached the Fold’s backline. In seconds, enemy mages and archers were gutted, burned, and scattered. Fire walls crumbled. Support links severed.

The Fold frontline faltered.

They wouldn’t last long. But they didn’t need to.

In that small window, they’d shattered the Fold’s cohesion—and lit the battlefield with chaos.

The hooded rider dismounted from his wolf, grabbed the frail fire mage, and lifted her onto the beast’s back. She rode straight into the heart of the Fold’s backline—then unleashed her final spell.

With a scream and a rising flame, she detonated herself in a massive self-sacrificial blast, taking out nearly half of the Fold’s backline in a single devastating strike. It was one of the most powerful fire spells in the game: Vengeance Hell—a wide-range AoE attack that required the mage to sacrifice themselves for maximum damage.

A skill often despised by PvE players—what’s the point of sacrificing your life so far from the spawn point, with no guarantee of taking down a high-level enemy?

But not here. The Fold soldiers weren’t high-level. The spawn point was close. Mages and archers from the wall quickly returned to formation, and even the frail fire mage who’d just sacrificed herself had already respawned inside the inner sanctum—and rejoined the defense line led by NessaBlight in moments.

This was it. The momentum they needed

The small group of melee fighter in the middle, with that mysterious player with hood, the fast combo beserker, accompany with close range combatant, wreak havoc on the backline, kill the mages and archers one by one, isolated the Fold’s tank in front.

Now it was counter-pressure.

NessaBlight shouted over zone chat, "FOR GLORY! PUSH FOR YOUR LIFE!"

A wave of blades surged forward.

Krant_SB keeps on kept swinging his sword, laughing like a madman. "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! BURN THEM OUT!"

The defenders pushed.

The Fold line began to bend.

By sunset, Emberwatch’s inner sanctum stood clean.

By moonrise, the Fold had been pushed to the breach.

System Update: [Inner Sanctum Secured | Fold Army Routed]

The players didn’t cheer.

They exhaled.

One more day survived.