Chapter 612: The Iron Crush
At the northernmost edge of the Aethel Plain—the boundary zone between Aethel and Cattapa—lay the Hono Valley. A scouting unit numbering in the hundreds had bivouacked here, their eyes fixed on the movements of the Empire of Ashen, ever ready to prepare for any threat.
Once loyal to the Thrace Kingdom, they had, months ago, been ennobled as part of Walter Duke’s domain. Now, their allegiance belonged to the famed “Wing of Fadalan.” Still, they wore the Winged Sun Sacred Emblem of Thrace, rode tall warhorses, and gripped long-barreled double-shot firearms—undoubtedly imported from the Empire of Ashen.
In recent years, warfare among the Three Great Kingdoms had grown increasingly fierce. The people of the Feiansuo Continent had come to recognize the advantages of these rifles: long range, devastating power, and remarkably low learning curve. As war raged and chaos spread, more and more individuals turned to greedy Wogin merchants, purchasing weapons from the Empire of Ashen to protect themselves. Firearms had become widespread across Feanso.
Yet these former Fadalan soldiers had no idea that every gold coin in their pockets had flowed into the Claudew Military Industry Group of the Empire of Ashen—funding the research and production of even more advanced, deadly weapons. And soon, those weapons would be turned upon them, becoming their living nightmare.
Piotr McGrath remained the commander of this scouting unit. Years ago, they had nearly clashed with an advance detachment from the Empire of Ashen.
"Men," he said, his voice grave, raising his silver sword and pointing its tip northward. "The situation is growing more tense."
He scanned the horizon. "Since three days ago, wyverns, giant eagles, and some monstrous beast I’ve never seen before have been circling Tahan City. From within the city, a deep, rumbling sound has been echoing—like the growl of some terrible monster. In recent days, even the ground itself has been trembling unnaturally. I have a terrible feeling."
His adjutant, eyes wide with unease, whispered, "Commander… could it be the Emperor? That red dragon?"
Piotr shook his head calmly. "Not yet. The Empire’s heartland—Anzeta Great Wasteland—is far from Northern Aether, separated by mountains and hills. Transporting their entire army and logistical supplies to Tahan City, and completing full war preparations, will take at least another one to two months. By then, the reinforcements Walter Duke has requested will have arrived from across the world: the Angel of Heaven’s Mountain, the Mage Regiment of the Capital of All Arts, and—rumor has it—a Gold Dragon of unimaginable power, hailed as the ‘Dawn Dragon,’ descending upon Colin City."
Piotr gripped his scout silver sword tightly, his gaze fixed southward. His voice was firm, resolute.
"Walter Duke is one of the few noble bloodlines still remembering the glory of Fadalan, still honoring the teachings of the old Emperor. I believe—justice will prevail. Even the mightiest red dragon is alone. He cannot stand against the tide."
"Commander… sir!" The adjutant suddenly snapped his head up, face pale with terror, pointing frantically at the sky.
"What is it?"
Piotr turned sharply, sensing the alarm in his aide’s tone. Then he froze.
Before them, hundreds of wyverns, chimera, and smaller drakes burst from Tahan City’s skies, flapping wildly as they merged into a swirling, dark cloud formation high above. The sky darkened, casting a patchwork of shifting shadows onto the ground below.
"Aaaarrrrrgh!" A cacophony of roars erupted from the sky. The monsters had spotted the scouting unit and began to shriek down at them.
"Amanata!" someone screamed. "They’ve seen us!"
Soldiers scrambled in panic. Some dropped their weapons. Others fumbled with reins.
Piotr vaulted onto his horse, raised his silver sword high, and bellowed, "Retreat! We must carry this warning south!"
His command brought order. The veterans swiftly gathered their gear, mounted their steeds, and galloped across the smooth, open Aethel Plain.
Hooves clattered against the earth in a sharp, rapid rhythm. Piotr led the charge, guiding the formation. But then—tremors shook the ground.
The horses panicked, rearing up, some even lifting their front legs and refusing to move. Riders with poor horsemanship were thrown, and chaos erupted.
"Ah!"
"Help! Stop!"
"Damn it, they’re trampling me!"
Piotr yanked hard on the reins, spinning around. He knew—this tremor was not caused by horses. His mouth opened, his expression frozen in shock. A flicker of despair crossed his eyes as he whispered, "Amanata above… how could this be?"
Then—Boom!
From the distance, the earth erupted. Dust and smoke roared into the sky as colossal iron beasts surged forth from the clouds, their forms forged of steel and fury. They charged forward, crushing everything in their path—rocks, trees, beasts, even small hills—reducing them to rubble without resistance.
The adjutant stared, trembling, as the approaching iron monsters loomed ever larger. "Commander! What… what are these things?"
"Amanata!"
"Cataclysm! This is a mobile cataclysm!"
"Damn it—Tahan City didn’t have these monsters just a few years ago!"
Despite the terror, Piotr forced himself to remain calm. He knew panic would mean annihilation for his men—and doom for all of Northern Aether.
After a brief moment of reflection, he raised his sword, roaring over the thunderous engine noise:
"Full retreat! These are not monsters we can fight! We must flee!"
He gritted his teeth, then bellowed again:
"Afar! Take fifty men and head west! We split up—our mission is to deliver news of the Empire of Ashen’s attack to Walter Duke!"
"Yes, Commander!" The silver-armored officer cracked his whip, spun his mount, and led his elite cavalry into the narrow western valley.
There, their speed would suffer—but so would the iron beasts’ ability to follow. Even if destroyed, Piotr would rather sacrifice this force than let the warning die.
But then—clank, whirr—a steam tank artillery unit pivoted instantly, its thick barrel swinging around. The cannon muzzle locked onto the fleeing cavalry.
Piotr’s blood ran cold. Those cannons… the ones we bought from the Empire…
"Afar! Get out of there!" He screamed, his voice raw, reaching toward the valley.
Too late.
The cavalry had already entered the narrow pass.
Boom!
The cannon roared. A massive recoil shook the ground. A blinding flash erupted from the muzzle, followed by a storm of black smoke.
"No—!"
Piotr charged forward, desperate, as if he could somehow block the cannon with his body. But the shell had already left—screaming through the air in a low arc, slicing through the sky.
Boom!
An explosion rocked the cliffside. Fire erupted. Stone fragments flew like shrapnel. The mountain face collapsed in a thunderous cascade, burying the entire fifty-man unit beneath tons of rock.
"No… no…" Piotr staggered, face ashen, shaking his head. His last hope—his final message bearer—was gone.
Behind him, the iron beasts drew nearer. The stench of hot metal and smoke filled the air. Black smoke and steam blanketed the sky. They didn’t use their cannons. They simply followed—pursuing the cavalry with relentless, mechanical precision.
Their objective was clear: no wasted shells. Just simple, brutal force. Crush the fragile cavalry into dust.
"Help!"
"Commander, save me!"
"Gods above—they’re coming!"
The cries of men and the screams of horses drowned beneath the relentless boom of the engines. Piotr turned, helpless, watching as his loyal subordinates were caught and crushed—men and horses alike—flattened beneath the iron treads.
To the iron beasts, these soldiers were no different than rocks or weeds. Just another obstacle, their blood smeared across the treads.
Piotr’s face was streaked with soot. He stared blankly, muttering, “Is it… true? Is it really true? Has His Majesty Amanata abandoned us?”
Once, as a warrior of superhuman caliber, he had fought demons and devils in the name of Sacred Fadalan. But these iron monsters… they brought a despair he had never known.
He respected Walter Duke. He believed in his vision—restoring Fadalan’s glory, reviving the old Emperor’s legacy. But now… something stirred within him.
Not fear. Not despair.
A dawning realization.
These war machines… they weren’t just weapons. They were a new civilization. A new order. A world utterly unlike the old Fadalan.
Not the past. Not the sacred. But something… new.
“No… no, it can’t be! I won’t allow it! I won’t let my comrades die like this! I won’t run and die in cowardly retreat! This is not the way of a proud Fadalan!”
His face twisted with grim determination. He leapt from his horse, turned, and summoned every ounce of courage to face the oncoming iron beast.
Just as he had done countless times before—his silver sword raised high, pointing forward, challenging the monstrous tank.
He stood like a knight charging a windmill—brave, but absurd.
This was the Empire’s “Great Red Dragon” class steam tank—largest, most oppressive in presence. Fifteen meters long, four meters high. It might as well have been a moving hill.
Boom—
Before the tank even arrived, a storm of sand and dust swept over Piotr like a blade. His face burned. His vision blurred. All he could see was a monstrous shadow descending.
He gripped his sword, lifted it high, leapt nearly five meters into the air, and screamed, "For Sacred Fadalan—!"
He came down in a brutal slash. The silver sword screamed through the air, striking the front armor with superhuman force. The blade sank in—deep into the steel.
"Die, monster!" Piotr roared, wrenching the sword, searching for a weakness. He recognized it—this was a construct, like a steel golem.
But before he could rejoice—crack!—a sudden repulsive force erupted. A field shield flared, slamming him backward with brutal force.
He crashed to the ground, dazed. Before he could rise, the shadow loomed over him. He looked up—only to see the beast’s massive, armored form descending.
"No… no!"
The hundred-ton “Great Red Dragon” tank rolled forward, crushing everything in its path. No matter how Piotr struggled, his strength was futile.
This was not combat. It was annihilation by sheer size and mass—like a mortal trying to wrestle a dragon. His flesh and bones cracked under the pressure.
The crunch of his body breaking was drowned out by the engine’s thunder.
The tank continued its relentless march across the plain. Crushing cavalry? A trivial afterthought.
Even the superhuman warrior Piotr McGrath—though he had left a faint scratch on the tank’s front armor—was nothing more than a fleeting mark. Barely visible without close inspection.
Inside the tank’s cockpit, Steel Tide grinned, his voice triumphant.
"Hahahaha! Driving a tank is awesome! Especially one this monstrous! Eight wheels against four legs—this is pure, unadulterated crushing!"
Then, he paused, glancing at his character sheet.
"...Wait. When did I kill a minor boss?"
> [You have defeated Scout Captain Piotr McGrath (Challenge Rating: 9). Gained 5,000 experience points.]
He blinked. Confused. Then surprised. Almost delighted. Like finding a snack by accident.
This was a Challenge Rating 9 boss—something that, in the last version, would require an entire party to barely survive. And now? Just a lucky bump in the road. Almost didn’t even register.
"Sir," Steel Tide murmured, awed. "The era has changed."
For the scouting unit, it was a disaster on par with an earthquake or tsunami—an absolute catastrophe.
But for the Imperial soldier behind the wheel? Just another routine patrol. A minor nuisance dealt with along the way.
The tanks roared across the vast plain, their true objective clear: the cities of Northern Aether—still unprepared, still unaware.
—
“Kai Xiusu's Secret Treasure” event ongoing. Welcome to join the group.
(End of Chapter)
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