Chapter 701: Field Warfare and the Holy Guard
“Full speed ahead!”
“For the Ember Empire!”
“In ten days, we shall storm August—annihilate the Thrace Kingdom!”
The soldiers of the Empire of Ashen raised their voices in unison, singing a fierce war hymn as they marched across the vast plains of Thrace. At their flanks, steam tanks and armored vehicles roared forward. Above them, the sky was choked with the silhouettes of an endless airship fleet.
The Military Staff Department had already devised a comprehensive tactical plan. The Imperial forces were divided into two wings:
The Eastern Front, commanded by Duke Drol, comprised six armored divisions, two air divisions, and twelve mechanized infantry divisions—some 230,000 strong. They would cross the Farell Mountains and launch a direct assault from the east.
The Western Front, led by Duke Arturo, included eight armored divisions, three air divisions, and nine mechanized infantry divisions—totaling 270,000 troops. They would ford the Hermode River and drive deep into the western plains of Thrace.
Both fronts were under the overarching command of a Duke who had ascended through battlefield glory, a veteran whose battle merits were legendary.
Duke Drol was renowned for multi-domain coordinated combat. During the conquest of the High Mountain Kingdom, he pioneered the “Three-Dimensional Canyon Tactics,” seamlessly integrating air strikes with special operations units. His forces once achieved a staggering 23-to-1 kill ratio, decimating the Dwarf City Defense Force with minimal losses.
Duke Arturo, meanwhile, was famed for his Armor Blitzkrieg doctrine. At the Battle of Northern Aether, he set a record of 80 kilometers per day in advance. His strength lay in a precision fuel logistics system that sustained high-intensity offensives for up to two weeks.
By launching coordinated attacks from both flanks, the Empire forced the enemy to stretch their front lines, forcing them to fight on two fronts simultaneously.
From a strategic map, the Imperial offensive resembled the pincers of a colossal crab—ferociously clamping down on the enemy’s throat, the City of Dawn, August.
And with the Empire’s army boasting near-total mechanization, their speed far outpaced any conventional army. The Thraceans were caught off guard, scrambling to respond.
Meanwhile, the Dragonfly Legion was raining down explosive barrages upon every major city in the Thrace Kingdom, instilling terror in their hearts.
Beyond the official ranks, millions of players had accepted Kai Xiusu’s newly issued [War Mission: Conquer Thrace]. They flooded into the region in droves, operating outside the Empire’s formal structure, launching indiscriminate assaults.
After consuming countless gold coins, the Empire’s military had undergone a cross-era transformation. It now dwarfed the capabilities of any known enemy—far beyond even the Three Great Kingdoms.
“Boom!”
Artillery tore open the sky, tearing through the morning mist and sending debris and dust spiraling into the air. The pale fog of dawn turned crimson.
The Imperial artillery clusters unleashed a relentless volley—walls of thunderbolts roaring across the battlefield. Three hundred self-propelled cannons, their barrels lifted by hydraulic systems, rose like the fangs of mechanical beasts.
On the distant frontline, Thrace’s defenders suffered catastrophic losses. Limbs, charred and blackened, flew through the air.
Kain Evon, a noble officer of the Thrace Kingdom, seized the artillery commander by the collar, yanking him up and screaming into his face amidst the deafening roar of battle. His wild eyes and spittle-flecked rage were terrifying.
“Where is our artillery?! His Majesty Wilhelm bought you two hundred heavy cannons! Did you pocket them all?! Fire back! Do it now!”
The artillery commander stammered, pale with fear:
“Sir, the range is too great—we can’t hit them! If we fire, our positions will be exposed! The consequences—”
“Damn coward!”
Kain hurled him to the ground, leveling a rifle at his head. “The cannons we bought were the most advanced in the realm! Why can’t you use them?! Fire! You’re a coward, a spineless wretch! I’ll kill you myself before I let you command!”
The commander, trembling, could only whisper, “Yes… yes, sir.”
Under orders, the Thrace artillery turned their crude, outdated heavy cannons toward the Imperial frontline. They fumbled with the loading mechanisms—weapons left behind after years of being eliminated by the Empire’s superior tech.
How ironic—these same cannons had been sold as the Empire’s most advanced, cutting-edge models by Claudew Military Industry Group’s salesmen.
The artillery commander stared at the overwhelming force occupying the sky and earth, despair etched across his face. But he raised his hand anyway.
“Open fire!”
“Boom—”
The cannons roared.
Flames burst from their muzzles, shells arcing through the air like meteors.
But soon, the shells fell short—crashing into the hills with weak, scattered explosions, kicking up dirt and debris.
Too far.
The range was beyond the effective limit of these ancient weapons.
Yet, the flashes of fire from the Thrace artillery were instantly detected by Imperial reconnaissance scouts. Within two minutes, the precise coordinates of the enemy artillery positions were relayed to Daitou, the Imperial Artillery Corps Commander.
The veteran ogre grinned, his crimson eyes glinting with contempt.
“Foolish Thraceans. They don’t even know how to hide their artillery positions. They’re not even worthy of the scrap we’ve already discarded.”
“Ha! They should go back to the Stone Age—spear in hand, rock in the other.”
Daitou waved dismissively. “Dispose of the scrap.”
“Damn it! Why?! Why is this happening?!”
Kain screamed, his voice raw with fury, staring at the distant devastation.
“Boom!”
A thunderous roar split the sky. Hundreds of shells streaked through the air in perfect arcs, like a storm of fire raining down upon the Thrace frontline.
“…It’s over. All over.”
The artillery commander collapsed to his knees, face ashen. He raised a trembling hand, fingers trembling in the air, his eyes reflecting the blazing inferno above.
“God… help us…”
The first wave of Imperial shells screamed through the clouds. As they struck the earth, tungsten alloy warheads ignited from friction with the air, blinding white light flaring like a star.
A fireball thirty meters wide exploded across the artillery position—hell’s bloom unfolding. Shockwaves ripped the ground apart, lifting old heavy cannons into the air. Their barrels were torn apart mid-flight, shredded into a storm of iron fragments.
“Boom—”
Then came the “Heaven’s Reapers” Fire Arrow batteries—honeycomb launchers spewing incendiary cluster munitions.
Tens of thousands of steel fragments erupted at fifty meters altitude, forming a deadly metallic storm. Thrace soldiers, still crouched in trenches loading shells, were torn apart before they could even look up—their bodies shredded like paper.
Kain huddled in the trench, whispering, “We’ve never seen weapons like these…”
He slammed his remaining arm into the dirt wall, roaring in despair:
“Damn it… they’ve deceived us! The Empire lied!”
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing scream tore through the air—like the cry of a reaper. Kain instinctively looked up, toward the sky now shrouded in thick smoke.
Dozens of shadows shot across the sky, raining down bombs like relentless hail—a bipedal dragon bombing squadron.
“Boom!”
Thermobaric explosions detonated with searing heat. Shockwaves vaporized everything in their path, reducing Imperial soldiers’ remains to charred silhouettes.
Then, as the ground trembled, a dozen steam tanks rolled over the ridge, charging toward the frontline. Infantry soldiers, rifles at the ready, followed closely behind, providing fire support.
But when they reached the position, they froze.
The artillery barrage had left the frontline utterly decimated. Fewer than ten out of every hundred Thrace soldiers remained alive.
Trenches were piled high with charred corpses—still frozen in their final moments: some loading shells, others huddled in fear, one clutching his ears.
“Looks like they’re all dead,” one soldier muttered.
“Makes sense. That’s what the army’s for—cleaning up the battlefield.”
“Is this really the legacy of Fadalan? The so-called ‘great’ Thrace Kingdom? Doesn’t look so strong to me. Was all this mobilization really necessary?”
“Just follow orders. Winning easily is better than overthinking it.”
Then—out of the pile of corpses—a charred, blackened hand shot up.
A faceless, mangled officer crawled from the wreckage, voice hoarse and broken.
“Damn Empire scum!”
It was Kain Evon, the commander of the army.
A Supernatural-Level Paladin, his life force was extraordinarily resilient, protected by divine magic. He had survived the apocalypse of the bombardment.
He seized a longsword from the ground. His tattered armor flared with radiant light—sunlight itself pouring from its surface.
“Dragon’s Claws! The great King Amanatara will not spare you!”
With a guttural roar, he swung his silver sword. The blade sliced through the air, cleaving half a dozen unprepared soldiers in two.
From the pile of bodies, other survivors surged forward—howling, weapons raised, charging the vulnerable Imperial troops.
“There’s a survivor!”
“Concentrate fire!”
“That’s a Supernatural being! Kill them!”
In the brief chaos, the Imperial soldiers regrouped instantly. Two or three at a time, they opened fire from multiple angles.
Flames spat from rifle barrels, bullets like a relentless storm pouring into the Paladin. His armor cracked under the onslaught.
Kain glared, golden aura flaring around him. Bullets shattered against the divine barrier, falling harmlessly to the ground.
“For Thrace! Sacred Fedran!”
He leapt into the air, sword high, and brought it down in a single, devastating arc—cutting an Imperial soldier in half, rifle and all.
Dodging the storm of bullets, he slaughtered more than twenty in mere minutes.
But because he was locked in close combat with the enemy, the surrounding tanks and cannons couldn’t fire—fearful of hitting their own men. They poured bullets blindly into the fray.
“Requesting fire support! Supernatural threat detected!”
“Eliminate him at all costs!”
A volley of small guided missiles streaked through the air, trailing gray smoke. They struck the Paladin’s back, exploding with brutal force.
“Boom!”
Kain was hurled backward, his body torn open by shrapnel. A charred hole gaped in his back.
Then, more metallic spheres exploded mid-air, unfolding into massive nets crackling with electric current. The Paladin was ensnared, trapped in a cage of pulsing energy.
“Damn Empire scum!”
Struggling against the electric storm, he swung his sword wildly, flames erupting from his body in a fury.
At that moment, the underside of an airship extended a barrel. A stream of icy, bone-chilling rays descended from the sky—directly striking Kain’s chest.
He froze instantly. Frost spread across his skin, thick and heavy, encasing him like a statue of ice. His face remained twisted in rage, eyes wide with defiance.
All around him, rifle barrels, rocket launchers, even tank main guns were trained on his head.
“Boom!”
Flames consumed him.
When the thick smoke cleared, only a charred, gaping pit remained where he once stood.
A Half-Dragon Officer picked up his walkie-talkie.
“Lord Arturo, we’ve secured Hill 103. Progress is excellent. Advancing toward Ulir City. We’ll converge with the main force shortly.”
“Tal, stay alert. There’s a powerful energy wave nearby. Likely the main force of the Thrace Kingdom.”
“What? But we detected nothing.”
“Zzzzz—”
The audio cut out with static. Tal’s face darkened. He frowned.
The Thrace Kingdom’s main force?
His two-headed dragon reconnaissance units had circled the area for hours—no trace of enemy troops.
Then—silence.
A haunting melody drifted from the sky.
It was distant, ethereal—like the chant of a cathedral choir.
> “Heavenly wings burn the eyes, flaming sword shatters armor.
> Sacred chant seals the forehead, divine eyes like torches.”
>
> “No! They’re above us!”
The Half-Dragon officer looked up. Under the sunlight, space warped and shimmered. Hundreds of winged beings descended from the heavens—angels, their wings spread wide.
> “Sinful bones fall into flame, prayers burn rust.”
>
> They gripped flaming swords, chains wrapped around their bodies, eyes cold and detached. They continued their hymn—praising Wilhelm.
They were the Holy Guard of the Thrace Kingdom—Wilhelm’s own creation, a force of unimaginable mystery. Officially, they were called the “New Era Divine Noble Legion.”
> “Sinful souls consumed. My Lord endures forever.”
Instantly, a cascade of golden-red fire poured from their swords, painting the sky in blazing orange.
The divine fire struck the airships hovering above. They exploded midair, becoming massive fireballs that plummeted to earth.
On the ground, the Imperial soldiers burned alive in agony, screaming.
Even tanks clad in anti-magic armor ignited on contact, exploding in violent bursts.
Tal dove into a bunker, screaming into the walkie-talkie:
“We’re ambushed! Those damned Thraceans used cannon fodder as bait! Anti-air guns—take those angels down!”
(End of Chapter)
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