This was Elezerg, a world filled with all manner of miraculous magic. The effects of these spells ranged from the simplest household cleaning and faint lights to flying through the sky, burrowing through the earth, or even permanently altering a region's environment.
In a sense, a nation's level of magic reflected the living standards of its people.
Yet the Great Anzetta Waste lay in a remote corner of the world, far removed from the centers of magical scholarship. For a thousand years, the Northern United Kingdom had remained outside the "civilized world," mired in the dawn of a feudal society and only recently emerging from ignorance and barbarism. Had it not been for the Kingdom of Cinders' intervention and the meddling of outside forces, the rule of the northern nobility might well have persisted for another millennium.
Resilient and valiant as these Scanians were, their military might seemed primitive before the kingdom. Adapted to the snowfields, they were well-versed in hunting monstrous beasts like wyverns and frost giants, yet they were utterly unequipped to face an organized army composed of such monsters fighting with modern, advanced tactics.
On the ground, the kingdom's cavalry and infantry struck the coalition's defensive line in waves like an unrelenting tide, advancing systematically in strict accordance with doctrine.
Up in the sky, the chimeras and wyverns had already gained the upper hand through overwhelming numbers. Under the lingering influence of dragon blood, they roared fearlessly, surging forward wave upon wave to drive the celestials into retreat and seize local air superiority above the battlefield.
Carcasses of wyverns and remains of celestial beings plummeted continuously. The sky had turned into a flesh-and-blood millstone, grinding down and discarding every creature eliminated in the bloody slaughter.
Boom!
Dark silhouettes streaked through the air as metal bombs and roaring flames rained down, ripping through the coalition's defensive lines below.
Immediately, the kingdom's musket infantry and drake cavalry concentrated their fire to punch into the breaches opened by the airstrikes. In this manner, they easily seized the advantage, replicating the maneuver to capture one vital position after another.
Under such combined-arms tactics of air and ground forces, the coalition showed unmistakable signs of collapse despite the aid of celestial creatures and the leadership of noble commanders. Their defensive line was crumbling inexorably, as anyone with eyes could see—the kingdom had already secured a bridgehead nearly a hundred meters wide, establishing a firm foothold on the south bank of the river.
As one of the coalition's senior commanders, Count Trischka naturally recognized their desperate situation.
Standing on high ground, his expression was grave as he gazed into the distance. More and more drakes, hobgoblins, and ogres were pouring onto the south bank.
Meanwhile, their own chain of command was descending into chaos. Messengers and noble knights scrambled in confusion, unable to transmit orders accurately.
After all, they had never experienced a war on this scale. Coordinating a force of a hundred thousand across a front stretching for miles pushed them to their absolute limits just to hold the line together.
To make matters worse, units of the Kingdom of Cinders were punching through every weak point, encircling several coalition contingents, cutting off their communications, and leaving them isolated.
Elite strike squads from the kingdom were even penetrating deep behind the front lines, roaming between positions and throwing the coalition's formations into disarray.
"No..."
"It can't go on like this."
"I have to take a stand."
Trischka's mind flashed back to several years ago, under the watchful gaze of countless onlookers, when Grand Duke Leo had rested a sword upon his shoulder and bestowed upon him the title of count.
That was the greatest honor of his life, a debt of gratitude he could never forget.
Originally, he was merely the unheeded second son of a petty noble house. Yet he had miraculously caught the grand duke's eye and was sent south to study, where he witnessed marvels that most northerners would never see in their lifetimes. Even so, what remained most indelible in his heart was that encounter which had altered his destiny.
And now, even if a wretched death awaited him, he had to ride forth to repay the grand duke's kindness.
Having traveled widely, Trischka knew full well the northern system had many shortcomings. He, too, had envisioned learning from the south to improve the lives of his fellow northerners.
In his heart, however, such change had to be pursued step by step—a top-down reform led by the northern nobility. It could never be accepted at the hands of conquest and invasion, at the cost of the nobility's destruction.
With that resolved, Trischka donned his helmet, mounted his steed, unfurled the banner of House Bosque, and raised high his silver sword engraved with a lion's head.
"For the Principality of Bosque!"
"For the glory of the Scanians!"
Hundreds of personal retainers rallied behind the count, charging straight toward the main direction of the kingdom's assault—the very place everyone else fled in terror.
Across that barren wasteland, corpses already blanketed the earth and blood flowed like a river. Yet the count and his fearless guard charged forward without looking back.
***
At the vanguard of the battlefield, the brutal slaughter raged on.
Gunfire roared, artillery thundered, and land drakes let out low, reverberating bellows.
"Hah!"
Boom!
Amidst a furious roar and a dull crash, Tiansheng Zhankuang leaped into a crushing overhead chop, splitting the armored head of a shield archon in two with a single blow.
"Hahahahaha!"
"Combat feels so damn good!"
Tiansheng Zhankuang laughed wildly, drenched in enemy blood as white steam rose from his pores.
Empowered by an Enlarge spell, he stood nearly five meters tall, towering over the crowd like a mini-giant.
With a bloodstained great axe over three meters long gripped in his hands, coupled with a terrifying physique knotted with muscles enhanced multiple times by dragon bloodlines, he hardly looked like a player right now; he resembled a raid boss requiring an entire squad to bring down.
And in the eyes of the coalition soldiers, Tiansheng Zhankuang truly played that role.
A level-seven barbarian with an exceptionally dense dragon bloodline, combined with years of battle experience accumulated in immersive virtual games, allowed him to run amok across the coalition's defensive line with his great axe. Even when besieged by more than a dozen men, he showed not the slightest fear.
Suddenly, the rapid drumming of hoofbeats reached his ears.
Tiansheng Zhankuang casually tossed aside the mangled corpse in his grip and slowly raised his head.
Before him charged a line of ironclad cavalry in heavy plate, led by a man of distinctly noble bearing.
Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, Tiansheng Zhankuang grinned eagerly.
*A mini-boss guarding the pass, high Challenge Rating, worth over ten thousand Faction Contribution... Maybe this guy is my ticket to the newly released 'noble titles.'*
So he thought to himself.
Beneath a heavy helm that revealed only his eyes, Trischka's expression was grim. Sweat seeped through the hand tightly gripping his longsword, yet he spurred his warhorse onward without hesitation.
*An evil, terrifying monster chieftain—an enemy worthy of facing me in person, and a foe fit for an honorable duel.*
*If I can kill him, perhaps I can slow the kingdom army's advance, if only by a fraction.*
So Trischka thought to himself.
Chapter 317