"Full speed ahead!"
"For the Cinder Empire!"
"Within ten days, take Auguste and crush the Kingdom of Thrace!"
Shouting slogans and singing resounding battle hymns, the soldiers of the Cinder Empire marched across the vast Great Plains of Thrace.
Beside them rumbled steam tanks and armored vehicles. Above them, an airship fleet blotted out the sun.
The General Staff had long drawn up a comprehensive tactical plan, dividing the Imperial military into two spearheads.
The Eastern Front Army, commanded by Duke Dror, consisted of six armored divisions, two air divisions, and twelve mechanized infantry divisions, totaling two hundred and thirty thousand men. They were to cross the Farrell Mountains and strike Thrace from the east.
The Western Front Army, commanded by Duke Arturo, comprised eight armored divisions, three air divisions, and nine mechanized infantry divisions, totaling two hundred and seventy thousand men. They would cross the Hermod River and drive straight into the plains of western Thrace.
Both front commanders were dukes who had earned their titles on the battlefield, seasoned veterans boasting illustrious military records.
Duke Dror excelled at multidomain coordinated operations. During the conquest of the Mountain Kingdom, he had pioneered the "three-dimensional canyon doctrine," combining air forces with special operations units to wipe out the main dwarven garrison with a casualty ratio of 1 to 23.
Duke Arturo was famed for his armored blitzkrieg doctrine, having set a record of advancing eighty kilometers a day during the Battle of North Aethel. His hallmark lay in a precision fuel logistics system capable of sustaining a high-intensity offensive for two solid weeks.
These two strategic front armies struck toward Auguste from the east and west, forcing the enemy to stretch their front lines thin and fight on two flanks.
Seen on a map, the Empire's offensive resembled the pincers of a giant crab, snapping savagely shut on the enemy's throat—Auguste, the City of Sunrise.
Furthermore, because the Imperial army was extraordinarily mechanized, its advance was far swifter than that of any conventional army, catching the Thracians completely unprepared and leaving them scrambling in exhaustion.
At the same time, the Empire's Wyvern Legion would conduct bombing raids against cities across the Kingdom of Thrace, instilling utter terror.
Beyond that, millions of players had accepted the war quest issued by Cassius—Conquer Thrace. Swarming into the Thracian region in droves outside the Empire's regular roster, they launched indiscriminate attacks.
After devouring countless gold coins, the Imperial military had undergone epoch-defining advancement in just a few short years, far surpassing the imagination of any enemy—not even the Three Kingdoms excepted.
...
Boom!
Artillery tore through the sky, kicking up towering plumes of shattered stone and dust and staining the morning mist over the open countryside blood-red.
The salvo of the Imperial artillery group formed a relentless wall of thunder. Three hundred self-propelled artillery barrels rose in unison, driven by hydraulic actuators like the steel fangs of mechanical leviathans.
In the distant positions, the Thracian defenders suffered catastrophic casualties, charred, severed limbs frequently hurled through the air.
Caine Evan, an aristocratic Thracian officer, grabbed the artillery commander by the collar, hauling him bodily off his feet and roaring at the top of his lungs amid the din of explosions, his face contorted and spittle flying.
"Where is our artillery?! Didn't His Majesty Wilhelm buy you two hundred heavy cannons? Did you line your own pockets with the funds?! Return fire!"
The artillery commander scrambled to explain, "My lord, they're too far away! We can't reach them at all! Once we open fire, our artillery positions will be exposed, and the consequences will be unthinkable..."
"Useless bastard!"
Caine threw him to the ground, pressed a gun to his head, and snarled viciously, "The cannons the kingdom bought for you are the most advanced models too! Why wouldn't they work?! Return fire!
"Coward! Wimp! If you don't dare to fire, I'll execute you right now and take command in your place!"
With a gun pressed against his head, the artillery commander turned pale with fright and could only answer weakly, "Y-yes, my lord..."
Under the officer's command, the Thracian artillerists began aiming toward the Imperial positions and loading ammunition, fumbling with those clumsy, crude heavy cannons that the Empire had phased out years ago.
Ironically, according to the salesmen of the Claubau Military Industry Group, these were the Empire's most advanced cannons—cutting-edge technology.
The artillery commander looked toward the distant Imperial forces dominating the earth and sky, despair written across his face, yet he still raised his hand resolutely.
"Fire!"
Boom—
At the order, the cannons fired in unison.
Flashes erupted from dark muzzles as shell after shell burst forth, tracing arcs through the sky.
Yet before long, the shells fired by the Thracian artillery fell lamely across the hillsides, producing ragged, uneven blasts that sent plumes of shattered rock and dirt into the air.
Too far.
The fire couldn't touch the Imperials who were stationed over a dozen li away; it had long exceeded the effective range of these old antiques.
However, the flashes of the artillery salvo were sharply caught by distant Imperial scouts. In less than two minutes, the precise coordinates of the Thracian artillery positions landed in the hands of Datou, commander of the Imperial Artillery Legion.
The battle-hardened ogre gave a ferocious grin, sneering, "Foolish Thracians. They don't even know how to conceal an artillery position, and they aren't even worthy of using the junk we threw away.
"Haha, they ought to go back to the primitive age of spears and rocks."
Datou waved his hand and gave the order flatly, "Tsk-tsk. Destroy that scrap metal."
...
"Damn it! Why?! Just why?!" Watching the scene unfold in the distance, Caine roared in fury.
Boom!
The next instant, an earthshaking rumble came from afar. Hundreds of shells burst forth, trailing graceful arcs through the sky as they hammered down upon the Thracian positions like a torrential rain.
"It's over. It's all over."
The artillery commander collapsed onto the ground, his face pale as death. He looked up, trembling as he reached out a finger, the glow of fire reflected in his pupils.
"Gods..."
The Empire's first wave of shells pierced the clouds with the shriek of the Reaper. As the shells plunged vertically into the earth, their tungsten alloy warheads friction-heated against the air, flaring with brilliant white light.
Fireballs nearly thirty meters across blossomed in succession like flowers from hell across the Thracian artillery positions. The shockwaves tore up the ground along with those antiquated heavy cannons, ripping gun barrels into storms of metal shrapnel midair.
Boom—
Immediately following that came the salvo of the "Punisher" rocket artillery, its honeycomb launch tubes vomiting burning submunitions.
Tens of thousands of steel ball fragments formed a metal storm fifty meters off the ground. Before the Thracian soldiers loading shells in the trenches could even raise their heads, their bodies were shredded like flimsy sheets of paper.
Huddled in the trench, Caine muttered to himself, "Those weapons they're using... we've never even seen them before."
He slammed his remaining arm heavily against the dirt wall and rasped weakly, "Damn it! Those shameless Imperials deceived us!"
Just then, a shrill whistle came from above him like the howl of the Grim Reaper, forcing him to look up toward the sky obscured by thick smoke.
Black silhouettes swept through the sky, dropping bombs dense as raindrops—the wyvern bomber formation.
Boom!
Thermobaric bombs detonated. High-temperature shockwaves surged out, obliterating everything on this ground and vaporizing the mangled corpses of the soldiers into charred silhouettes.
Finally, accompanied by the trembling of the ground, a dozen steam tanks crested the slope and charged the Thracian positions, while infantrymen wielding submachine guns advanced swiftly behind them to provide covering fire.
Yet upon reaching the positions, they found to their astonishment that under the bombardment, less than one in ten Thracian soldiers remained alive.
Charred corpses filled the inside and outside of the trenches, still frozen in the varied postures of their final moments: some loading shells, some huddled in corners, others clutching their ears...
"Looks like they're practically all dead?"
"Isn't that normal? As the saying goes, our army is just here to sweep the battlefield."
"These are Thracians? The remnants of Fadlan? I don't see anything tough about them. Were they really worth this kind of mobilization?"
"We just follow orders from above. Why overthink it? What's wrong with an easy victory?"
Just then, a charred hand abruptly thrust out from a pile of corpses. An officer, blown unrecognizable and mangled beyond belief, dragged himself up from the ground, his voice hoarse: "Curse you... Imperials!"
It was the commander of this army, Caine Evan.
As an extraordinary-tier paladin, his vitality was immense, and with divine magic protecting him, he had somehow survived this horrific bombing.
He scooped up a longsword from the ground. The battered armor on his body lit up, radiating the radiance of the sun. "Minions of the evil dragon! The great Lord Amaunator... will never forgive you!"
With a heart-wrenching roar, the silver sword swung. Blade light cleaved the air, cutting a dozen unprepared soldiers in half at the waist.
Right after, survivors hidden within the corpse piles roared and charged out, brandishing their weapons and lunging at the fragile Imperial soldiers.
"We have survivors!"
"Concentrate fire!"
"That's a transcendent! Fast! Kill them!"
After a brief moment of fluster, the Imperial soldiers quickly reorganized, forming two- and three-man teams to fire at the survivors from different angles.
Muzzle flashes erupted continuously, bullets raining down upon the paladin like a torrential storm, shattering his armor.
Caine glared with furious eyes as a golden aura swirled around his body, intercepting the bullets and sending them clattering to the ground.
"For Thrace! For Holy Fadlan!"
The paladin cried out as he leapt high into the air, bringing his sword down and cleaving the nearest Imperial soldier, along with his rifle, cleanly in two.
Braving the hail of bullets, Caine slaughtered his way through the crowd, cutting down over twenty men in just a few minutes.
Because he was entangled with the Imperial troops, the surrounding tanks and cannons couldn't fire high-explosive shells without risking friendly casualties, leaving them able only to pour bullets frantically into the melee.
"Requesting fire support! There's a transcendent here!"
"Focus all fire on him!"
Several miniature tracking missiles trailing gray smoke streaked in from the distance, slamming into the paladin's back and detonating violently.
Boom!
With a massive blast, Caine was sent flying through the air, his entire body shredded by shrapnel, a charred bloody hole blasted into his back.
Several metal spheres exploded midair, unraveling into nets flashing with electrical currents that ensnared the paladin.
"Damned Imperials!" Amid the flashing electricity, Caine struggled frantically, swinging his sword as flames of wrath flared across his body.
Just then, a cannon barrel extended from the belly of an airship above. A bone-chilling ray descended from the sky, striking Caine squarely in the chest.
He froze on the spot, a thick layer of frost coating his skin until he looked like an ice sculpture, still preserving his furious, twisted expression.
Around Caine, countless muzzles, rocket launchers, and even the main guns of tanks had already zeroed in on his head.
Boom!
Blinding light swallowed the paladin. By the time the thick smoke cleared, nothing remained where Caine had stood but a scorched, gaping crater.
A half-dragon officer picked up a walkie-talkie and said, "Lord Arturo, we have captured Hill 103. Progress is smooth. We are advancing toward Uriel City and will soon link up with the main force."
"Tar, stay on high alert! There is an extremely powerful energy signature near you! It's very likely the main force of the Kingdom of Thrace!"
"What? But we haven't detected..."
Sizzle—
Static cut through the audio. Tar frowned, his expression darkening.
The main force of the Kingdom of Thrace?
His wyvern scouts had already circled the area several times without spotting a single trace of the enemy.
Just then, an eerie singing drifted down from the sky. Distant and ethereal, it sounded like a hymn prayed in a cathedral.
"Heavenly wings scorch the sight, blazing blades sunder mail;
Holy psalms brand the brow, divine eyes burn like fire..."
"Damn it! They're above us!" The half-dragon snapped his head up. In the sunlight, space rippled and twisted, and over a hundred winged angels appeared high in the sky.
"Sinful bones fall to flame, holy prayers scour the rust."
They held blazing greatswords in both hands, chains wrapped around their bodies, looking down with cold, detached eyes upon the Imperial army below as they continued to chant that sacred hymn praising Wilhelm.
That was the Holy Guard of the Kingdom of Thrace, an army personally cultivated by Wilhelm. Their origins were shrouded in mystery, and Thracian officials called them the "Godblood Legion of the New Era."
"Sinful souls burn to ash, our Lord reigns eternal."
In an instant, countless beams of golden-red flame rained down from their swords, dyeing the sky orange.
Like divine judgment, the fire pierced through the airships hovering midair, turning them into colossal fireballs that crashed thunderously to the earth.
At the same time, those golden flames mercilessly burned the Imperial soldiers on the ground, sending them to their deaths in agonizing shrieks.
Even the tanks equipped with antimagic armor spontaneously combusted upon being struck by the flames, some exploding on the spot.
Tar ducked into cover and roared into his walkie-talkie, "We're ambushed! These damned Thracians used a cannon fodder legion as bait!
"Flak guns! Bring those birdmen down!"
Chapter 697