Overwhelming Firepower

Marquis Valeire saw that one of the artillery pieces was finally destroyed, but the other one, which the Dragon’s Claw was meant to destroy, was still there.

Using the Eagle Eye spell, he saw the Dragon’s Claw retreating from the battlefield. It would seem that they had encountered Sir Thalos and lost several of their members, including their Captain.

They had failed. Valeire did not react outwardly. His posture remained straight, his expression controlled. Only the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

He had not hired Dragon’s Claw to destroy those new weapons. He had hired them for one purpose. To kill Vardon Thornehart, or if they failed to do that, simply distract the other party while they deal with his men.

In his mind, even with all these new weapons at their disposal, if he were able to remove Vardon Thornehart from the equation, it would be an instant win.

The morale would shatter, and even the Stellhart Knights, renowned as the best knights in Norvaegard, would fall.

What he didn’t know was that even if Duke Vardon would ever fall, the knights, the soldiers, the mages, the dwarves, none of them would be put in disarray. In fact, they might fight even harder than before.

Those of Stellhart were unified more so than others, and not just because of one thing, but many interlocking things.

***

The battle continued, and after a while, a lot of Gatling Guns had been destroyed. Marquis Valeire’s side was getting its confidence back.

The new weapons were effective against normal soldiers, but against mages and aura users, it was different.

It was true that they were caught by surprise at first, but after getting used to what those weapons could do, they were able to adapt to them.

It was at that moment that someone started attacking their flank. It was the unit wearing the massive armor holding Galting guns.

Unlike the Gatling guns on the battlement, whose aura users could easily evade or even deflect, the ones used by this unit were different.

These Gatling guns fired special rounds that could be infused with one’s aura mantle, not to mention there were several kinds of other bullets etched with rune engravings. This made it hard to evade or deflect.

The first volley tore into the Marquis’s left flank before anyone properly understood what they were facing.

They fell before being able to do anything. Some mages were in mid-chant as they died with the shock etched on their faces.

The armored unit advanced in a tight formation, their massive frames moving with deliberate coordination. The reinforced plating they wore was thicker than standard knight armor, layered and interlocked, leaving almost no exposed gaps.

The barrels of their Gatling guns spun with a metallic roar, and instead of ordinary lead, streaks of light trailed behind each projectile.

An aura user at the fourth mantle leapt forward to intercept. He tried his best to deflect all the bullets and evade some, but the power and intensity of it were too much.

Unlike the mounted Gatling guns that fired regular bullets, these ones were truly weapons made for aura users.

One bullet, glowing faintly with engraved patterns, struck his aura mantle and burrowed through it as though it had weight and will behind it.

Another followed immediately after, infused with condensed aura from the gunner. The impact shattered his defensive layer, and the remaining rounds ripped through him before he could recover.

Many holes appeared in his body as blood started spraying out. He collapsed mid-stride, his aura mantle flickering once before extinguishing entirely.

The second the others saw what happened, the aura users and the mages quickly spread out, no longer thinking of deflecting the bullets.

Aura Mantles flared as they zigzagged across the churned earth, using fallen bodies, broken wagons, and craters as cover.

The mages changed the terrain by creating several earth walls to somehow block a few of the bullets. Yet that didn’t bother the heavy armor unit as they continued firing.

If Lucen were here, he would have said this looks like a battle between fantasy and sci-fi. He would’ve been very excited to see such a sight.

He would even comment that this reminded him of an anime about an army going to another world.

Still, unlike that anime, this world’s spells were much stronger, and the superhumans here were something else.

The mages started bombarding the heavy armor unit, but the armor they were trying to hit was not only enveloped by one’s aura mantle, but the armor itself could also withstand quite a bit of spell attacks lower than the third-circle.

Still, the armored unit’s advantage due to shock and surprise didn’t last long. The people they were attacking were aura users and mages who had survived campaigns across the continent.

They were mercenaries who had fought monsters, rival companies, and even each other for coin and reputation.

They had no unified command structure binding them together, but they all possessed one common trait. They did not wish to die.

They, with their superior senses, understood quickly that each individual bullet was just like a power arrow strike, but what made the weapon devastating was that it could unleash a lot more in such a short time span.

Still, it wasn’t all that bad, even though it was only for a moment; the earth wall spell actually slowed them down. They used those intervals not to flee, but to get close instead and attack from close-range.

The armor unit was powerful, in long range to mid range, but at close range, it proved easier to handle them. Not to mention, they’re actually only a few of those heavily armored knights.

The armor unit then started to retreat to the fortress. The remaining heavy artillery and the soldiers started to provide cover fire as they headed into the fortress.

By then, the sun had already begun its slow descent toward the western horizon. It was afternoon, and the once-bright sky had turned hazy from smoke and drifting ash.

The battlefield, churned into mud and blood, steamed faintly under the lingering heat.

The retreat of the armored unit did not go unanswered. Several aura users from the Marquis’s side attempted to pursue, but the moment they crossed a certain distance, the remaining artillery roared.

A thunderous blast tore into the ground before them, forcing them to halt or risk being caught in the explosion.

The fortress walls erupted with coordinated fire, rifles, and remaining Gatling guns unleashing disciplined suppression.

The Marquis’s side then sounded a horn and lifted up a blue flag. When the Duke’s side saw this, they did the same thing.

This was an agreement for a momentary ceasefire to gather the bodies of the dead. Even though both sides are at war and hate each other, none of them would dare do something during this ceasefire agreement.

This was an agreed-upon law of the battlefield that was made long ago. It was an agreement they made under the eyes of Thalara, the Goddess of Judgement and Justice.

Aura mantles that had burned fiercely only moments ago slowly dimmed. Spell circles faded. The spinning barrels of Gatling guns came to a halt.

Even the lingering echoes of artillery died away, leaving behind an unnatural stillness across the field.

The blue banner fluttered in the smoky afternoon wind alongside the sound of a horn. The sound of battle ceased, and everyone stopped firing; the only sound that could be heard was that from the horns of both sides.

The moment the signal was given, men from both armies began moving forward without fear. Weapons were lowered casually, others were slung across shoulders as if the battlefield had simply transformed into a worksite.

An oath made in the name of Thalara was absolute. No sane person would dare break it.

To violate a ceasefire sworn beneath the gaze of the Goddess of Judgement and Justice was not merely dishonorable.

To do so was to invite a sure death. Divine punishment, especially by Thalara against those who broke oaths made in her name, was brutal.

So the field shifted naturally from slaughter to labor. Soldiers wiped the blood from their faces as they stepped over shattered earth toward the fallen.

The battlefield, now silent, revealed its true shape under the declining afternoon sun. Craters on the ground, broken weapons everywhere, dead bodies piled up.

Many of them were still gripping their weapons as if unaware they were dead. Blood pooled in the craters and between broken weapons.

Each side carried their dead and brought them back to their side. Many of them silently looked at their fallen comrades, and a few had distorted faces as they once knew the deceased.

Most of the dead on Duke Vardon’s side could be found in the fortress, and the Marquis’s side was mostly outside the fortress.

Of course, there were still a few that were on the party’s side of the battlefield. Duke Vardon had a few of his men bring the dead bodies of the enemies to Marquis Valeire’s side, and vice versa; those who followed Duke Vardon and died near Marquis Valeire’s side were carried to the fortress.

Both sides simply carried the bodies of their comrades and never said a single word to their opponents, who were doing the same thing near them.

On Duke Vardon’s side, hundreds had died, and on Marquis Valeire’s side, thousands had met their end.

The two sides then began to sing the song of the dead, the promise of being held in Velmira’s embrace and being brought to where they belong.

Many hoped that the fallen warriors here would have a nice meal and drink in Varkun’s hall of heroes. Still, not all of them wanted their comrades to head there.

The dwarves wished for their fallen brethren to reach Kalderos’s workshop, and may they help the Father of Flames in his work.

Others wished to be in Velmira’s embrace, waiting with her for the last light. Of course, there were others who wished to go to the side of their respective deity that they believed in, but those three deities were the ones most of them wanted to go to.

The songs rose slowly at first, rough and unsteady, then steadied into something solemn and unified.

Voices from both sides carried across the blood-soaked plain, no longer shouting in rage, but in mourning.

Smoke drifted lazily above the field as the last of the fallen were borne away. The sun dipped lower, staining the horizon red, as though the sky itself reflected the cost of the day.

When the final note of the hymn faded, silence reclaimed the battlefield once more. Both armies withdrew behind their lines, not in defeat nor in victory, but in grim understanding.

Tomorrow, beneath the same heavens and under the same watchful deities, they would meet again.