The sky was clear and endless, painted a calm shade of blue. High above, an eagle soared with effortless grace, its sharp golden eyes scanning the plains below. From that lofty vantage, the bird could see two armies facing one another, both preparing for an inevitable clash.
On one side stretched a sea of soldiers so vast that their ranks seemed endless, banners fluttering like waves in a storm-tossed ocean. Their sheer numbers painted the ground black with men and steel.
Opposite them stood a much smaller host. Their formation was neat, disciplined, and steady—but their numbers were a mere fraction of the enemy's.
It was one hundred and ten thousand against only two thousand.
Far off on a winding dirt road, a carriage rolled steadily along. The driver was a young elven girl clad in green leather armor. Her golden eyes, reflecting a faint mystical glow, focused on the battlefield in the distance. She suddenly lifted her head, as if receiving a signal no one else could hear.
"Your Highness," she called into the carriage behind her, "my eagle scouts have seen human armies locked in battle ahead."
As the wind lifted her golden hair, pointed ears were revealed—clear proof of her elven heritage.
From inside the carriage came a sweet, bell-like voice. "We've traveled across so many lands. Surely, the sight of humans killing one another is nothing new."
The elf girl chuckled, eyes glimmering. "True, Majesty. But this time is… different. Very interesting."
"Interesting?" the voice from the carriage questioned softly.
"Yes," replied the driver with a nod. "One army holds over a hundred thousand, while the other has barely a thousand."
"A thousand against a hundred thousand?" The surprise in the royal passenger's tone was clear.
---
On the plain, tension reached its breaking point. A knight rode out from the colossal army and reined in his horse just short of the smaller host. Raising his voice, he cried,
"King Ross! Surrender now! If you yield without resistance, His Highness swears only you shall die. Your people will be spared."
At the rear of the smaller army, King Gavin Ward sat tall in shining armor. A cold sneer curved across his lips.
"Then tell them this," Gavin replied firmly. "If they surrender, I will personally kill King Ragnor instead of their common soldiers."
The message spread quickly, and when it reached King Ragnor of the Nord Kingdom, his eyes burned red with rage.
"That arrogant dog!" Ragnor bellowed. "How dare he speak to me like that? Two thousand men against a hundred thousand, and he dares to mouth such words?!"
Fury consumed him as he rose in his stirrups.
"Enough talk! Attack! Kill them all! I will capture Gavin Ward, drag him to Los Angeles City, and hang his body from its gates while his people watch their kingdom burn!"
The order was given.
War drums thundered. The wind carried their dreadful beat across the field. The mass of 110,000 men began to march.
---
At that moment, Gavin Ward closed his eyes.
He had recently annihilated fifty thousand Nord troops, earning a chance at a rare five-star lottery reward from the strange system that guided him. Until now, he had saved it. But standing here, outnumbered more than fifty to one, was the time to test his luck.
"Use it," Gavin whispered inwardly.
A glowing roulette wheel appeared before his mind's eye, its pointer spinning rapidly. On its surface were six potential prizes:
Five Grizzly Tanks
One V3 Rocket Launcher Vehicle
100,000 Tons of TNT with Missile Silos
Full Manufacturing Blueprints for the 120mm PM-38 Mortar
One B-52 Bomber
Complete Schematics for Fuel-Air Explosive Ammunition
Among them, one reward made Gavin's heart pound harder—the nuclear bomb.
As the pointer slowed dangerously close to it, his pulse thundered in his ears.
When it finally stopped, Gavin exhaled sharply.
[Congratulations, Your Majesty, you have obtained the complete set of 120mm PM-38 Mortar Manufacturing Blueprints.]
For a moment, disappointment tugged at him. A nuclear weapon would have been the ultimate trump card. But he quickly gathered himself. The 120mm PM-38 mortar was no ordinary weapon—it was a masterpiece of destructive artillery, a weapon capable of turning whole formations into bloody ruin.
"Your Majesty! Their cavalry is moving!"
The urgent cry snapped him from thought.
From the Nord army, thirty thousand cavalry thundered forward, led by a thousand heavily armored knights. Seen from above, they resembled a vast black spear, aimed directly at piercing through Ross's tiny army.
Gavin's soldiers—two thousand strong, each masked in iron and armed with Mauser 98K rifles—watched silently. Though well-trained, their throats tightened at the sight of the overwhelming charge.
Among them stood Tom, helmeted and faceless behind steel. He gripped the handles of an MG 42 general-purpose machine gun mounted on its stand, barrel already aimed at the oncoming tide of horsemen.
"Do not panic!" Gavin's voice rang out like a bell. "Fight as you trained! Trust your rifles, and trust in yourselves!"
Rising from his command seat, he raised his sword high.
"I, Gavin Ward, King of Ross, will fight beside you until the end! Raise your rifles—ready!"
---
From afar, the elf girl on the carriage gasped. "Your Highness! The battle has begun! The cavalry of the larger host is charging!"
Inside, the elven princess sighed softly. "And the smaller side still refuses to yield. Foolish, brave men… Against such odds, they cannot hope to survive. Soon, thousands more souls will wander this earth."
"After the battle," she added solemnly, "we must pray for them. May their spirits find peace in the Kingdom of the Gods."
She spoke with quiet admiration. The courage of these vastly outnumbered men reminded her of her own people's sacrifice—the last royal elven guard, who had chosen death without hesitation when the Elven Empire fell.
---
The cavalry closed in, a tidal wave of steel and hooves. Tens of thousands of riders were like a living wall of armored beasts, unstoppable in ancient wars fought with swords and spears.
But this was different.
For the army of Ross did not wield cold steel alone—they carried hot weapons forged from fire and powder.
Rifles.
Machine guns.
The Mauser 98K rifle could reach up to 800 meters in range.
The MG 42 general-purpose machine gun, deadlier still, had interchangeable barrels, allowing it to function as either a light machine gun or a heavy emplacement weapon.
As a light weapon: effective up to 800 meters.
As a heavy machine gun: deadly up to 1,000 meters.
Yet its true terror lay in its speed—a monstrous rate of fire, no less than 1,200 rounds per minute, and at peak, up to 1,500!
And Gavin's army was ready.
Each company carried five of these MG 42s. With twenty-three companies in his 2,300-strong force, that meant a staggering 115 machine guns trained on the charging cavalry.
Even better, both rifles and machine guns fired the same ammunition—7.92mm rounds. Ammunition was plentiful and shared across the ranks.
As the black tide of horsemen drew closer, the battlefield prepared to erupt in fire and death.
---