This was an era of transition between old and new.
The ancient overlord that had dominated the continent for centuries now showed signs of senility and decline. Yet a young empire had risen within mere decades. Like all youthful entities brimming with vigor and ambition, it began challenging the old overlord's authority, vying for supremacy across the land.
Simultaneously, the divine authority that had shackled human thought for nearly a millennium had long since declined. Though most still believed in the existence of God, the Holy See had lost its former lofty status. Its glory now illuminated only the tiny, three-thousand-square-kilometer Papal States.
At first, the monarchs of various nations were most excited by this development. Yet they soon discovered that with the decline of divine authority, the crowns they wore—once deemed divinely ordained—began to lose their luster.
The rise of the middle class signaled a new force entering the political arena. Within a mere decade or two, hundreds of revolutions erupted across the continent.
What emboldened the middle classes to take up arms was one thing—gunpowder. This invention, spilling out from alchemists' laboratories, fundamentally transformed warfare.
It was precisely gunpowder's success that revealed to the world the dawn of magic accessible to commoners. How many yearned for magic to cease being the exclusive domain of mages?
Thus, over the century following gunpowder's widespread adoption, more and more discoveries from mages' laboratories were unearthed.
The battlefield was inevitably the first arena to deploy these innovations. These wondrous and powerful weapons fundamentally altered warfare as it had been practiced for millennia.
New weapons and new modes of warfare further fueled the ambitions of the continent's new dominant power.
War between the old and new powers became inevitable.
At the conflict's onset, observers predicted years of struggle. Yet astonishingly, within less than half a month, the continent's former overlord—the once-glorious Apha Empire, which had reigned supreme for over six centuries—collapsed.
Along the mountain path from Tres to the Songnen Plains, a long, seemingly endless column of troops moved forward slowly and listlessly.
This was the Apha Empire's army, freshly routed from the front lines. It comprised sixteen entire corps, numbering nearly ninety thousand men.
Like all defeated armies, the soldiers marching along the mountain path looked utterly wretched. Their eyes were vacant, their heads bowed in dejection. Many used their rifles as walking sticks. Wagons on the road carried soldiers with broken legs and arms, their moans sounding weak and strained.
The clatter of hooves grew louder in the distance. Mounted atop a horse was a young lieutenant who appeared deeply troubled. His full beard gave him the appearance of being in his early thirties. His uniform bore none of the dust and bloodstains that stained the soldiers' garments.
This young lieutenant was named Rick Her. He was far luckier than the ordinary soldiers.
Though merely an unremarkable quartermaster, he had the privilege of riding a warhorse—a privilege denied to many officers of higher rank.
The Quartermaster's Office where he served was a particularly lucrative department. While quartermasters couldn't amass fortunes by "eating" military supplies like supply officers could, they had their own channels for wealth.
Within the department, Lieutenant Hull wasn't particularly wealthy, though he certainly wasn't as squeaky clean as a newborn either. He simply wasn't as brazen as other military clerks. Hull always considered himself a truly intelligent man, and an intelligent man was almost certainly a cautious one.
People like him usually lived quite comfortably, but at this moment, he was deeply troubled.
His unease stemmed not from the war's setbacks. In truth, he had foreseen the Empire's collapse long before hostilities began. A glance at his colleagues' actions made victory impossible.
What truly troubled him now was this morning's sudden arrival of a secret order summoning him to the High Command.
He couldn't help but ponder what this signified.
Were it not for the fact that his more greedy colleagues showed no signs of scrutiny, he would have assumed a major purge was underway.
As Lieutenant Hull hurried along, his mind heavy with doubt, a sudden clamor erupted behind him, followed by sporadic gunfire.
Not just gunfire, but gradually, the rumble of artillery—the thunderous roar of 200-millimeter mortars.
Though the bombardment was distant, the sound rolling through the mountains sent a jolt through Lieutenant Hull. He immediately spurred his horse toward the hillside. He knew this situation all too well—it was the warning of an enemy air raid.
Just as Lieutenant Hell had anticipated, the moment he rode his horse up the slope and into a sparse grove of trees, a muffled, thunderous roar erupted behind him.
A wave of heat swept over him from behind, propelling him forward. Fortunately, the heat wave rapidly diminished once it entered the forest.
Upon entering the woods, the lieutenant did not halt, for this was still not the safest place. The sparse trees offered little protection against aerial attacks. He spurred his horse forward, stopping only near a massive boulder.
Lieutenant Hull dismounted and quickly took cover behind the rock. Riding while enemy air raids were underway was extremely dangerous—it was tantamount to inviting enemy air cavalry to attack, especially since officers were highly valuable targets.
Peering cautiously from behind the rock, he saw over a dozen dark shapes swirling and circling in the sky. These figures, equipped with enormous wings, periodically emitted blinding flashes of light.
Following each flash, a fireball plummeted from the sky. Upon impact, it exploded with a deep, rumbling roar, its blast radiating far outward, its edges reaching deep into the forest.
The worst fate befell the wounded in the horse-drawn carriages—they were undoubtedly the most conspicuous targets. A long line of carriages was reduced to ashes amid the roar of explosions. Even the wounded who had not been struck desperately tried to leap from their vehicles, heedless of their injuries.
Soldiers had already taken cover in the woods, firing relentlessly at the sky through the sparse gaps in the canopy. Yet the lieutenant knew full well it was futile. Even if the enemy air cavalry hovered motionless, hitting them from over four hundred meters away was purely a matter of luck.
Though the lieutenant drew his sidearm, he did not fire. He refused to engage in futile actions, much less invite danger.
For him, the only course now was to wait—wait for their own air cavalry to arrive, or wait for these creatures in the sky to lose interest. For an infantry regiment utterly devoid of air defense capabilities, this was the sole option.
Among the enemy air cavalry launching the surprise attack, four were confirmed to be Magitek Air Knights, accompanied by eleven light Magitek Mechs.
Just as the lieutenant focused intently on the aerial battle, a Magitek Mech suddenly charged straight toward him. A flash of crimson light erupted, and a blinding fireball hurtled closer.
With a thunderous boom, the fireball slammed into the rock face and exploded, sending trees shattering and flying in all directions. Yet what filled Herl with greater dread was the inferno that erupted in its wake.
With a shriek, his warhorse broke free of the reins and bolted wildly. This reckless move cost it its life instantly. Another deep rumble followed as a fireball fired from the Magitek Mech exploded directly above its head.
The gruesome sight of flesh and bone scattered everywhere made Lieutenant Her inwardly grateful he hadn't been mounted. Yet now, Her had little time to dwell on such thoughts. The surrounding flames were spreading rapidly, and unfortunately, aside from this rock formation, there were no other obstacles nearby to provide cover.
Cursing inwardly, Lieutenant Hell drew his sword and swung it fiercely, attempting to hack a firebreak.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind above startled him. Looking up, he saw the mana-powered mech streaking rapidly overhead.
In that instant, the lieutenant caught a clear glimpse of this terrifying weapon. Truth be told, it was hideously ugly. It possessed a pair of enormous wings at least six meters long, a hump protruding from its back, two retracted, heron-like legs beneath its body, and a tail fanned out behind it like a fan. It had no head, yet a walnut-sized, constantly rotating eye stared fixedly at him.
Worst of all, the thing refused to let him go. After circling once, it returned. This filled Hell with terror, yet he felt inexplicably baffled. He couldn't fathom why he'd earned such "honor"—to be relentlessly targeted by a magical mech.
Despite his terror, Hell's hand rose instinctively. He held a gun, its chamber loaded with a single bullet. Almost simultaneously, a volley of gunfire erupted from the forest below.
Lieutenant Herl was not a skilled marksman. As a military administrator, he had never seen frontline combat. His shooting ability stemmed from brief training upon enlistment, having fired fewer than a hundred rounds in total.
So when he saw the attack mech's fan-like tail shatter and fragments fly from its chest, he had no way of knowing if his shot had contributed.
But he immediately realized this was no time for such thoughts, for he saw that deadly flash again.
Before the lieutenant could react, a tremendous force slammed him into the muddy ground. The violent impact blackened his vision.
When the lieutenant regained consciousness, he saw two soldiers grabbing his arms and pulling him out. His body was pinned beneath a mass of broken branches, nearly buried alive beneath them.
Sporadic gunfire still echoed intermittently in his ears. The lieutenant surmised enemy Sky Knights must have been shot down, prompting soldiers to comb the hillsides in search of survivors.
But for the lieutenant, none of this mattered. Having just narrowly escaped death, he understood the preciousness of life better than anyone.