Chapter 1330: The Northern Front

In the second week of the Bitter Moon, the cold northern winds howled relentlessly through the mountain ranges. A heavy snowfall blanketed the entire northern defensive line overnight. Even the fiery infernos sparked by magi-cannons and legion spells cooled under the overwhelming force of nature. The mountains at the edge of the Dark Wastelands were now cloaked in pristine white.

Yet even the most ordinary soldiers knew this brief, silent winter calm wouldn’t last. The biting cold could only slow the aberrations’ movements—it would never stop their assault. On that tainted, corrupted land, the frontline clashes between troops and aberrations had never truly ceased; soon enough, the fighting would flare up again. In some ways, it had never paused at all.

In the northeastern region of the Gondor Wastelands, once a desolate no-man’s land, Andersa Wendell strode across the icy, barren earth. She listened to the faint crunch of snow beneath her boots, the ceaseless wind whispering in her ears. Beneath the surface, she caught subtle, almost imperceptible tremors—occasional vibrations that made her think of distant earthquakes.

The Typhon commander halted and gazed toward the dark mountains far to the north—that was where the Cecilian defensive line stood, and where the so-called “Living Forest” had taken root.

“Did you feel that tremor underfoot?” Andersa turned to her adjutant walking beside her. “It seems to be starting again.”

“Yes, General,” the silver-haired, dark-skinned female officer nodded with a serious expression. “That’s Lady Beltira of the Living Forest launching an underground offensive. Her main root system has spread beneath our feet and is said to have reached near the Mana Scars. But there, they’ve met fierce resistance.”

Andersa said nothing. Following the sensation, she came to a frozen clearing and crouched down, brushing away the soft snow atop the ice. Since the grand wall in the northern sector had collapsed, moisture and cold winds from beyond had seeped into the wasteland’s northern edge. This land, which had never before seen snow, was now covered in ice and snow. Through the thick ice, her gaze fell upon a wide fissure seemingly plunging deep underground. At its bottom, a faint red glow pulsed. She focused, discerning writhing roots, translucent tubes, and slowly flowing biomass within.

Noticing the sunlight filtering down, one slender root branch suddenly curled upward, pressing lightly against the underside of the ice as if greeting Andersa—then swiftly withdrew, continuing its spread deeper into the wasteland.

“…Should I have returned the greeting?” Andersa stood with a strange expression, half-joking to her adjutant, “I heard the bark that falls from the Solin Great Tree theoretically contains Typhon royal essence…”

The adjutant was momentarily taken aback, hesitating before replying, “I don’t think that’s necessary, ma’am…”

Andersa smiled faintly, lifting her eyes to the vast land behind her and the lush Living Forest that thrived even in this harsh winter. She seemed thoughtful. “When our soldiers returned from the Cecilian camp, they brought me a flower. I suspected it had something to do with a facility the Cecilians built nearby. But I never imagined they’d let the Solin Great Tree’s roots spread underground all the way to the border. I have to admit, their creativity is a bit more impressive than the stuffy Typhons.”

“Their ‘creativity’ ultimately saved the northern front, holding back a terrible fate,” the adjutant said with a hint of admiration. “That Living Forest blocked the main aberration forces pouring through the breach. And even now, Lady Beltira’s underground offensive greatly eases the pressure on the northern defenses and parts of our lines. Without that external force, we wouldn’t just be unable to stand here—we’d barely hold our ground at all.”

Andersa nodded gently, her mind turning over the current state of the “Wasteland War.”

She wasn’t fully informed about the other fronts, but at least on the battlefields faced by Typhon and Cecilian forces, the situation had stabilized—indeed, it had even progressed. With the Living Forest firmly rooted at the border and the aberrations’ northern main legions halved, the Typhon northern corps and the Cecilians had survived the war’s most perilous early days. Now, not only had they held the line, but both sides had launched several counterattacks, pushing the monsters back into the wasteland’s interior. They had even established several forward bases inside the former grand wall. In a sense, this was a partial realization of the initial goal to “retake the wasteland.”

At this moment, Andersa stood on what was once Gondor’s wasteland. Nearby were two forward bases and one purification base established by the Typhons. These bases sustained the human troops in the area and gradually suppressed the pollution festering on the land, preparing for further advances.

Of course, it wasn’t easy for these vanguard forces to take root. The aberrations never ceased their counterattacks. Every day, sizable hordes surged from the south, fiercely battling and destroying the temporary fortifications and infrastructure painstakingly set up by the vanguard, causing fresh casualties and contamination. Every step forward on this land came at a high cost.

Still, there was no denying that both Cecilian and Typhon soldiers were rapidly gaining experience in this grueling tug-of-war. The adaptable mortals were quickly learning how to fight the aberrations and purify the land. Though progress on the northern front was slow, it was steady.

The situation seemed reasonably stable, yet Andersa felt a growing unease gnawing at her. This wasn’t some vague intuition—she didn’t put much stock in gut feelings. This unease stemmed from the intelligence she’d gathered and her observations of the aberrations since the war began.

“General, you look troubled,” her adjutant suddenly broke the silence, pulling Andersa from her thoughts. “Are you worried about the aberrations’ increasingly frequent counterattacks?”

“No, I’m thinking about something else. Do you remember what happened recently at Hill 74?” Andersa shook her head and looked at her adjutant. “That grand but ultimately half-hearted offensive.”

“Hill 74? Of course,” the adjutant said after a moment’s thought. “A few days ago, near the empire’s southern front, a large force of aberrations and hybrid beasts launched a well-organized, fierce counterattack. They broke through the defenses of the 16th Mountain Regiment under Count Rick and captured Hill 74 and the surrounding area. But when the Imperial National Knights’ reinforcements arrived, ready to fight to the death, the monsters abruptly withdrew—leaving behind only a polluted wasteland and two burned towns. They showed no intention of pushing further…”

The adjutant shook her head. “The southern command’s strategists tried to analyze the aberrations’ motives, but no one could figure out what was going on in those creatures’ minds… if they even have minds at all.”

“Those monsters certainly don’t have brains,” Andersa said, shaking her head, “but their commanders—the cunning dark priests—are far from mindless. They don’t do pointless things. The aberrations paid a huge price to seize Hill 74, yet only stayed a day before retreating as our main forces arrived. That doesn’t fit their usual pattern of relentless destruction and advance. Something’s off.”

The adjutant raised an eyebrow. “You mean…?”

“All military actions have objectives. The aberrations must have wanted something at Hill 74. They stayed just long enough to achieve it, then withdrew. But what? No witnesses, no clues,” Andersa frowned. “The National Knights who retook the hill dug deep, searching for hidden threats left behind, but found only unrelated traces—blasted earth, torn-up mountainsides, burned ruins. The obvious destruction almost looks like a cover-up.”

“Suspicious indeed,” the adjutant nodded. “And even more suspiciously, I heard similar things happened elsewhere.”

“Where?” Andersa’s brow furrowed.

“On the northern front held by the Cecilians. A large aberration force suddenly massed and tried to storm a weakly defended breach. The Cecilians, though strong, are still mortal, and that breach was lost. Like Hill 74, the aberrations briefly occupied the position…”

“And then?” Andersa asked immediately. “Did they withdraw as quickly as at Hill 74?”

“No. Once the Cecilians confirmed the position was lost and their troops had pulled back, they called in heavy artillery from two nearby hills and leveled the entire mountaintop. Then they rained down incendiary bombs. The aberrations only held the hill for about ten minutes—I doubt they accomplished anything,” the adjutant shook her head, impressed. “The Cecilian commanders call this setup ‘firepower dominance and suppression.’ Honestly, I envy them.”

“…I’m starting to envy them too,” Andersa’s expression grew strange as she listened, finally sighing. “I always thought Typhon’s vigilance and preparations for the wasteland were sufficient. But now it seems our ‘dedication’ pales compared to the Cecilians—especially that pioneer hero who rose from the grave. Ever since he emerged, I suspect he’s been determined to rally the entire nation to reclaim the wasteland.”

After her moment of reflection, the young wolf general quickly refocused on the problem at hand.

Something was wrong. The aberrations were clearly scheming something. Their initial all-out assault might have been a mere distraction. The more she thought about it, the more convinced Andersa became.

If that was true, then the relatively stable situation on the northern front might conceal a grave danger. The dark priests still entrenched in the wasteland must be plotting their true objectives elsewhere. The apparent local advantage on the northern front could even mislead the allied monarchs into underestimating the threat.

“I need to send a message to Aldern,” the young wolf general finally admitted after much hesitation. But then she shook her head. “No, you should write it for me. You’re better with words. I’ll just dictate the main points to you…”

…

On a clear winter afternoon, sunlight streamed through the large crystal windows into the study, where a blue velvet carpet covered the floor. Galad sat behind his desk, several arcane network terminals beside him projecting holograms of Hetty, Bertram, and others. Intelligence from across the empire was being compiled and laid out before him.

“As of now, the northern front of the Gondor wastelands has fully stabilized,” Hetty’s voice echoed through the spacious room. She sounded noticeably more relaxed and upbeat than in recent days. Behind her was the grand office of the High Council. “General Philip, under Lady Beltira’s cover, successfully dismantled the main force of mutants entrenched in northern Gondor. They’ve established forward bases and purification facilities in the southern hills near the old Great Wall.”

“So far, those purification systems are functioning well—the devices we repaired alongside the Silver Elves during the restoration of the Great Wall remain effective deep within the wasteland.”

“After all, the Silver Elves spent centuries developing those technologies. They built the Great Wall with their own hands; no one understands how to combat the wasteland better than they do,” Galad nodded, then asked, “What’s the situation like in the southern continent? Specifically, communications?”

“The current arcane network—Sentinel Tower data links—are still heavily disrupted,” Hetty replied immediately. “Some towers have been completely destroyed, so signals struggle to transmit over long distances. Real-time communication with the Silver Empire or the Highland Kingdom isn’t possible yet. However, ‘Mr. Deer’ is providing us with non-real-time battlefield awareness, and combined with messages relayed from the Typhon border, we can at least get a rough picture of the southern front.”

“The Silver Empire and Highland Kingdom have managed to catch their breath for now. They’ve pulled back behind the forest barrier and reestablished defenses along the northern Highland border. Queen Belsethia is personally leading the ‘Millennium Legion’ in attempts to reclaim lost territory, but some contaminated zones have already turned to wasteland, so the overall situation remains tense.”

“No need to worry too much about the Silver Elves,” Galad exhaled. “Their Millennium Legion is incredibly formidable. The soldiers have served for centuries and are elite to the core. Their commanders boast over a thousand years of battlefield experience. When the Gondor magical storm broke out, that legion fought mutants on the front lines—they all have genuine combat experience.”

His gaze shifted to the tactical map hanging on the wall.

“Bertram, how’s the western front?”

“Princess Rebecca has distinguished herself in battle. The mutants crumbled before the Dawn of the Mortal World.”

(End of chapter)