Chapter 626: The War Machine
If it weren’t for the catastrophe unleashed by the Cult of All-Things’ End, this war that thrust the Cecil Legion into the spotlight might have been delayed for a long time. But there are no “ifs.” The artificial disaster on the Holy Spirit Plains forced the Iron Legion from the Southern Territories onto the stage.
This Iron Legion was still young—its tactics, training, and overall discipline needed refinement. The battlefield of the Holy Spirit Plains was the perfect proving ground.
At dawn, the First Corps, moving swiftly and covertly, encountered the Crystal Cluster Legion’s first line of defense on the small plains south of Red Maple City. This unavoidable clash marked the beginning of the campaign. Starting with three naval bombardments from the Gorgon River, the corps’ armored units formed a spearhead and launched a fierce assault on the Crystal Cluster’s defenses.
Iron-gray giant eagles skimmed just beneath the clouds, their riders taking in the battlefield below. Sonia Frostleaf looked down on the front lines of the legion’s attack, absorbing the Cecil forces’ combat style. She saw tanks, equipped with sturdy shields and powerful artillery, arrayed in an offensive formation, concentrating their firepower on weak points in the Crystal Cluster’s defenses. They pushed forward relentlessly. Though the Crystal Cluster soldiers fought with desperate courage, they simply couldn’t hold the line under such concentrated bombardment. Whether it was their enhanced flesh or the fortified walls and magical shields, everything crumbled quickly under the relentless shelling.
Once a breach was made, the tank formation accelerated, breaking into several smaller spearheads that pushed deeper, tearing the defense apart with continuous advances and artillery fire. Meanwhile, infantry units coordinated with the armored forces, moving in around their “core tanks” to infiltrate enemy positions. Their job was to eliminate any close-range threats to the tanks or to identify enemy fortifications for targeted shelling—until the operation was complete.
Throughout this, long-range magical artillery positioned on the rear high ground maintained near-constant bombardment. Their fire covered the Crystal Cluster’s rear lines, effectively cutting off any reinforcements. Scores of hastily gathered infected soldiers were trapped kilometers away, dying under the barrage until the entire defensive line vanished and their once-safe rear became the new front.
Such an assault consumed an astonishing amount of physical ammunition—even energy weapons burned through countless focusing crystals. But the Cecils’ stockpiles were vast enough to sustain the war to its end. Sonia knew the Southern Territories had been preparing for this conflict since last year—indeed, perhaps since the principality’s founding. Factories and production lines ran day and night, thousands of workers tirelessly manufacturing shells and weapon crystals, assembling artillery and tank chassis. Metals from the Eastern Territories, magical materials from the royal treasury, and the South’s own reserves were all funneled into these roaring machines that tore through the air and exploded on the battlefield.
And even now, at this very moment, the Southern factories never stopped. New production lines were added daily. Countless supplies traveled along the Gorgon River, the Kingdom’s main roads, and temporary warzone highways, ferried by mechanical ships and magic-powered vehicles to the front.
The entire Southern Territories had become a colossal war machine, all resources fed into its maw. Gears and levers thundered as their arsenal grew with every battle.
Gawain Cecil called this state the “wartime system.”
“Northwest sector C12 reports a cluster of magical energy—enemy reinforcements,” Sonia Frostleaf reported, steering her giant eagle through the mist. As the land tilted and her altitude dropped for a brief, sharp glance, she relayed the latest intelligence before slipping away from the area, just before the ground-based lightning net could ensnare her. “Requesting naval artillery support.”
“This is the Pioneer. Roger. Shelling will commence in one minute.”
At first, the Cecil Legion’s tactics weren’t so sophisticated.
They had indeed built a new and powerful army, but it was entirely new even to themselves. Gawain Cecil had designed a series of tactics and training programs, but commanders and soldiers alike struggled to grasp them without practical experience. They could only execute drills mechanically, relying on absolute trust in their lord to record techniques that had yet to be proven in battle. In the early days of the war, hardly any commander managed to implement these training methods successfully.
Sonia had witnessed tanks charging recklessly into enemy lines while the infantry lagged far behind—at least no soldiers were crushed by their own tanks, which was a small victory for the mechanical drills. She had also seen combat squads exaggerate frontline reports out of nervousness, causing commanders to misjudge enemy strength, wasting fire support and throwing attack plans into chaos.
If not for the overwhelming power of their advanced weapons, and if the Crystal Cluster Legion hadn’t been so bewildered facing the Southern forces, the Cecil army could never have advanced so rapidly.
Inside the command vehicle, Gawain monitored the entire front through the magical network. Just moments ago, a company had accidentally withdrawn from battle.
They had misread orders and wandered into an enemy encirclement. Though they broke out, they lost seven of twelve tanks and suffered heavy casualties, forcing a retreat for repairs.
A reserve company took their place, continuing to dismantle the giants’ defenses.
The Holy Spirit Plains were the perfect battlefield for real combat experience. The Cecil Legion would be forged here. Even now, soldiers and commanders were still adapting and mastering what they had learned in training. They weren’t perfect yet, but in Gawain’s eyes, their progress was rapid.
This was largely thanks to the soldiers’ literacy.
Over 80% of them could read, write, and do basic calculations. This gave them better logical thinking, allowing them to quickly accumulate complex battlefield experience and understand their superiors’ orders.
On the other hand, Gawain’s tactics were somewhat constrained by his Earth-based military knowledge, which didn’t always fit this world’s realities. Commanders had to learn to adapt and adjust on the fly—something that also depended on the soldiers’ education and the professionalism of the non-commissioned officers.
When the war ended, the Cecil Legion might not yet be a battle-hardened force, but at least it would be a competent, modern army capable of wielding its advanced equipment effectively.
The Cecils were pushing northward at a staggering pace, like a wild beast running out of control.
This “advance” was more like a full-on charge.
When Heaton awoke in shock and listened to his subordinates’ reports from the southern front, the Cult of All-Things’ End’s first defensive line on the plains had already vanished—not broken through, but completely erased in their telepathic network.
As if burned to ashes and swept away by the wind.
A priest of the Cult, fully transformed into a corrupted giant, bowed his head nervously, his voice trembling with fear: “They’ve broken through the Hinoki Manor line and are now attacking our second defense… Massive warships have appeared on the Gorgon River… six battalions—no, nine battalions—have just lost contact!”
Heaton’s eyes widened. “How did they get this close?! Why was no one aware before?!”
The dark priests fell silent, but Heaton didn’t expect answers from them. The Cecil assault was a fait accompli; analyzing their prior movements was pointless.
“They’re heading straight for Red Maple… damn it… how could they be this fast?!” He cursed under his breath, feeling for the first time a genuine fear of the Cecil forces’ strength.
He had once feared the resurrected Pioneer, feared his unification of the Southern Territories within a year—but that was supposed to be in the past!
The Cult had forged a powerful corrupted legion, capable of toppling the entire Ansu Kingdom in a month. It had proven its might against the royal and Eastern noble armies. But… what was happening now?
“Quickly gather the transformed troops on the plains to reinforce the second line. Also, order the southern legions to withdraw and block the Cecils’ rear—attack them from behind!”
After a brief moment of stunned silence, Heaton forced down his shock and began issuing the best countermeasures he could devise. He noticed one thing: the Cecils had used some secret march to break directly into the Red Maple Plains, meaning the massive corrupted army stationed to their south was still intact. So if they could hold the Cecils in the north, the southern corrupted legions could strike from behind.
Even Korod wouldn’t have a better plan here.
But shortly after his orders, a giant-form priest trembled as he spoke: “Your Excellency… our second defense… has already vanished… the enemy… the enemy—”
He couldn’t finish, but Heaton didn’t need more information.
He heard the faint rumble of explosions.
A magical wind stirred out of nowhere, and Heaton’s figure was quickly enveloped by a writhing mass of black vines. In the next moment, he traveled through the vine network spread throughout the city, arriving at the southern walls of Red Maple.
He saw a massive plume of smoke rising from the southern plains. Strange metallic vehicles crushed the scorched earth as they advanced. Corrupted patrols wandering the plains were wiped out by explosions and flashes—magical effects fired from those metal machines.
Just as the intelligence had described: these were the Cecil forces from the south.
The defenders of Red Maple sprang into action. Countless towering corrupted giants manned the walls, holding the line. The rune-etched stone bricks glowed brightly as a faint magical barrier rapidly formed in the air. As one of the key cities in the central Holy Spirit Plains, Red Maple had a city-level shield system. But it was no fortress like Rockhold; its shield couldn’t stay up indefinitely and only rose when the city was threatened.
Heaton watched the magical energy coalesce into a barrier—but just before the shield fully closed, he caught a flash of light in the distant smoke—
A strange, oddly shaped object streaked through the air, wrapped in a pale blue magical aura. It tore through the still-open red maple barrier and hurtled straight toward the city wall.
A colossal abomination, transformed from an Eastern Realm transcendent, reached out curiously and caught the flying object. The force behind it was so immense that even this powerful commander-level giant nearly got yanked off his feet upon grabbing it. Staggering backward, the giant left a trail of deep, terrifying dents in the wall before barely regaining his footing. Then, with curiosity, he held the obelisk-like metal chunk up close. “What is this? Aside from this aura, it doesn’t seem to have any magical reaction…”
“Idiot!” Shidon roared in shock and fury. Normally, catching an enemy’s thrown weapon barehanded on the battlefield was a sign of great strength and skill. But was this something you could just catch when it came from the Cecilian forces?
The End of All Things had long learned from experience: when fighting the Cecilians, no matter what they threw at you—even if it was just a pumpkin pie—you must never, ever reach out to catch it!
Almost everything they threw exploded!
Before Shidon could finish his warning, the “metal chunk” in the giant’s hand detonated.
The mechanical device triggered a preset rune mechanism—now it was reacting with magic.
A blinding flash engulfed the reckless giant commander. Countless shards of crystal and metal scattered in all directions. Shidon immediately raised his shield, blocking the flying debris that could have seriously injured him. When the explosion finally faded, all that remained where the giant had stood was a shattered fragment of a lower leg.
In the next moment, the red maple city’s protective barrier finally sealed shut.
(End of chapter)