The Russian army continued its relentless advance toward the capital of Estaurant. Alongside their military efforts, Russia successfully negotiated with rebel forces to divide zones of control. Essentially, given the current situation, Russia temporarily allocated spheres of influence to each rebel faction, mirroring the pre-invasion status quo before Papaldia's conquest.

  Based on the agreements, all areas outside the original Papaldian territory would fall under Russian military administration. Other regions would see no interference from Moscow, meaning Russia had no authority to deploy forces beyond their designated zones. This was a given, but naturally, the Moscow government would not easily relinquish control over such a vast and resource-rich region.

  Even though Russia positioned itself as a liberator of nations once subjugated by Papaldia, the undeniable benefits of controlling a fertile land were impossible to ignore. Russian strategists declared that the Third Civilized Region would become a new backyard for Russia, with nothing capable of halting their influence across the entire area.

  Now, the final step to realizing this ambition was clear: the Estaurant regime had to be eliminated.

  Inside the Velsai Palace, the government was frantically preparing for this final battle.

  General Velious conferred with Admiral Rakius on tactics to secure a ceasefire with Russia, even if it meant defying the will of the people. Such a move would be meaningless if Papaldia faced total annihilation.

  Both sides made preparations for the impending confrontation. Russia, with its formidable military and advanced technology, deployed mechanized divisions and air forces near Estaurant while launching a massive propaganda campaign to incite local civilians to rise against their government.

  On Estaurant's side, General Velious and Admiral Rakius worked tirelessly to bolster their final defensive line. The remaining military units were summoned to the capital, and fortresses on the highlands near Velsai were equipped with the most powerful magical weapons still in Papaldia's arsenal. However, their resources were depleted, and the soldiers' morale was severely shaken after a series of defeats against Russia.

  Both sides understood that the battle for Estaurant was not merely about territory but a symbol of control over the entire Third Civilized Region. Russia needed a swift victory to cement its dominance and secure rebel support, while Estaurant was betting everything to preserve the remnants of Papaldia's power.

  As night fell, the atmosphere in Estaurant's capital grew suffocating. Civilians flooded the streets in panic, seeking shelter before the fighting erupted, while those who had taken up arms burned with resolve to face the approaching enemy. Inside Velsai Palace, General Velious stood before a war map, his eyes reflecting a mix of tension and despair.

  "We don't have many options left," he said, his voice heavy. "If we can't reach an agreement with Russia, Papaldia will cease to exist."

  Admiral Rakius shook his head, his expression grim. "An agreement? Do you think they'll let us survive after everything that's happened? Russia isn't here to negotiate; they're here to end Papaldia's reign."

  Velious didn't respond, only clenching his fists, his gaze fixed on the horizon where Russian divisions were closing in. He knew their faint hope teetered on the edge, with no response from Russia or any indication of a desire for a peaceful resolution. They could only wait in unease, powerless to act.

  "Velious, you should understand how Russia has chosen to deal with us. I heard it from that man, Feldor," Rakius said, stepping behind Velious before heading toward the door.

  Velious paused at those words, quickly calling out to stop Rakius. His tone grew urgent. "What did he say?"

  Rakius didn't answer immediately, only turning back to look at Velious. "He's the one who killed a Russian diplomat. His words at the time weren't clear, but I can guess they were the kind of things a Papaldian would say to 'barbarians.' I wouldn't expect him to mediate with Russia."

  "That bastard!" Velious slammed the table, scattering the map's pieces. "He's the one who brought Papaldia to its end!"

  "Say what you will, it changes nothing," Rakius replied.

  "Then tell me, what can I do to stop the inevitable?" Velious glared at Rakius in frustration, but Rakius remained calm. He stepped out of the room, leaving one final remark: "That depends on whether the gods will save us."

  The door slammed shut, leaving Velious alone in the room, savoring the last moments of peace before tomorrow's storm.

  Elsewhere, members of Voro-12 observed the city from a tower's rooftop using night-vision goggles. The five of them sat around a small fire, grilling food while preparing for the battle ahead. They laughed and chatted to ease the pressure of their upcoming mission.

  "Look at that," Rompev pointed toward the city walls, where torchlights flared in the darkness—a defiant gesture from Papaldia's current regime. "They're still trying to put up a strong front, but we all know it's just fear and chaos inside."

  "Don't underestimate them," Kamarov, tending to the grilled meat, cautioned. "A cornered beast is more dangerous than ever. Tomorrow won't be easy."

  "I thought we came here for a scenic stroll," Lise teased, standing near the tower's railing. "I've got a whole fireworks show planned for the party—don't you want to see it?"

  "Are those the kind of fireworks that'll set the whole palace ablaze?" Kamarov chuckled, chewing his meat.

  Petrov, standing beside Wàng, listened to the banter with his usual seriousness, still displeased with Kamarov's casual attitude. Vorosimorsk glanced at the city briefly before joining the small feast.

  Petrov sighed, wanting to relax but knowing that, in this critical phase, maximum caution was required. He knew the people below wouldn't easily trust them, especially after their emperor perished in the chaos. A chill ran through him, aware that this city could only hold out for a few hours before falling.

  Lise approached him, now more at ease and open. She had gradually become a true member of the team, interacting more and even assisting the regime's forces to some extent. Petrov might have thought Lise looked down on them, but she felt it was they who had underestimated her.

  He didn't deny it but also didn't agree that they truly disregarded someone who had tried so hard. He understood that a person's worth is built through their actions. Though Lise hadn't yet proven her value to the world, in their eyes, her emotions already reflected it—a spirit that had long defined their team.

  "Come on, standing there observing won't get you anywhere," Kamarov suddenly called out, addressing both. "You don't need to be so stiff. Relax—we'll have to do the job either way."

  "Do what?" Lise asked, curious.

  Kamarov realized no one had explained it to her. He answered gently, "To put it simply, we're going to take control of the entire palace."

  "By force? What if they want to negotiate?"

  "Negotiate?" Vorosimorsk shook his head, his tone serious as he looked at each member. "We've seen the spirit of the people here, and it's not worth risking a vague negotiation. Neither the regime nor its people will accept defeat easily."

  "But the people in the palace seem anxious, like they're expecting something," Lise said, sharing her observations. Vorosimorsk didn't dwell on it, dismissing it as her personal perspective and reassuring her.

  "No need to worry. We'll leave here safely and do what we want."

  "Exactly," Kamarov added. "The team will pull off something spectacular while still keeping things on track, even if we don't overdo it."

  Lise listened to Kamarov, thinking that, as a team serving their nation, taking on such direct missions was understandable. Though she didn't fully grasp their work, she figured it would be fine. She gazed at the city walls, wondering what tomorrow would bring, then rejoined the others to continue the small feast.

  ...

  5:09 AM, March 28, 2021, Fourth Era

  As dawn began to break, Papaldian soldiers resting on the city walls were still asleep, unaware of the impending threat. No wyverns patrolled the skies; their last reserves had been exhausted in the previous battle. All that remained were ballistae, their final hope for defense.

  In the distance, Su-25 jets approached Estaurant, ready for an airstrike to pave the way for ground forces to penetrate the capital.

  Durov, the flight leader commanding three other jets, was set to end this large-scale conflict. They knew the Kremlin's planners had ambitions here, and this war legitimized Russia's deeper incursion into the continent.

  "So sleepy. Starting a campaign at this hour," Durov yawned, his voice carrying over the comms.

  "Relax," another pilot responded. "Just unload all our weapons, and we're done."

  The words eased Durov's tension. He shifted in the cockpit, glancing around at the unremarkable fields and forests below. He wondered what lay beneath—monsters or mystical creatures unknown to them?

  He checked the dashboard—one kilometer to go. Looking down, he saw their military convoy moving slowly, unhurried, just like him. As the sun rose, Estaurant's city walls came into view.

  The sight grew larger, stirring an odd feeling in him. It reminded him of images his ancestors might have seen approaching Berlin—was this how they felt? He wasn't sure, but his blood surged, ready to boil over.

  As they drew closer, he could barely contain his excitement at witnessing his nation's overwhelming military might. Yet, he restrained himself, speaking calmly into the comms.

  "This is Eagle-1, ready to engage. Check weapons, over," he said, his voice cool and professional.

  Reports came in quickly—no issues. He watched the dashboard, counting down the seconds to the attack.

  "10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5..."

  Back at the walls, the first soldier stirred, stretching against the ramparts. But before he could finish, the area was obliterated by GSh-30-2 cannons, tearing through like a freshly plowed field.

  The deadly sounds spread, catching many off guard. Some were ripped apart by 30mm rounds, blood splattering everywhere, as fear gripped the wall's defenders.

  "Return fire!" an officer shouted, urging those still dazed to act. His voice was steely. "We'll all die if you do nothing! Useless fools, move now!"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Though groggy, the soldiers scrambled to the ballistae, loading bolts and aiming. The Su-25s roared past, their screeching engines deafening, but the Papaldian soldiers stood firm, ready for the enemy's return.

  Inside the city, the low-flying Su-25s' terrifying noise woke the civilians. Even those deep in sleep were jolted awake by the haunting sound. Citizens, long prepared for this moment, grabbed issued muskets and rushed into the streets, ready for any scenario. Angry shouts echoed as residents spilled out, running chaotically through the capital, turning it into a clamor of disorder.

  The remaining wall defenses stood ready. Soldiers focused intensely as the jets' sounds returned. On the other side, an officer with binoculars spotted the approaching Su-25s, directing the ballistae to adjust angles and wait for the right moment.

  The jets' shapes grew clearer, almost suffocating to behold. The officer held his breath, waiting for the enemy to close in, mentally preparing to die before their superior weapons. At the critical moment, he roared into the manacom, ordering his troops to attack.

  "Fire everything!" he bellowed, as if it were his life's loudest cry.

  Giant bolts soared skyward, hoping to hit their mark, but the jets' speed allowed them to dodge effortlessly. They unleashed S-8 and S-13 rockets at the gate, where Russian ground forces would soon enter. The rockets' faint whistles left trails of smoke in the air.

  They struck Papaldia's massive steel gate, engulfing the area in smoke and flying metal fragments. As the Su-25s pulled away, soldiers on the walls peered down to assess the damage. The gate was destroyed, its metal pieces scattered on the stone ground, leaving a gap wide enough for the enemy to breach.

  The officer continued issuing orders, now commanding able-bodied soldiers to seal the breach. Sweating and visibly shaken, he knew this attack was just the beginning, with worse to come. Staying on the walls was futile. After a moment's thought, he made his decision.

  "All troops, abandon the walls!" he commanded through the manacom, his voice resolute. "Regroup in the western sector! Call for any civilians willing to fight to join us now!"

  The order was swiftly relayed, and soldiers rushed to comply. Meanwhile, in Velsai Palace, General Velious and Admiral Rakius observed the unfolding events, issuing commands to officers in the area alongside their aides.

  Though they knew the assault would come early, the thought of their fate made them tremble. They had to remain as composed as possible, awaiting the enemy and fighting with all they had. Their pride as commanders forbade retreat or easy surrender. To fight was to fight to the end—Papaldia's credo.

  Outside the city, Russian armored columns approached the capital. Emerging from dawn's faint light into the gentle morning glow, they were not here to savor the scenery but to end this empire.

  Under Lieutenant General Perezovski's orders, they aimed to seize Velsai Palace swiftly, rendezvousing with a Spetsnaz team embedded inside. Major Donskoy, eyeing the thick walls ahead, saw them as an amateur's ugly creation. He paid it little mind, recently troubled by strange dreams—a girl with long ears in a snow-white dress, keeping him awake, hinting at some message he couldn't decipher.

  Brushing it aside, he and his company followed an assault unit. Once inside the capital, they would split, with two tanks per section, supported by infantry to guard against anti-tank weapons.

  He glanced at the surroundings. Though he'd been here a while, the pristine landscape felt calming. But they wouldn't be welcomed warmly. Ballista bolts flew, embedding in the ground. One pierced a tank's turret near the NSV gun, startling the crew as it landed inches from the gunner's head.

  Donskoy, seeing this, grabbed his radio, his voice calm but tinged with concern. "All crews, stay alert. Get inside if you want to stay safe." He ducked back into his tank. The battle was about to escalate with another airstrike.

  Several Mi-35M helicopters sped toward the capital, eyeing its futile walls. Bolts targeted them, but their primary role was to clear paths for ground troops, limiting attacks for specific objectives.

  "Come on, clear the walls and find the fastest route to the palace," the commander said, deftly maneuvering his helicopter over the walls, unleashing 12.7mm fire below. Other Mi-35Ms followed, firing and responding.

  "Understood. The final moment for a nation. Establish democracy here, and we go home, over!" a pilot said enthusiastically, eyeing the walls.

  "Easy, Chakov. We're just supporting the ground," another replied, dodging bolts and neutralizing them.

  Soon, the walls were cleared. The helicopters spread out, mopping up resistance. Desperate cries from Papaldian soldiers below went unheard in the cockpits. One helicopter targeted the reinforced gate, firing S-8 rockets to clear debris, then moved to hunt other targets.

  Oddly, the streets were empty, but obstacles suggested premeditated defenses. Despite thorough scouting, it proved futile as ground forces arrived, and the helicopters refocused on their mission.

  Below, Officer Allen watched an Mi-35M pass overhead, studying its form and capabilities. Its rockets demolished their makeshift barricades, leaving smoke and debris, making him realize these enemies were far tougher than the interim government's plans anticipated.

  He turned, scanning his weary soldiers and hesitant adventurers. Papaldia's troops were exhausted, their morale shattered after months of relentless fighting. They'd seen too many comrades fall, and now, at the decisive moment, fear and doubt gripped them.

  "We won't retreat!" Allen shouted, rallying those around him. "Remember why we fight—for our homeland, our families, our future!"

  "And you, adventurers," he continued, "don't think surrender is wise. You've heard of these barbarians and their power. You know your fate if you try. Don't drag us down with you, but we'll do the same if you betray us here!"

  Some soldiers nodded, but their eyes betrayed anxiety. Allen knew that once Russian tanks rolled in, things would worsen. He glanced at the shattered gate, where tanks approached like monstrous beasts ready to devour all in their path.

  "Prepare the burning oil!" Allen ordered, his voice resolute. "The enemy will come through here. When they do, let them burn like the sun and feel the heat of this battle!"

  Soldiers and adventurers took positions, loading weapons and bracing for the final fight. Allen's heart pounded with anticipation and fear. He knew this might be his last battle, but he couldn't let fear win.

  Outside, Russian tanks entered the city, their engines roaring. Major Donskoy, atop his tank, felt satisfied seeing the breached walls, the path to Velsai Palace now open.

  "Forward!" he commanded confidently. "We'll take the palace and end this war once and for all!"

  Tanks rolled over wall debris, tracks clanking. BTR-80s followed, soldiers disembarking, weapons raised, scanning cautiously. They moved through streets, spotting civilians peeking from wooden windows.

  Unfamiliar with local attire, they easily identified hostiles. Enemies lurking in dark alleys were shot before acting. The advance faced little resistance, steadily nearing the palace.

  Donskoy reached the city center, eyeing a statue—likely Papaldia's emperor or a predecessor. It didn't matter. Scanning the houses, he sensed something amiss.

  His soldiers established positions, halting per his order. A soldier below noticed his unease. "Something wrong, sir?" he asked, wary.

  "I'm not sure, but it feels like we're being watched and—"

  Before he could finish, a fireball struck a T-72B3, engulfing it in flames. Donskoy reacted instantly, shouting, "Don't stand still! Take cover now!"

  Soldiers scrambled, seeking shelter in nearby buildings, while tanks maneuvered to avoid further attacks.

  "It's magic!" a young soldier, pale-faced, cried, seeing flames consume his comrades' tank. "We're under attack by magic users!"

  Donskoy had no time to explain. He knew Papaldia had mages, but their current status was unclear. "Focus! Get to fighting positions! Locate the enemy!" he ordered, steadying his troops.

  From the city's shadows, Papaldian soldiers launched a counterattack. Allen, eyes blazing with resolve, led his men, shouting, "Wipe out all enemies!"

  Regular troops and militia charged from multiple points, while adventurers hesitated, supporting from afar with mages.

  Fireballs rained from hidden positions, targeting tanks. Explosions erupted, smoke and fire creating chaos. Russian soldiers returned fire but struggled to pinpoint enemies in narrow alleys.

  Then, dozens of Papaldians charged like mindless beasts. "We need high ground!" Donskoy yelled, pointing to a nearby building. "Move, now!"

  Russian soldiers obeyed, rushing to the building for a vantage point. Donskoy led, sensing the tense atmosphere. Every step was cautious, with bolts and fireballs whizzing by.

  Reaching the building, Donskoy ordered some to the roof for a better view. From above, they saw Papaldians mounting a fierce counterattack, mages casting fireballs and other spells from the rear.

  "We need to neutralize those mages!" Donskoy shouted, pointing at the spellcasters. "Fire on them! Don't let them attack again!"

  Machine guns and rifles opened fire, bullets raining on the mages. Some fell, while others raised magical shields. Not all were quick enough, and screams echoed as bullets pierced their defenses.

  Papaldian counterattackers closed in, forcing Russians to shift fire. A hail of bullets killed many, though mages and musket-wielding enemies persisted. The Russians held their ground well.

  Donskoy knew this couldn't last. He shouted into the radio, "This is the central force, we're being overwhelmed! Request air support!"

  The response was grim. "Negative, all sectors are under similar or worse conditions. Hold out until we can assist."

  "Damn it!" Donskoy cursed, slamming the radio. He glared coldly at the charging enemies, issuing a final order: "Fire at will!"

  With that, silent cannons roared. Bullets flew like sharp arrows, cutting through the air, striking the advancing foes. Explosions rocked the area, smoke and dust enveloping the chaotic scene.

  Allen, watching, knew civilian morale would plummet, unacceptable now. He stood tall, shouting at any who fled. But it was a mistake—a sniper's bullet pierced him, killing him instantly.

  Seeing this, others lost resolve, dropping weapons and fleeing. Some fought on desperately, while adventurers, sensing defeat, abandoned posts to save themselves.

  Donskoy watched, speechless, glancing at a stunned crewmember. "Any idea what just happened?"

  "Not sure, but it looks like their leader's down, and they're like headless snakes. Right, sir?"

  "Perhaps," Donskoy whispered, seeing an opportunity. "Everyone, follow me!" he roared, leading his men from their position, determined to seize the strategic point.

  ...

  9:21 AM, Velsai Palace

  The palace was in chaos, soldiers frantically setting up defenses to meet the enemy. Everything was rushed, as if facing the apocalypse. For Papaldia, it was no less.

  Key interim government figures gathered in a secretive room, their identities and actions unknown to others. But it didn't matter—the final mission was underway.

  "Have you placed all the explosives correctly?" Vorosimorsk asked Lise, who was thrilled to execute a mission to end the war. She replied confidently, "Yes, and no one will know."

  "Good. Now, Kamarov," Vorosimorsk called. Kamarov turned, nodding. "Ready. Can detonate anytime."

  "Excellent. Weapons check?"

  Each raised their weapon; Lise lifted her staff, taking a deep breath. Vorosimorsk nodded, chambering his PKM. "Detonate."

  Kamarov triggered the explosives across the palace, supplied by PMC RIM per GRU orders to capture the interim government and end the war. Explosions rocked the palace, sending smoke plumes skyward.

  "Let's move," Vorosimorsk ordered. The others followed as Rompev glanced at the capital—the army was closing in, and they needed to act fast.

  The team stepped outside, encountering confused soldiers seeking help, only to be gunned down instantly. The operation unfolded rapidly.

  They cleared each area, neutralizing soldiers, and reached the room where the interim government directed the war. At the door, Petrov glanced at Lise, saying, "Blast it."

  She cast a small fire spell, destroying the massive door. They stormed in, shooting armed targets. Two rifles and a machine gun aimed at the survivors, while Rompev and Lise guarded outside, eliminating anyone approaching.

  Inside, the room's occupants glared at Vorosimorsk in fear and anger.

  "What is this?!" Rakius shouted, veins bulging. "How dare you betray us now?!"

  "Enough!" Velious interjected, accusing the Russians. "If you want money or—"

  "Nothing."

  Vorosimorsk's icy voice silenced them. He scanned each person as VSS shots rang out and Lise's magic exploded outside. "We want nothing—just you."

  "We?" Velious asked, uneasy.

  "Yes. Don't ask more. Surrender or die."

  The room fell silent, tension thick. Papaldian soldiers exchanged fearful glances, knowing their survival hinged on their leaders' decisions.

  "We can't surrender!" Rakius declared, resolute. "We've fought for our homeland, for freedom! We won't let these invaders take our country!"

  Vorosimorsk smirked, his smile cold. "Freedom? Where's the freedom in a nation drowning in war and chaos? You've led this country to ruin. There's one path: surrender and live, or fight and die."

  Velious felt despair overwhelm him. He looked at his trembling soldiers, who'd fought beside him through countless battles. "We can't let them win," he said weakly, clinging to resolve. "We must fight to the end!"

  "To the end?" Vorosimorsk mocked. "This war ended long ago. You're only prolonging the suffering."

  Lise, sensing the tension, looked at Velious and Rakius, then at Vorosimorsk.

  "If you want our surrender, give us a reason. Why should we trust you?" Rakius demanded.

  Vorosimorsk raised an eyebrow, surprised. "A reason? You'll live, and—"

  He paused, signaling the others. They tore patches from their chests, revealing Russian Federation flags, shocking and confusing the room. An officer shouted in rage, "You're spies?!"

  "Always have been. Only your emperor was fool enough to believe our empty words," Vorosimorsk taunted, knowing they wouldn't act.

  "We're not spies," he continued coldly. "We're operatives with a mission to ensure Papaldia is no longer a threat. You had your chance to surrender, but it's too late now."

  Velious and Rakius exchanged looks, fear and confusion etched on their faces. They knew the situation was hopeless, but their soldiers' pride wouldn't allow easy surrender. "We won't let you take this country without a fight," Velious declared, his voice faltering.

  "Then you've chosen death," Vorosimorsk said without pity, signaling his team to prepare. "End this."

  A massive explosion outside the palace startled everyone. Shouts and gunfire echoed, signaling the war's climax.

  Vorosimorsk, Kamarov, and Petrov coldly opened fire on non-priority targets, blood splattering as elite figures fell. Only twelve remained, including Velious, Rakius, Montfort, and Feldor—the one they wanted dead but couldn't kill yet.

  Explosions grew closer, the army nearing. Vorosimorsk approached Defense Minister Montfort, saying softly, "You're a good man, but you shouldn't serve this country. That's not advice."

  He turned to Feldor, declaring, "Your crimes will be judged by Russian courts soon."

  Rompev entered, reporting, "The palace is secured. The flag is raised."

  Vorosimorsk grinned savagely at the survivors. The room froze, facing beings worse than demons. How had such forces come to this world? Who had summoned them? The answers lay in the past, waiting to be uncovered