The 8th Tank Brigade and the 22nd Infantry Regiment have landed on the soil of Papaldia. Taking advantage of the airport, Russia has gained a significant advantage in establishing a safe airspace for other forces to gradually control the surrounding areas. Meanwhile, the Papaldian forces seem to be responding too sluggishly; more than four days have passed without any significant movement.

  Exploiting this situation, the Russian forces quickly established strong defensive positions, ensuring that the Papaldian forces could not break through. In the conference room of the old governor's office in the city of Kada, a tense yet resolute atmosphere enveloped the room. The dim yellow light from the desk lamps illuminated the tactical map, highlighting the bright red areas—Papaldian strongholds. Nevertheless, the silence from the enemy did little to alleviate the heaviness in the hearts of the officers. Lieutenant Vasha Donskoy stood there, his eyes cold, yet within him stirred an unsettling feeling he could not deny. He sensed that something was amiss. This feeling clung to him like a ghost, causing his heart to race.

  Every road drawn on the map, every blue dot representing an enemy stronghold, seemed to stare back at him, challenging his calculations. A sense of unease spread within him, intensifying his tension. He was a strategist, but sometimes, this vague feeling proved stronger than reason.

  Captain Andrey Rusakov, the commander of the main tank force here, looked at the map, adjusting the pieces on it. With a serious expression, he said, "These are the Papaldian strongholds around the city. They are very close together and could assemble into a large force. I believe the sluggishness of Papaldia is because they are preparing for a major counterattack against us, estimated to involve around 10,000 soldiers along with a significant number of air units."

  Colonel Sergey Makarov, commander of the 22nd Infantry Brigade, listened to Rusakov's words with skepticism. "While the gathering of troops is highly likely, I don't think that's entirely accurate. In my opinion, such actions are often a feint—distracting our attention from the enemy and overlooking other details."

  "That is quite possible. Based on everyone's opinions, I can guess that Papaldia's plan is to ensure we remain cautious without taking any action during this time. But perhaps they have underestimated us by thinking that the Russian army would not be capable of launching an immediate attack."

  Colonel Diana Isoka placed her hand on the table, looking at each person before her. She stood up straight and continued, "To ensure Papaldia's plan fails, I believe we must launch an attack on that chain of strongholds, thereby expanding our control as other forces arrive."

  "Certainly. However," Rusakov continued, his tone serious, "I don't think executing such an attack would be wise, especially when we must ensure minimal casualties."

  "But the government has set a rather short deadline for us, leaving no time for long-term strategies. We should take advantage of our abundant supplies and solid logistics; let's act quickly and end this war soon," Vasha interjected, reiterating the previous announcement for the others to hear.

  The others nodded in agreement, understanding that war at this moment was a gamble that needed to be concluded swiftly. Rusakov and the others nodded, agreeing to the plan to launch a preemptive strike on the Papaldian strongholds, and now they would spend the day planning for it.

  ...

  Meanwhile, at the center of the Papaldian stronghold cluster, senior officers were meeting to decide on launching an attack the following day. Each of them bore a heavy responsibility for their nation, and none of them would accept the barbaric invaders occupying a strategic city.

  General Cendaril surveyed the individuals in the room, his gaze stern. "We will officially attack the enemy tomorrow. Those barbarians have become too arrogant, thinking we have no plans for a counterattack. Their weapons may be unfamiliar, but they lack the necessary mobility."

  "That is to be expected, although I believe they have aerial assets from Mu, though this information has yet to be confirmed," one officer spoke up.

  "There's no denying they possess incredibly powerful weapons, but it's still too early to draw conclusions. If we hastily conclude, it could turn Mu against us," another officer added.

  "Whether it is Mu or not, we will fight and demonstrate the strength of the empire," Cendaril scoffed. "What about the air units?"

  One officer rummaged through papers in hand, pulled out a sheet, and reported, "All are in a state of readiness; none are experiencing issues."

  "Good, and what about the navy?" Cendaril inquired further. The officer reported, "A large force consisting of Royal Fleet 1 and 2 is on its way here to eliminate the enemy. Additionally, there will be adventurers coming to assist us along with reinfor cements."

  "Adventurers?" Cendaril said with disdain. "Those ragtag groups are being summoned? Who hired them?"

  "It was Minister Louis," he replied, his voice trembling.

  Cendaril immediately expressed his dissatisfaction upon hearing Louis's name—the man notorious for being overly cautious, making him unpopular among those responsible for logistics. Louis's actions had led to the military budget being slashed to invest in other areas; such decisions tarnished the powerful image of Papaldia.

  He frowned, but refused to let it cloud his judgment. Cendaril continued to study the map, placing pieces on it. He meticulously designed a strategy to ensure absolute victory.

  The tactic he devised aimed for the military groups to achieve the highest firepower intensity with Papaldia's most powerful weapons. While a large contingent of seven groups formed a diamond formation, other military units would create an arrow formation to allow artillery support.

  Simultaneously, the air units would provide strong fire support for the infantry, breaking the enemy's formation, instilling fear within their ranks, and thus achieving victory. He relied on all intelligence regarding Russia, concluding that Russia was a relatively strong nation, but that alone was not enough to assert that they would gain the upper hand on the battlefield. He smiled slightly and nodded at the other officers, who clasped their hands in the Aquila formation, signifying their commitment to executing the plan.

  ...

  The next morning, at Harachirst base, helicopters were brought in while other forces were being prepared for deployment. The helicopter force primarily consisted of Mi-24 and Mi-35, along with several Mi-28M, providing strong firepower alongside the infantry. The rotors began to spin as tanks, IFVs, and APCs moved out of the dilapidated base toward the battlefield.

  On the runway, Su-25SM3 attack aircraft began to take off, the same ones that had previously attacked the base. The pilots, while observing the other soldiers on armored vehicles, felt a sense of exhilaration witnessing their homeland's army dominating a battlefield where they held absolute superiority.

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  Among the infantry was the 15th Tank Company led by Lieutenant Vasha Donskoy at the forefront. He gazed at the scene outside the city—feeling no emotion towards it; the residents within were no better, looking at the Russian forces with hostility as they passed by. Now, this empire needed to be dismantled to pave the way for Russia to officially rise as a powerful force in this world.

  He saw three of his aircraft flying overhead, followed by helicopters slowly advancing with the infantry. They were only about 8 km from the Papaldian stronghold cluster, and at their current speed, it would take approximately 24 minutes to reach there without encountering any obstacles. Except for the air units and mages, which were crucial forces still not fully understood, strong units would be needed to create an overwhelming advantage.

  Vasha took a deep breath as he observed the other units lining up, then looked at his own company; a grand battle was about to unfold between a modern force and one with little chance. Regardless of how events unfolded, the outcome was already clear. He recalled his days in the Spetsnaz and operations in Syria, a wonderful time spent eliminating terrorists. But he did not dwell on it for long, focusing instead on the battle ahead without letting trivial matters distract him.

  ...

  At that moment, in another location, Cendaril was admiring his entire army standing in a perfectly arranged formation that he had painstakingly organized. He watched as the air units soared above, believing this would be the battle that would elevate him to the ranks of legendary generals of Papaldia by defeating an army equipped with Mu's weapons. "I can't wait to see the face of that bastard Louis," Cendaril whispered, a smug smile on his lips.

  Here, there were over 48,000 troops from all branches except the navy, a formidable effort to reclaim the city. To him, allowing the barbarians to occupy a Papaldian city was an affront to honor and a disgrace to their status as a Superpower. He did not care whether other nations recognized it; as long as Mu and Milishial acknowledged it, that was enough to elevate the nation's name on the international stage.

  This was not merely an empty recognition; it had been proven through bloody conflicts. The meaning of being a Superpower was to dominate within its region—except for the Ostrogoth Holy See, which held considerable strength. But that was not a concern; he only cared about victory and what he would do on the land of the barbarians once he set foot on it. Cendaril smirked to one side, pressing the manacom, raising his voice to the commanders.

  "This is Cendaril, begin the advance."

  Without delay, the troops below began to march forward. Each step was slow yet agile and assured; the air units flew ahead, initiating a preemptive strike against the enemy while the main force would clean up afterward.

  He mounted his horse, glancing at Abkha—his deputy and assistant, a half-breed with canine features—who bowed as he approached. Abkha stepped forward and asked, "Commander, the enemy is advancing towards us. Do you have a plan?"

  "Yes," he replied, "and we are prepared for this. Last time was due to surprise; this time will be different."

  "You mean you know what we are up against?" the young officer inquired, uncertainty evident in his voice.

  "I know; nothing is beyond our expectations."

  Abkha nodded, but a sense of unease lingered within him—like an insidious illness ravaging his body without his awareness or resistance. All he could hope for was that the preparations were sufficient and that this would be an easy battle—at least against the barbarians.

  A moment later, the Papaldian army arrived at a wide field; quickly, they formed ranks as the latest intelligence indicated that the enemy was drawing near. Infantry, artillery, and mages took their positions, waiting for the enemy to come into view.

  Cendaril used the manacom to communicate with the leading air units to assess the situation. However, what he received was entirely contrary to what he desired; frantic shouts from the other side, accompanied by piercing sounds, filled him with a dreadful premonition about the reality unfolding beyond.

  "What is happening? Report the situation immediately!" Cendaril shouted, startling those around him, who looked at him in confusion.

  The response came quickly but was chaotic. All he could discern was: "They... are strong... can't... all die..."

  That was all he heard, and it filled him with extreme anxiety, leaving him powerless. Something was happening on the other side, and he could do nothing; only a few air units remained. He looked at the other commanders, realizing he had acted improperly; quickly, he composed himself and approached the other commanders, issuing orders.

  "Quickly return to your units!"

  The other commanders reluctantly complied, while he looked up at the sky, feeling a hint of the empire's majesty through the air units, a sense of pride igniting within him once more. Cendaril quickly regained his composure and used the manacom to confirm the readiness of each soldier.

  Everything was set, and he would show those barbarians the true strength of Papaldia. However, distant lights began to shatter his dreams. The air units collided with one another and exploded, their bloodied remains raining down, leaving him utterly stunned. But that was not all; other small beams of light surged forward—directly into the front lines.

  The unfortunate souls were torn apart by those beams, with continuous "bangs" echoing, claiming dozens more lives. The mages behind were flustered, hastily conjuring shields to protect themselves, but it was all in vain; the GSh-30-2 cannon with 30mm rounds wreaked havoc on their bodies, rendering any defense futile: a painful death awaited.

  The scene of this assault resembled a vivid nightmare. When the first bullet struck, even a small explosion was enough to inflict horrific wounds. Each 30mm round pierced flesh like a knife, shredding muscle, shattering bones, creating massive holes in bodies. The impacted area ruptured under the shockwave of the bullet. Blood gushed forth like a torrent, forming a red pool beneath the soldiers, staining the ground.

  Shattered bones flew around like fragments of a broken object. Even the internal organs could not escape the brutality of this artillery. A bullet passing through could puncture a lung, causing blood to pour from the throat, creating a horrifying scene: clouds of blood, chaotic and smeared across the faces of the wounded. Those struck by bullets felt an excruciating pain engulf their bodies, as if every muscle and bone were being crushed.

  Blood continued to flow, but as it drained, the body grew weaker. The unbearable agony rendered the wounded unable to rise. If they remained conscious, they would feel their bodies gradually falling apart, unable to move, unable to fight. Those fortunate enough to survive this barrage would find themselves incapable of continuing the battle. Severely damaged internal organs would leave them in a daze, eventually unconscious. The world around them would fade, and they would feel nothing but bone-deep pain.

  The air on the battlefield was thick with the stench of smoke and blood, creating a nauseating and suffocating atmosphere. The ground was drenched in red, where once stood soldiers now lay lifeless, the unfortunate shadows forever left behind. Every movement, every gaze upward, carried a sense of despair, while the gentle breeze seemed to remind them of the brutality that could not be forgotten. Death, like a cold flame, had knocked on many doors, leaving only the living, if any, as motionless bodies sprawled on the blood-soaked earth, while war continued to sweep away their dreams and hopes.

  As the smoke began to clear, it revealed a scene of brutality that surpassed even hell itself before Cendaril's eyes. He was utterly horrified by what was unfolding. In less than a few minutes, the entire formation had descended into chaos, instilling a profound fear within him, leaving him uncertain of what to do next. Abkha, dragging his injured body, approached him with urgency.

  "General, we must retreat; we cannot withstand them!"

  "Silence!" he shouted, "We are a superpower; we cannot retreat without facing the enemy's main force!"

  "But..."

  "No buts! Quickly return to your positions!" he commanded, then used the manacom to communicate with the surviving commanders. "Quickly maintain formation; the enemy will exploit any weakness!"

  Just as he finished speaking, dark figures began to emerge in the distance. It was the steel army of Russia slowly advancing towards the Papaldian forces. The entire formation quickly fell into position, and as they drew near enough, bullets were fired, colliding with the vehicles—completely ineffective.

  The APCs, IFVs, and MBTs opened fire on the Papaldian army, causing even more casualties. At this point, the Papaldian soldiers' confidence had evaporated—many fled to save their lives, only to be gunned down.

  Cendaril was gripped by fear as he realized that all hope was lost. He shouted into the manacom while running towards his horse. But it all ended swiftly; a 30mm round struck him, shattering his chest, causing him to collapse on the spot. The ensuing battle unfolded in a one-sided manner. The entire Russian army relentlessly pursued and eliminated each stronghold, expanding their control further.