“Combined Orlish and South Hebeian forces have retaken the southern districts of the Ginzhu Metropole, and are advancing further and further into the battle-torn city. Already, the MN aerial and missile campaign continued at a constant pace of 2,000 to 3,000 tons of bombs dropped, mostly glide bombs sent by Orlish LF-20s, and LF-12s, alongside Asanaian A-16s. Alongside this, a continuous stream of cruise and ballistic missile strikes is ongoing, with MN ships continuously reloaded of its missile stocks in Asanaian and Rizalian ports, indicating that the campaign is forcing MN vessels into a constant stream of deployment and rotations. Even then, the offensive continues, with analysts suggesting that North Hebeian forces have suffered ‘destructive casualties’, which they might not recover from in the short-term.”

  - Geopol Press

  +++

  North Hebei

  Ginzhu Province

  17th Motor Rifle Division ‘Sczlewig’

  22nd Mechanized Brigade

  104th Infantry Battalion

  D Company

  Corporal Stefan Klimowicz wasn’t having a fun time today. When he managed to get himself out of their destroyed BTP-3, he shivered as he confronted the cold outside. The rest of their convoy, which belonged to D Company of the 104th Infantry Battalion, was now destroyed.

  “Damn it,” he struggled to walk out of the road, as above him, more bombs flew. Fighters from those ‘reactionary bastards’ flew past them, and then explosions struck the rest of the darkened fields.

  He managed to get himself hiding underneath the shades of trees, but when he looked back at his unit—there wasn’t much left.

  There were rows of BTP-3s burning on the road, alongside dozens of trucks that carried the rest of them. He hissed as he tried to place a bandage on his bleeding and half-burned leg, while the battle ahead of them continued.

  A continuous barrage of artillery and glide bombs sang through the frontlines, as he desperately tried to stem the bleeding on his leg’s wounds.

  When he was done, all he could do was stand up as he continued to shiver through the January cold. The bombardment had ceased a bit, but he knew it would continue soon enough. On the other hand, he picked up his radio to regain contact with his unit.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t work. No matter which frequency he used, the responses and orders were garbled, and he could only glean a few snippets of information from his radio.

  He tapped it a little bit forcefully with his gloved hand.

  “Come on, work, damn it!” he urged, trying to even shake it, raising it to the air to gain reception. “Come on, come on…why doesn’t anything work out here?”

  Ever since he was deployed here, it had been a constant problem no matter where they went. With so many jammers deployed by those reactionaries at the frontline, it was a struggle for him and his comrades to even just communicate with each other. Some even said that Ginzhu was cut off, and their communication and supply lines were utterly compromised.

  Yet, they held. No matter what, even if their ammo, supplies, food, and whatever else they needed to keep fighting dried out. Cursing the heavens one last time, Stefan decided to soldier on instead and walk out.

  He briefly checked his watch. It was 02:43 hours.

  I need to regroup with my countrymen.

  The other units of his brigade should be nearby after all.

  He walked eastwards, bypassing the bombed-out roads and settlements that he managed to go through. Through it all, he felt his leg ache in protest. He struggled, but he managed to walk for a few kilometers from his starting position. Soon, he reached another neighborhood, which was utterly destroyed.

  When he managed to get close to the central area of the subdivision, Stefan was forced to duck behind a destroyed BTP. On the road, dozens of North Hebeian troopers seemed to be retreating, their rifles desperately opening fire at their enemies ahead of them. He couldn’t understand what they were shouting about, as he didn’t know any Hebeian.

  He readied his gun, watching intently from the sidelines as multiple soldiers tried to take cover behind the abandoned vehicles and the damaged buildings. One of them fired a handheld recoilless rifle in the direction of their enemies, causing a tiny explosion in the distance.

  He dragged himself to the side of the BTP, trying to see an opening where he could rejoin these allied soldiers. Until something flashed through the streets. It was a woman, and her flag patch was clear—Orlish.

  The woman’s pink hair flowed freely, as she had not bothered to wear a helmet. All she used was the dirty white colored uniform of the Orlish Royal Guard, underneath her vest and armor. Stefan realized what she was rather quickly. They were dealing with another battlefield monster.

  Shit!

  She rapidly dodged and weaved through the gunfire, her barrier spells absorbing the bullets before they had a chance to nick her. Readying her sword, she sliced it in the air diagonally, sending an arc of powerful fire straight at the panicked North Hebeian soldier. Stefan was already running to hide in one of the residential buildings when nearly four soldiers on the streets were sliced by her sword magic.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He kicked the door to one of the houses, quickly climbing on the staircase, but as he did that, he curiously looked back at what was happening on the streets at one of the shattered windows.

  On the ground, more women soldiers of Orlish origin were funneling in. Armed with their magical guns, their gunfire quickly overwhelmed whatever remnants of the desperate North Hebeian positions were left. Their bullets simply weren’t the same, as they exploded in various powerful magical spells—either fire or ice-based.

  By the time it was over, all that was left was an entire platoon of dead North Hebeian soldiers, their bodies either burned, sliced, or frozen. On the other hand, the Orlish combat mages continued advancing, luckily not noticing Stefan.

  Sweating bullets, he sat down on a chair on the second floor of the house he hid in. He removed his helmet before his face collapsed in anguish on his hands.

  He had no idea what to do now.

  +++

  5th Knights Detachment Unit ‘Erzherzogin Delphine’

  22nd Mage Rifles Battalion

  B Company

  Captain Rosa Schmidt planted her sword on the cold asphalt, kneeling as she prayed lightly. Known in her unit as the ‘Rose Knight’, she was one of the strongest traditional knights of the Royal Guard, born from one of the cadet houses of the House Pristina.

  She sighed when she finished praying to the goddess, looking around at the mess she had created once again in the service of her Queen and Kingdom. They were nothing but young boys to her, a woman who had already birthed three children at the age of thirty-six. It was perhaps why each time she killed these young men, guilt consumed her.

  I can’t imagine how I’d react if someone else killed my boys.

  The idea of the war dragging on even further that his eldest boy might be recruited and sent into this mess was enough to awaken her burning desire to end this war as best as she could.

  It was why she went here after all.

  She stood up, sheathing her sword back into her scabbard. To most of her underlings, the fact that she preferred the wand and the sword over their newer magical rifles was a strange one. But for Rosa, this was her way of fighting ever since she was inducted into the Royal Guard’s knightly order decades ago.

  Considering how in a few minutes, she cut down nearly thirty men with her blade and magic, the results practically spoke for themselves.

  “Everyone,” Rosa spoke to her soldiers, and the officers and soldiers of her unit immediately listened to her. “We’ll scour this subdivision, then we’ll advance.”

  She turned to her executive officer, a younger woman who followed her constantly from behind, her hands cradling her magical rifle with a slight twitch of anxiousness.

  “Lieutenant,” Rosa said. “Contact command to also send a few recon planes to the areas ahead of us.”

  “Alright, Captain,” the lieutenant nodded. “I’ll be on it.”

  “Good.”

  Rosa looked away, leaving the rest of her soldiers to figure out the rest for themselves. On the other hand, she began searching for any stragglers around town, walking with the calmness of a woman who knew it was impossible for anyone to realistically touch her.

  With her hand on the hilt of her sword, she entered house after house, checking in if anyone was left. Somewhat, she was also searching for civilians, considering many of them were sometimes left on the battlefield. As she went through it, she entered bombed-out buildings and even checked military vehicles that were abandoned.

  It was a tiring affair. Death haunted this place, just like all places on the battlefield.

  In one of the military trucks, right beside a crater that must have been struck by artillery, were a dozen charred North Hebeian soldiers, the only thing identifiably about them being their flag patches and distinct helmets.

  There were also two tanks, one belonged to the Poznekis, and another belonged to the Larissans, both seemingly abandoned. At least, until she climbed one of them, opened its hatch, and saw the messy remains inside.

  Must have been hit by heavy artillery.

  She winced, closing the hatch. Then, she continued further. Pozneki soldiers. Larissan soldiers. She even found two Lombardian soldiers, their bodies unrecognizable under the rubble. This area must have been bombed so hard early on, and they must not have had enough time to clean things up.

  Soon, she went through one of the few slightly intact houses. She pushed on the door, opening it. Then, carefully, she climbed through the stairs, up to the second floor. Suddenly, she heard a click.

  She stopped.

  “I heard you,” she called out. “I’m going to be clear now, if you wish to surrender, you can do so if you raise your arms, and disarm yourself.”

  “Fuck off!”

  “You’re Pozneki,” she replied. The soldier that was upstairs seemed to be hiding behind the wall, on the right side. She sighed. “Come out now, there’s no hope of further resistance. I know you’re injured.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have a perception spell,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I can see you from here.”

  The man laughed, clearly already at his wit's end. It seemed to be common with these men. They all resisted fiercely, till the end, refusing to surrender in the face of overwhelming odds. It tired her.

  If she could make a few of them surrender instead of dying in a pointless last stand, she wanted that.

  “Come out now, young lad,” she ordered. “You shouldn’t squander your life when someone’s offering you to live another day—”

  “Why does that matter to you? There’s no point,” he replied. “If the revolution fails, then I have no reason to live!”

  “Your buddies are dead.”

  “Then I shall die with them!”

  Suddenly, the man turned to attack, but before he could even press his trigger and aim at Rosa, she swiftly passed by him. Blood sprayed through the walls of the abandoned house, and he collapsed on his knees—a cruel slice on his side.

  “What’s your name?” Rosa calmly asked, turning a bit to face the fallen soldier. She sheathed back her bloodied sword.

  “Stefan,” he replied, as his rifle fell on the floor, his blood pooling around him. “I am Corporal Stefan Klimowicz.”

  He laughed.

  “I serve the…revolutionary Pozneki Army,” he continued. “I…I did my best for my brothers.”

  Soon, the Pozneki soldier collapsed, bleeding out completely. She sighed.

  They always act that way even when it’s pointless to resist.

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