Damian Sokolowski looked over at the silent men in the cave. Survivors from Elassa’s assault on them, as she swept through their lines and to the south. Kassandora had commended Sokolowski on how successful the retreat had been, but he didn’t feel it frankly. A retreat was a retreat, no matter how it was framed at the end of the day.

His eyes went down to the report he was about to send. He had finished writing already, but was simply checking for mistakes. Better not to misspell a word when you were writing to a Goddess and all that:

‘We have confirmed at least thirty thousand of Fortia’s Ground Army have begun to cross the Central Mountain Range. I am activating the Red Trail Contingency.’

Lyca focused his eyes on today’s prey. A snake of a hundred men walking around a narrow mountain trail. It was barely large enough for two side-by-side men to fit. On one side, the mountain’s red rocks jutted upwards to make an unscalable wall, on the other, the path’s precipice gave way to a sheer cliff. Two dozen magicians floated in the air, each one in a differently coloured robe. Some had glowing runes stitches onto their clothes, others were merely a solid block of colour and each magician held onto a war staff. Lyca remembered when he still had to resort to wands and catalysts to be able to use magic. Not anymore.

Lyca made a hand sign to the eight sorcerers who still made up his pack. When he had arrived to Melukal with the original twelve, he had not been impressed whatsoever by the meat shields, now though, after everyone had a taste of real warfare, they were far better. There wasn’t talking or gossip among them, they responded to commands immediately, they stayed silent when he talked. The execution in Melukal really did help to maintain order, he could see why Anassa was so brutal if this was brutalities’ effects.

Lyca dived down towards that trail. There were a hundred or so Guardians there, men in thick bronze-gold plate, each man carrying a heavy shield on his back and a long spear in his hands. A hundred them snaked in a single file line merely looking tired and bored from the trek. Lyca’s team followed immediately behind him, not a single hint of hesitation on their faces.

Lyca snapped his fingers as flames burst out around him. A dozen crimson spears flashed into existence next to him and tore through four of the mages. Bodies were scattered, limbs thrown about, trails of blood cascading down below. Lyca turned in the air to another mage, a woman in a red cloak, Arcadia’s runes of pyromancy imprinted on the fabric set alight as she waved her ruby-capped staff.

Lyca’s made a sweeping motion with his hand, a terrible claw of opaque red materialized besides her and slammed her into the cliff. The broken body fell down into the dark ravine below as Lyca saw a mage in light blue aim his staff at him. Water already coiled around the wooden stick, and then the man screamed out as a dash of red swept before him. His arms fell from his body, the man lost control and fell with them. A sorcerer in Lyca’s team took the man’s position and put up a barrier to guard against the searing flame that was advancing upon the two of them.

And the searing flame stopped, another sorcerer’s conjured sword shot from above like a perfect shot, pierced the mages’ chest and ceased his counterattack. Lyca pulled away from the Guardians as they set up a shield wall, a few were trying to down him with bows, another man threw his spear, others started hurling a stone. One man tripped in the panic and confusion and fell off the path.

With the magician’s down, there was no support. Lyca snapped his finger and men were pulled to the edge. They fell like a domino, one by one, until there was no trace that Fortia’s forces had ever passed through here apart from a few streaks of blood left on the rocks.

Another day, another hunt.

Kassandora agrees me, Fer agrees with me, Neneria and Olephia do. The simple most important thing you can learn is not to hold back. You are not musicians or artisans, you are sorcerers. There is no such thing as slow escalation, strike fast, strike hard, suddenly overwhelm them with a sudden hail of violence. Do not go from zero to a hundred in a second, go from zero to a thousand in an instant.

– Excerpt from Anassa’s Booklet for New Sorcerers.

Pawel and Mateusz watched through a pair of binoculars as Fortia’s men were coming. The sorcerers were used to pick off the smaller teams that were snaking into the mountains and trying to seize tactical positions, whereas the remains of Sokolowski’s First Division were tasked with slowing the main advance. “She’s cute.” Pawel said as he pointed out one of the mages. A woman in blue, with striking black hair and sharp eyes, she floated in the air and yawned. “The one at the front, you see her?”

“I do.” Mateusz replied. He turned his binoculars away from Fortia’s slowly advancing forces. They had taken one of the roads that led through the mountains, a grand highway that once led to Melukal, although now was a supply line.

A supply line, and a trap.

This section may have had some five hundred men, all in gold and bronze, a hundred or so mages, and twenty heavy trucks, each a six-wheeled compact box painted in the White Pantheon’s white and gold colouring. They slowly trundled along the road as Pawel and Mateusz kept watch. Mateusz got his radio as he watched put his binoculars down, personally, he would never travel through that valley. Tight, with a cliff of red rock on either side, on either side of the tarmac, grass and small trees sprouted from it. Mateusz waited until they got to the tree that had been marked with one of Sokolowski’s spare flags. That pretty woman Pawel pointed out went to investigate it, a blade of water materialized next to her, and the flag fell.

Mateusz clicked the button on his radio and spoke. “They’re at the tree, blow it.”

On the other side of the valley, Platoons Three and Four got the order. Sappers pressed their own buttons, and the cliff gave way with a burst of stone hail and flames. The sound drowned out the march of boots from within the valley and the rumbling of engines as it echoed back and forth. Rocks started to tumble downwards, huge sections of stone started to slide as the men below scattered. Only the hundred mages kept order, they raised their staves, water collected around them, then started to spiral upwards in a coiling snakish fashion. It smashed a massive rock shelf into two, then four, then eight.

Geomancers raised their weapons, crystals glowing bright, and held the landslide in place. Falling rocks started to slow down, then stop entirely in mid-air as the hydromancers started to tear stones apart. “Time to get to work then.” Pawel said. “That pretty one is mine.” He unslung his rifle and took aim. Mateusz gave the order.

“All platoons, you are free to fire. Magicians first.” Mateusz pulled his trigger first, mages were usually impossible to shoot down, the magical shields they had were simple reflexes, they could summon them before the bullet even left the barrel.

But mages concentrating0 on a landslide did not have the luxury of awareness, not when they were mere seconds from being crushed to death. Mateusz’ gunshot echoed against the valley walls, and the pretty woman in blue collapsed, blood spurting from a hole in the back of her head. And more gunshots came, more mages fell one by one. One man turned in shock, raised a barrier, and then was crushed by falling stones above him.

And with that first crush, the strength of the others gave out. Rocks held by magical energies tumbled down. Whether a skeleton of man’s bone or vehicle’s metal, the landslide flattened all.

I give Fortia two weeks before she declares the mountains uncrossable and sends her army to Zalewski’s front. Send all the divisions Arascus is raising right now to the Eastern Front.

– Kassandora’s Letter to Kavaa.

Edmonton crossed his arms as he stood next to one of Sokolowski’s men. A Sergeant named Janek Lynowski, a short man with long hair tied back, they watched Fortia’s convoy advance over a bridge that lunged over a valley, the cliffs on either side practically diving towards the rocky ground at the bottom. Janek pulled out a packet of cigarettes, some cheap Kirinyaan brand. “Want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“More for me then.” Janek lit up his cigarette and took a long drag. Edmonton had been around the soldiers long enough to not care about it, and the harsh mountainous winds blew the smoke in the other direction anyway. They raced and howled through the valley below them. Fortia’s convoy was maybe four hundred men, maybe five hundred, whatever, it didn’t matter too much. Edmonton and his team of ten were only called here because there was an estimated eighty mages with them. Trucks trundled down the middle of the road as Guardians kept pace on either side, mages hovered here and there.

The convoy managed to cross three quarters of the way. Janek finished his cigarette in one long drag and flicked the butt off the edge of the cliff. “You sure they didn’t see you?” Edmonton asked.

“See what?” Janek asked.

“Spark of the cigarette.” Edmonton answered.

Janek shrugged, laughed, then pulled out a detonator switch. He flicked the cap off as he talked. “I would not care if they saw me ploughing their mothers.” And his grizzled thumb slammed down on the red button. Edmonton turned to the bridge as an explosion came from below. The bridge’s superstructure gave way, it tilted and creaked, metal screamed and cried, asphalt wept and crumbled and the cliffs on either side roared as blasts tore them apart.

Men started to scream as they fell with the bridge, wheels on trucks started to spin madly. The mages managed to catch two of the vehicles and suspend three dozen men in the air in their shock, they floated there for a few seconds, magical catalysts flaring with bright lights as they used all their energies to keep what they managed to save from tumbling to the abyss below.

“Those are yours sorcerer. Clean them up.” Edmonton did not have to be told twice. His feet left the ground as he lifted off into the air, he put his fingers in his mouth and gave out a whistle. His team of sorcerers shot from the cliff towards the magicians in the air. Magic was good, magic was strong, Edmonton had used magic before too after all, he knew what it could do. It was overwhelming and powerful, but if there was one thing magic failed at, it was multitasking.

Holding up vehicles and men like that gave little space for self-defence. Half the magicians were ripped apart by sorcerous energies before they even managed to turn, the rest fell just as quickly, as they battled with themselves on whether to drop who they were holding or try to escape with them.

By the time Edmonton and his team were finished, the river at the bottom of the valley started to flow red with blood.

Kassandora read through the letter that had managed to work its way up the chain of command. “To Goddess Kassandora, the engineering core is happy to announce that the first wave of KAL planes have been successfully refitted to serve in combat.”

“Apologies for being late.” Eliza said as her feet touched the ground. Her team of sorcerers came back, exhausted and bloodied from another battle. Information had been wrong, she was only supposed to face a dozen mages, she had faced fifty. It cost shrunk her team from nine to seven. Those losses weren’t easily replaceable, not when Sokolowski’s Central Army had been all but cut off by Elassa’s sweeping charge through the mountains. The main highways had been blockaded by encampments of several hundred mages each and only the side roads were accessible. Eliza indicated towards her bare legs, splattered with blood, the skirt that had once been plait, now dark with crimson blood, and her shirt, that had been ruined too. None of the blood was hers though. “I think you see I ran into trouble.”

“Do not worry, we have a plan B.” The soldier responded, a tall man in a tan shirt and shorts. The shorts were torn at the knee, the shirt was missing a button, and he had his rifle slung over his shoulder. “And plan A failed anyway.”

“What?” Eliza asked as she looked around the platoon. Twenty or so men who were talking quietly around two campfires. They sat on a road leading to one of the large tunnels that cut through the heart of one the mountain’s ranges mountains. Her own team of sorcerers finally caught up to her, only one man managed to stay on his feet, the rest collapsed to sit and catch a breath on the ground. Each man was covered in blood, some their own. “And do you have medics, some of my men are injured.” The soldier only gave a whistle and three men with first aid kits stood up.

“The explosives in the tunnel were cut.” The soldier replied. “We were just waiting for you to make sure.” He looked over at the sorry state of Eliza’s sorcerers. “Are they ready or not?” Eliza turned to her team, her brown eyes locked with theirs, men straightened and sat up. The one still on his feet saluted and shivered. She didn’t keep too tight a leash on them, but then the only comparisons she had were Lyca, Edmonton and Fleur. And Anassa she supposed. Frankly, Eliza considered herself saint compared to who they could have ended up with. She only needed to give lashings twice so far!

“Attention!” Eliza shouted and the men stood up quickly. She turned to the soldier with a smug smile on her face. “They’re ready.” The man gave her a doubtful look, but the sorcerers had gained enough reputation among Sokolowski’s troops at this point for their methods not to be questioned.

“Very well.” He said. “They can sit back down.” None of the sorcerers moved, once, they had listened to a soldier’s command instead of waiting for Eliza to give her own. Only once, they learned not to do that again.

“Sit! Rest!” Eliza shouted without even turning to them as the man started to walk off. The tunnel entrance was blasted with craters, a pile of loose rubble from the nearby cliff was there, and there lights inside the tunnel. Magical ones, Eliza could feel their energies and taste the elements. Pyromancers primarily.

“We’ve forced them in with artillery fire. They’re not coming out, and they’ve cut the wires we had on the explosives.”

“And?” Eliza asked. She wasn’t going to tell her team to go into that, that was practically suicide.

“We wanted you here just in case they start coming out. Other than that, you’re welcome to take a break. Alright?” The man was taller than her by more than a head, but he didn’t meet her gaze once.

“Understood.” Eliza replied.

The man turned, Eliza followed his gaze. A large fuel truck was on the road. The soldier pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Eliza wrinkled her nose at the smell. Her own team wasn’t allowed to smoke, but Kassandora had once told them this was a war they shouldn’t bother to fight. “SEND IT!” The soldier shouted. A man opened the door to the truck and climbed the three steps into the cabin. Eliza saw the steering wheel had been secured with a stick and rope. The man started the engine, another soldier came and heaved a large rock into the cabin.

The man put the truck into first gear, pressed the gas pedal to the metal, and nudged the rock over it. The vehicle started to pick up speed as it raced down the road, towards the tunnel. The driver jumped out, tumbled and rolled on the ground, his clothes tore and his skin scratched, but he sat up to a chorus of cheers from the soldiers around the campfire.

Eliza watched the truck hurtle into the darkness of the tunnel. It was leaking fuel from the back, and its engine roared and growled and echoed in that impenetrable blackness. And then the truck crashed, wheels spun out of control, metal twisted and bent, it must have fallen over. Although if there were mages inside, that wasn’t surprising. A single vehicle wasn’t difficult to stop.

The soldier Eliza had been talking with took a long drag of his cigarette, pulled it out of his mouth, and flicked it into the thin stream of fuel the truck had left. It ignited immediately, the fire spread like a vicious plague as it raced down the stream into the tunnel. It reached the truck, it reached the fuel tank, and it blew up.

The heat detonated the explosives planted in the walls, the mountain came down. “You’re one of the ex-mages, right?” The man asked as the tunnel collapsed, the screams from within were immediately by a landslide burying the entrance.

“I am.”

“Is it possible to hold up a mountain?” Eliza had to think about it for a moment. She couldn’t do it, could Elassa? Maybe. Probably. Anassa most likely could, but Anassa most likely could do anything.

Eliza shook her head, her brown hair felt disgusting with how matted it was from blood. “Not at their level.”

“Then apologies for wasting your time.”

Fortia looked over the reports she was receiving from the force she had sent to cross the Central Mountains. There wasn’t a single one that said of victory, the best thing she found was that a trap had been detected in advance and deactivated.

She looked at yesterday’s pile and saw it immediately. This one was a good two dozen papers smaller. She looked at the day’s before. That was one was even larger.

What a disaster.

Anassa stopped in the air as she looked down upon the encampment. It was a series of tents and huts, either wooden ones grown by floromancers or stone ones pulled out of the rocky terrain by the geomancers. In between it ran a highway, one of Kassandora’s vital supply lines to Sokolowski’s front. There was this one, and then there were three more to clear today, she had just done two yesterday. The travel time, she minded. In fact, she didn’t just mind it, it infuriated her. Zalewski’s front was an entire four hours away at a reasonable pace. That was eight hours in a day she was waiting simply on moving about.

But…

She stared down at the mages below her, they hadn’t spotted her yet. Her eyes fell over them as four more Anassa’s appeared in the air. Each one counted separately, then compared the numbers. Three hundred and sixty to the dot. Elassa had left quite the garrison here. This many magicians conglomerated into such a small area would prove trouble even for Fer. Her own sorcerers weren’t up to the job yet. Neneria obviously wasn’t. Kassandora could not face that, no chance. Cute little Kassie would be swept up by a hail of magic and most likely killed if she tried. But there was someone who could.

Anassa’s mouth became a sneering smile of joy as she took a step forwards, into the middle of the camp. Only she and Olephia could do this, no one else. Frankly, the travel time suddenly she didn’t mind whatsoever. Zalewski’s front didn’t see much action anyway. Both armies were sending reinforcements to his lines now, and both armies had come to a standstill. Maisara could not dislodge his artillery, he could not dislodge Maisara’s mages.

Anassa looked around the camp as men and women froze in their steps. They were totally unprepared for her. Confused faces turned drained of blood as they finally ascribed a name to who had just entered. Anassa snapped her finger as a pillar was conjured under her feet. She took a step into the air and dodged it, then looked down as a whirlwind of crimson tore through the encampment.

Another Anassa appeared, and another, until a dozen copies of the Goddess made a full circle around the mages who were still left alive. They tried to strike back at first, but whether it was a blade of wind, a hail of flame, a spear of water or a shot of stone, it harmlessly bounced off Anassa’s barrier. And then they tried to raise a barrier.

The twelve Anassa’s raised their hands. The landscape became tinted with a crimson glow, and then a bright column of red sorcery descended from the heavens. Anassa looked at the damage with a satisfied smile, her stomach growled, and she sent off her copies to find jungle fruit to pick.

Anassa raised her hand, a juicy orange appeared in her palm and she started to pick at the skin. One camp down, two more to go.

Too easy.

She threw a piece of the fruit into her mouth and her eyes widened. This was good! She’d pick more on the way back!

Fortia read through Maisara’s report. Anassa was appearing in here and there, both in reports from the eastern flank and from the centre push, but that was to be expected. Anassa was far too fast to only be contained to one front. There! No. That one was a week old at this point. Fortia shook her head, let out a heavy sigh, and threw the papers down onto the table. Anassa moving out was nothing unique, it was a challenge, but it was an obvious challenge.

But where was Fer?

Damian Sokolowski looked through binoculars as he looked at the largest of Fortia’s armies he had seen so far. They were travelling down the main highway, reinforced with mages and travelling slowly. There was at least a hundred trucks there, maybe some two thousand of Fortia’s Guardians too, it was a force too large to ambush, and they had managed to get past all the bridges before one of Sokolowski’s scouts had come across them. But Kassandora had sent a note, and Damian Sokolowski was no longer limited to ground ambushes. He thumbed his radio. “This is General Sokolowski, how long until the birds are here? Over.”

The reply came immediately. “Ground Control speaking. Give them two minutes General. Over.”

It was a short two minutes. Damian, Wiktor, Pawel and Mateusz all watched the army slowly pass underneath them through their binoculars. They were far away, and at this distance, it was safe even if the rocky cliffs gave little obscurity to hide them. Sokolowski tuned back into the conversation his team was having. “There’s a cute one, would.” Pawel said.

“Which one are you talking about?” Wiktor asked.

“The one in a red cloak, in the middle.” Pawel answered.

“Half of them are wearing red.” Now it was Mateusz complaining.

“Yeah well this one is too.” Pawel said.

“Put the binoculars away.” Damian said and men stopped arguing over which witch was the prettiest. “And look at that.” The General pointed up in his tattered shirt towards the sky. From the south, barrelling through the air perfectly in line with the highway was five dots in the sky. They shot forwards like giant arrows through the air, and passed over the approaching army before swerving upwards and disappearing into the clouds.

Damian heard the whistles before he saw the several dozen black dots make a slow fall. He saw mages raise barriers above them as the bombs cascaded downwards, their whistles becoming sharp screams as they descended down. They were heavier than artillery shells apparently, although that’s why Damian had come to watch the performance. He wanted to see what the engineers had cooked up this time.

And the engineers did not disappoint.

A blast went off, the cloud of dust immediately as large as a barn, it only proceeded to grow as more bombs hit their targets. And napalm too, those came second, spitting flaming jelly in all directions. Black smoke mixed with dust to make a horrendous concoction as the firestorm dragged air upwards. Winds started to pick up in the valley, Guardians in their golden armour started to fall and tumble under the furious beating of the winds, and then so did the mages.

And once one mage fell, his barrier fell down. Napalm fell upon truck and man, and a reaction started. Most magicians were disturbed by scolding flames or biting winds, and more barriers fell.

By the time the fire had burned out, all that remained was a few hundred disorganized men running away in fear. He heard Kassandora’s tune in his head, that slow orchestra. When this war had started, he saw no way of winning it. When Melukal fell, he understood the principal, but he didn’t see what effect it would have. But not anymore. He finally grew to understand why Iliyal treated the Goddess as a Divine among Divines.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep