The presence of a Divine on a battlefield is a rallying effect in itself. Take the Fortress Spirit, for example, these creatures are not terribly strong. Any minor Divine worth their salt should be able to defeat a Fortress Spirit, yet the fact a Fortress Spirit falls under Divinity gives men a sort of unbreakable courage that is difficult to find. During the Great War, when Arascus’ Empire mobilized Divinity in mass, the bar for normalcy was raised. Every Legion had at least a few local spirits, forty years into the war, the Imperial Legions managed to achieve the incarnation of Legion Souls. They fell under the same brand, if not as powerful, as other geographical Divines, the most famous and prominent example of this being the National Divine.

For there is a certainty that is given to men when they know they walk with a figure twice their size behind them. This confidence was made all the more powerful when a major concept stood to lead the men. Someone like myself, or Maisara, or Fer or Kassandora, could make men stand arm in against a flood. When Irinika, Anassa, Neneria, Elassa, Iniri or Allasaria took to the field, the sheer certainty they inspired would allow a man to stand against a falling moon.

Kassandora’s new Legion model has once again how Arda wages war. A Divine must now be present in every battle, for the Empire fields a Divine in every battle. It is better to retreat and regroup, then to send our forces against such a force multiplier. Even a minor Fortress spirit is able to wade through shield walls or be a rock upon which the wave of a cavalry charge breaks apart. We saw it at the start, at the Battle of Monte Aleiu, at the Fields of Pesson, and as the various Duchies and Princedoms that made up Pre-War Doschia rose for the Empire. A hundred men cannot stand against twenty backed up by a Divine.

Of course, it goes both ways. There are fools who tier Divinity and who try to plead only to the mightiest of Gods and Goddesses. Those, we send away immediately. These types simply do not understand that someone such as me, or Maisara, or any of the Divines I have mentioned in this part by name where not incarnated to win battles, but to win campaigns.

We have seen these delusional fools many times.

The knights who ask Helenna for a duel, and expect her to forward a mortal champion.

The warriors who think they can duel Kassandora because she is a strategist and not a warrior.

The assassins who claim they will be able to kill Malam.

– Excerpt from “Lessons from the Great War”, written by Goddess Fortia, of Peace.

Sergeant Kalinko leaned on the wire mesh of the Rug-Rat APC. The size of his squad had shrunk, from twelve to seven soldiers after that engagement with Be’elzebub. He peeled his eyes away from the ground, the corpses, he could handle. A corpse was a corpse, anyone who served had seen dead men. These corpses were not even that terrible to gaze upon, the full hazmat suit of the Pesticide Unit and the black visor covering the face made them into unmoving mounds of rubber. The only indication they had died would be a small stream of red from somewhere on the suit where one of the bugs had torn a whole.

Kalinko absentmindedly patted where a pocket should be for a pack of cigarettes and found only rubber. He sighed and rolled his eyes, they passed over another soldier on the ground. This one had a gash the size of a tire down his side. Better that the misty gas kill him quickly than the insects frankly. That sight was bad, the next one was worse. Several of the men had been ground down to nothing but mounds of blood and flesh and rubber. Their bones peaked out of the gore like tiny snow-capped mountains. Those had died in the final assault, when Be’elzebubs swarms had plunged from the sky onto them like battering rams. Flammable jelly spilled out of tanks in a slow, viscous ooze. It pressed down upon the grass, still green, but collapsed already as if it had been wilted.

Several of the other soldiers came over to Kalinko. They were following instructions to hunker down, although what exactly they were supposed to be doing in that hunkering down, no one seemed to know. They had pistols and they had flamethrowers, they were a specialist unit made for dealing with exactly one type of enemy and that enemy had just flown away. The mages that were still in the air flew higher, the ones that had landed started pulling up small ones to have cover. Dirt and stone rose tore the thin, tangled roots of grass as it moved under the call of magic.

Captain Euguene got them moving. “All units, peel away from the RugRats, hydromancers will hose you down and then get out of your suits. It’s confirmed now, succubi are in the area.” Kalinko did not stop to think about what he heard, he just moved. The Second Expedition had taught him enough about the foul, flying flame-mistresses. He had seen entire platoons be swallowed in fire. The pistol underneath the hazmat suit suddenly felt a whole lot more inept.

But the platoon moved just as the Captain said. They may have been for dealing with Be’elzebub, but they were still Imperial soldiers. Kalinko led the first platoon, three-squads, thirty-six men in total it should be. Now, it was down to twenty-one. They put distance between themselves and the RugRats as the vehicles got their own orders. They became to make turns, their thick frontal armour pointed forwards. The demons may have been creatures of flame, but napalm was to fire as a crush was to a hug.

Once they had travelled more than enough distance, a whole city block’s trek from the RugRats and the noxious air around them, mages took off into the air. Men and women in black coats tinged with blue. They waved their staffs and drew them in a circle, each one chanting some song. Sapphire rings, necklaces and all over forms of jewellery began to glow.

Sergeant Kalinko heard the high-pitched sound of a single raindrop impacting against the top of his helmet. Then another. A third. Then a rush. A flood that actually required him to steady his legs so that he would not be crushed. And just as it started, it stopped. The rush of water simply ended as the mages stopped channelling their arts. This time, Kalinko did not care he would be breaching radio silence. “Captain, permission to take the suits off?”

“Permission granted.” Euguene spoke over the radio. “Strip down and don’t roll in the grass.” That was all Kalinko needed to hear. His arms shot around his body to grasp the zip which connected the hood to the body. With that undone, he grasp the rubber helmet with its fogged visor and the clumsy, heavy gas mask which smelled of different metals and stone. Rubber left rubber, it snagged on the seal. Kalinko held his breath when he felt the cool touch of air kiss the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, took the helm off entirely and stood there for a moment.

No irritation on his cheeks, no sensation of itchiness or burning. He opened his eyes and felt as if he was looking at a colourful world again. The black of smoke still lingered in the air, but he saw the silvery greyness of concrete and unadorned steel which made up each silo. He saw mages in their black uniforms tinged with stripes of colour to represent the element they fought with. He turned to look at the woods near the missile base, the RugRats advancing onto it. He felt the tension in his lungs as they scrambled for oxygen.

And he took a deep breath.

Fresh air.

He took another deep breath.

After being in that uniform for so long, fresh air felt like a blessing. The rest of the suit came off as the men called out to the mages, jokes about more rain and how good it would be to wash the sweat off. One of the hydromancers must have been feeling particularly gracious today, a faint mist, cooling like a fresh beer on a summer afternoon, rolled over them. Kalinko took another deep breath and stepped out of the uniform. His palm brushed droplets of water back up into his hair and he opened his mouth. Captain Euguene came in over the speakers once again. “Pesticide Team, word has been received, Divinity is on the way. Hold position.” Several of the mages took off, spikes of ice or their own beads of flame already forming. The infantry on the ground picked up the pace.

“To the magicians! Garrison with them!” That would be the safest place easily. The Sergeant drew his pistol, pulled back the handle to load a round and jogged the rest of the distance up the hill. Already new barriers were coming up from the ground, low walls, enough to take cover behind in a crouch, rose up for them too. Kalinko vaulted over one wall, turned and checked the woods that lay of south of Plateau D’Albion. No movement. Kalinko released his breath, held his pistol close, turned around and slid down the wall. The moment his legs gave out, he felt as if he wouldn’t be able to move them again. One gloved hand darted to the pocket where his cigarettes were kept. He pulled them out, the box was damp slightly, inside, only the cigarettes near the edges were ruined. He pulled one out from inside and dropped the pack onto the ground. A lighter rested in the other pocket. Other men began to smoke, Kalinko took as deep a drag he could and felt like he had finally sat down.

One cigarette went down. Then a second. Captain Euguene saved the third. “Thermals are picking something up, prepare for contact, they’re closing in on you.” Sergeant Kalinko drew his pistol, turned and aimed over the wall.

His eyes caught sight of another swarm rising from the woods. This time not of insects but of bodies, a hundred, maybe two hundred winged demons, succubi all, high up. They shifted into a wicked formation as the RugRats drove forward, then reversed to try and get an angle on them. With how high they were though, there was no chance of burning them with napalm. The Imperial Mages spread out, their own flames and icicles and blades of wind howling and ready to be unleashed. A few men from the ground fired. Whether pistol calibre could reach or whether they were bad shots wasn’t on the sergeant’s mind rind now. None of the succubi fell.

Instead, they accelerated their flying advance. Flames materialized in the air around them. Imperial Mages moved to intercept. The ground shifted again, water was pulled up from the surface of the soil, a cloud began to form above them as a team of magicians behind Kalinko started to chant in unison. The first line of defence opened fire from the air. Their magic could and would rip unarmoured bodies apart.

But their magic did not get far. Fire did not rush out to meet them, a few of the winged succubi in the air peeled off to fly even higher and meet them. The humans were swallowed in great, howling spheres of flame. They burned like tiny suns in the sky, each one lasting for little more than a few seconds, fire curled around them, then twisted inwards whilst it devoured the pour souls caught within it.

The men shot, or tried to shoot, the fast moving creatures in the sky. Kalinko saw one of them fall, clutching at her stomach with a scream. Another pair of succubi dived down from the air, caught their compatriot and disappeared back into the forest. One of the RugRats immediately lit up the general area with its napalm, Kalinko doubted whether that would do much. His pistol certainly wasn’t, the sheer speed of the succubi, their patterns in the air, the fire and chaos threw the aim off. Even the howling winds from Imperial mages would

It was a battle of magic against magic.

And for as strong as Imperial magic was, they were outnumbered four, maybe five to one. Another mage was swallowed in a sphere of flame. One died when a snake of fire ripped into him. The ground in front of Kalinko set alight, a blazing pillar rose from the soil, then twisted and swallowed three men who had been grouped together. “SPREAD OUT!” Kalinko shouted. “SPREAD OUT!” He unloaded the magazine into the general direction, hoping to hit something, then loaded in his second.

He dived to the ground when he saw a ball of flame that wasn’t moving left or right, which could only mean it was heading straight for him, and closed his eyes when flames crashed upon the stone barrier. Heat licked at his body, fire painted the sky above for a moment. Kalinko rolled out of the way, lifted his pistol up, gave another careful shoot and then ducked back down.

Even from that quick glance, it was obvious the magicians were losing numbers. For one succubi that spiralled back down, three or four charred Imperial corpses thudded onto the grass. After a minute of ducking out quickly to shoot, Kalinko had only managed to steady his arms twice enough to feel any confidence in pulling the trigger. One of the RugRat APCs blew up, its internals cooked to the point of bursting by the scorching inferno around it.

And then, the battle stopped.

Paused.

The sound of a gunshot from the north-west, from the direction of reinforcements once again. It was such a blast that it echoed down the valley. More the gunshot of a cannon than a rifle. One of the succubi in the air who had been screeching, fire coiling around her in a shield, was shot. Maybe blown apart was the better way to phrase it, the figure was ripped apart at the chest, her legs fell back down to the ground, the top half exploded into a thin mist of red. Immediately, one of the pillars of fire that was striking a Rug-Rat disappeared, the vehicle kept on driving, wheels spinning and kicking up dirt as the turret on the top tried to hit any of the creatures with its spray.

Kalinko ripped his head to see where the shot had come from. A Divine holding a rifle that could have constituted an autocannon in one hand. Her body silhouetted by light blue sky. A figure in a black coat, with white hair. The silence held for a moment as the wind blew and every face turned to look up at Ardan Divinity making itself known.

The figure’s moved an inch, a slight readjustment. A blast of light and smoke from that cannon, another explosion that echoed across the various. Another pillar of fire vanished as a second succubus was ripped apart. The remains of the first had not even touched the ground yet.

Kalinko turned to look at the sky to watch as another half a dozen fell, their bodies ripped apart by shells meant for breaching the armour of enemy vehicles. He turned back to look at the Divine. Men were spilling over the summit, not in the grey or green uniforms of soldiers or reservists, nor in their formations. They ran like the wind instead, taking a knee only to take aim and provide covering fire for the others running down. And from that Goddess on the summit, her only movement was a swift adjustment of her arm as she aimed, arm extended, and kept on firing. Her pristine white hair caught the sunshine and glinted as if to illuminate her with a halo.

Kalinko turned back to see the flock be decimated by that Divine. It wasn’t a battle, it was a hunt. The only rest she gave them was for when she had to reload.

Malam did not miss a single shot.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep