Chapter 204: RAIN OF FIRE
Dawn in the Southern Valley arrived not with light, but with sound.
War drums thundered from behind the hills—hundreds of instruments beaten in unison, creating a rhythm that made the earth tremble. It sounded like the heartbeat of a giant, accelerating with every passing second, growing louder and more frantic, as if to crush the morale of anyone listening before the first arrow was even notched.
Riven Sudrath stood atop his command tank, his left hand on his hip and his right gripping the handle of the engine-axe resting against his shoulder. His eyes were fixed straight ahead on the thickening dust at the southern horizon. Behind him, three hundred Wolf-Tusk and Titan MK-1 tanks were arrayed in a formation prepared through the night—Wolf-Tusks at the front as the spearhead, Titan MK-1s behind as the secondary bulwark. Five thousand infantry stood on the flanks, Sudrath Spears in hand, magazines fully loaded.
Thorne stood beside Riven, his face as stoic as ever. "They’re approaching in a standard formation. Infantry in the center, archers at the rear, cavalry on the wings."
"And their mages?" Riven asked without turning.
"Behind the archers. Too far for our cannons to reach from here."
Riven snorted. "They’ve learned from the previous battles. Tuck the mages away in safety and let the common soldiers serve as shields."
In the distance, the first line of the royal army came into sharp focus. Tens of thousands of infantry marched in a tight formation—too tight, just as the classic war doctrines dictated. Their steel armor glinted under the morning sun as they carried spears and longswords. Behind them, thousands of archers stood with bows drawn, arrowheads shimmering—some glowing with the faint light of magic.
Behind the archers, atop a small hill overlooking the valley, Riven could see a group of cloaked figures—the Royal Mages. They stood in a circular formation, hands raised to the sky, lips moving rapidly as they chanted incantations.
Thorne narrowed his eyes. "They’re starting."
The sky changed.
The white clouds that had been drifting lazily suddenly turned black, swirling into a massive vortex above the valley. Lightning crackled within the dark mass, casting eerie purple flashes. The wind began to howl, carrying dust and pebbles that pelted the Sudrath soldiers’ faces.
"This isn’t a standard attack," Thorne muttered. "This is a Storm Spell."
Riven didn’t answer. He raised his hand, signaling the Sudrath mage unit positioned behind the tank line. These weren’t offensive mages—they were defense specialists, specifically trained to generate mana shields.
"Shields! Now!"
Dozens of Sudrath mages raised their hands in unison. A pale blue light radiated from their palms, forming an energy dome that covered the entire front line. The shield vibrated as the storm winds battered it, but it held firm.
Then, the rain of fire fell.
It wasn’t ordinary rain. Fireballs the size of carriages plummeted from the black vortex, hurtling down at unnatural speeds. One. Two. Five. Ten. Dozens of fireballs slammed into the Sudrath mana shield, creating shockwaves that made the ground groan. A few managed to punch through, crashing between the tank lines, creating small craters and hurling shrapnel of earth in every direction.
An infantryman was struck by a stray ember. He screamed, dropping to the ground as his comrades rushed to extinguish the flames on his arm. He survived; his magitech-nylon armor had absorbed most of the heat.
"Hold! Stay in position!" Thorne roared, his voice nearly drowned out by the thunderous storm.
Riven gritted his teeth. He glared at the hill where the royal mages stood. They were still chanting, maintaining the storm. He knew that as long as those mages lived, this rain of fire would not cease.
"Thorne. Cannons. Three salvos toward that hill."
"The range is too great, my lord. Our cannons won’t—"
"I’m not asking for kills. I’m asking for a disruption."
Thorne nodded and relayed the command via radio. Within seconds, the front row of Wolf-Tusks angled their 105mm cannons toward the mages’ hill.
"Fire!"
The roar of the cannons shook the valley. Three salvos—nine shells in total—streaked toward the hill. Most fell at its base, kicking up explosions of dirt and dust. But two shells landed close enough to the mages’ circle to send them reeling, shattering their concentration.
The storm in the sky buckled. The rain of fire ceased for a moment.
"Enough!" Riven shouted. "They’ll start chanting again soon, but at least we have a window."
On the other side of the valley, Prince Leonardo watched the battlefield from atop his horse. His face was calm, but his eyes moved rapidly, calculating. Beside him, an officer reported the situation.
"Your Highness, our mages have lost their focus. It will take time to restart the storm."
Leonardo nodded. "No matter. That was merely the opening act." He turned toward the archer lines. "Release the arrows."
Thousands of archers drew their bows simultaneously. Arrowheads glowing with magical light were aimed at the sky. A commander barked an order, and the bowstrings snapped.
The screech of thousands of arrows was deafening. They arced through the sky in a beautiful yet terrifying curve before raining down upon the Sudrath lines.
The mana shields caught most of them, but not all. Arrows that slipped through thudded into the earth, into soldiers’ armor, and against the tanks’ hulls. An infantryman fell, an arrow piercing his shoulder. His comrade immediately dragged him to the rear. Two Wolf-Tusk tanks reported minor damage—magic arrows had managed to find small gaps in their plating.
"Return fire!" Riven roared. "All cannons! Fire!"
This time, it wasn’t three salvos. Every tank capable of firing unleashed its shells at once. The thunderous roar eclipsed the war drums and the storm. The 105mm shells plowed into the royal infantry lines, creating explosions that tore the earth asunder and hurled bodies into the air.
Screams erupted from the enemy side. The once-sturdy formation began to waver. Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of royal soldiers were obliterated in an instant. Yet, they did not retreat. They continued to march forward, stepping over the corpses of their comrades, exactly as the royal war doctrine dictated.
Thorne observed from Riven’s side. "They have no fear."
"They are afraid." Riven watched the relentless advance. "But they fear their commanders more than they fear death."
Hundreds of kilometers to the southwest, in the Oakhaven command tent, the mana sensors finally blinked red.
Elara sat up straight in her wheelchair. Her eyes were glued to the crystal tablet screen displaying the eastern route map. Red dots began to appear—one, five, ten, dozens, hundreds. They were moving fast—too fast for infantry.
"They’re inside," she whispered.
Rianor, standing beside her, immediately leaned in. His eyes scanned the screen, calculating the number of dots, their velocity, and the distance to the kill zone.
"How many?"
"Five thousand. Maybe more. All cavalry."
Rianor smirked—a rare expression on his usually stoic face. "Alistair hasn’t changed. He always picks the path that looks safest."
On the eastern route, Sir Romeni led the Highgarden cavalry through a narrowing forest. The trees on either side provided cover from aerial surveillance, and the path was wide enough for the horses to run in a loose formation. It was perfect for rapid movement.
"Keep moving!" Sir Romeni bellowed, his voice hoarse but commanding. "Once we break through this forest, Oakhaven will be in sight. Destroy everything that moves!"
Five thousand cavalrymen roared in unison. The thundering hooves shook the ground, kicking up a massive dust cloud behind them. They had no idea that along that path, hidden behind trees and rock crevices, three Mana Laser units were waiting.
Rianor picked up the microphone from the table. His voice was calm, yet every word carried a chilling certainty.
"Laser Units. Three points. Activate."
On the eastern path, three brilliant blue beams ignited simultaneously.
The first beam swept through the vanguard of the cavalry. Horses whinnied hysterically, thrown aside as their bodies were scorched by invisible heat. The riders fell, their armor melting before they even hit the ground. A second beam struck from a different angle, bisecting the middle ranks. The cavalry, who had been running in a loose formation, were now trapped—cliffs on the left, and a forest too dense to penetrate on the right.
The third beam closed the exit behind them.
"An ambush!" Sir Romeni screamed, pulling his horse’s reins. But it was too late. The cavalry behind him continued to surge forward, crashing into the stopped horses, creating a horrific pile of flesh and metal.
From atop the cliffs, the Sudrath infantry, who had been hidden since dawn, began to fire. Sudrath Spears spat lead into the trapped cavalry. One by one, riders fell. Wild horses bolted aimlessly.
Sir Romeni managed to turn his horse, searching for an escape. But a Mana Laser beam swept toward him. He leaped from his horse, rolling on the ground as he felt a searing heat against his back. His armor groaned, partially melting, but he survived.
In the command tent, Elara stared at the screen with wide eyes. The red dots were extinguishing one by one.
"They’re being decimated," she whispered.
Rianor didn’t answer. He remained focused on the screen, ensuring no one escaped. At the corner of the map, a few red dots began to move backward—the remnants of the cavalry that managed to flee, including one dot moving slower than the rest.
Sir Romeni.
"Let him go," Rianor said. "He will tell Alistair what happened. Let him know that we have read his every move."
Elara looked at her husband. "And Alistair?"
Rianor switched off the tablet screen. "He will retreat. For now. Then he’ll try again from a different direction." He looked at Elara. "But I’ll be ready."
In the Southern Valley, the battle still raged.
The storm in the sky began to reform—this time larger, darker, and more terrifying. Riven looked up, feeling the oppressive heat beginning to descend.
"They won’t stop," Thorne muttered.
Riven raised his engine-axe. "Neither will we."
In the distance, the war drums continued to thunder. The battle was far from over.
The war had only just begun.