Kingdom Of High Tarxa, In An Ocean, High Tarxan Sea, Island of Arlithrien, In A Tarxan Island Outpost, Inside A Forest,

1st Year of God. Monday, 1st Week, Month Of David

Moments Earlier…

Lord Caelith's second-in-command was taken aback by the repetitive thunder of shots forcing him to fall to his butt. The shots were landing all over the beachhead that sent many of the elves sprawling, injured or worse. Their passive magical defenses, normally sufficient to shield them from conventional attacks, crumbled under the sheer force and sophistication of these weapons.

These projectiles were far more destructive than any musket the elves had ever encountered. If this was truly the Iron Kingdom’s doing, their weaponry had advanced well beyond known capabilities.

But something about this assault felt unfamiliar. The cadence of the volleys, the design of the monstrous steel vessels, none of it aligned with the dwarven craftsmanship typically associated with the Iron Kingdom's forces.

No, this wasn’t the Iron Kingdom. The invaders were from a nation unknown to the elves. The flag that the invaders were raising was alien, and the drab grey of their uniforms struck the commanding officer as offensive in its stark contrast to the elves’ ornate vibrant tradition.

"Do these people have no sense of pride or grandiose?" he wondered bitterly, disgusted by their lack of aesthetic refinement.

But more troubling than their appearance was the eerie absence of magic. The second-in-command felt nothing, no aura, no trace of mana emanating from their attackers except for the weapon on top. It was unthinkable. Such devastation without magic? Impossible.

"Could such power truly exist without mana?" the officer thought with disbelief and unease warring in his mind.

Shortly after, the commanding officer returned to reality as the screams and agony from his fellow elves dragged him back to the brutal reality at hand. He looked to his side, and saw that the elves under his command were thrown into a disarray, with many frozen in fear and their magic faltered under the invader's attack. Those who acted cast weak-level magic as fear had overtaken them.

The responsibility is now weighing on him and so he immediately stood back up and ordered the men to reorganise and to counterattack.

"Fools! Regroup! Prepare high-tier spells that could melt even the hardest of steel, and use Metamagic Enhancements to amplify it! I hate to admit it, but these invaders wield advanced magic technology far beyond ours, we cannot afford hesitation. Spread out and find cover immediately!"

His booming orders snapped some of the elves out of their paralysis, spurring them into motion. They scrambled to regroup, casting spells and seeking cover among the rocks and trees. The commanding officer watched as incantations began to take shape and the air became thick with crackling energy.

Upon hearing the shout and order of their commander, some elves were snapped out of their paralysis and immediately moved into action, while most took their time to scramble to regroup, casting spells and seeking cover among the rocks and trees. The commanding officer watched as incantations began to take shape and the air became thick with crackling energy.

At last, one elf completed their spell. A torrent of searing magic surged toward the nearest steel behemoth that glided across the waves with unnatural speed. The invaders’ linear formation left them exposed to magical counterattacks, a weakness the elves exploited with all the physical enhancements they could muster.

For a fleeting moment, the officer dared to hope their magic might yet turn the tide of this unfamiliar war.

“[Grand Fireball]!”

As the elf released his magic, a fireball of great magnitude blazed forth with staggering speed. The fiery orb streaked across the battlefield, and moments later, a deafening explosion erupted as the inferno engulfed one of the steel beasts. The flames roared and consumed the vessel in a brilliant display of destructive power.

It was a direct hit, and for a fleeting moment, the morale of the elves had risen. The seemingly indomitable steel beast had been easily struck down. Though what followed next, immediately brought it black down.

The damaged vessel started moving irregularly or in a disorderly fashion, making it an increasingly difficult target. The elves, though capable of casting such powerful magic, were constrained by their dwindling mana reserves. Nevermind that, they would need to pour every ounce of energy into stopping the invaders before they reached the shore.

The commanding mages prepared another fireball, channeling their remaining strength into an even larger spell. As they attuned to their surroundings and stabilized their mana flow, the fireball grew in size and power. But they are becoming more fatigued as each successive spell sapped their stamina. So they tried to take it much more slowly so that they could aim their comically large fireball accurately.

After trading shots for quite a while, the invaders were now getting closer towards the shorelines, which means the enemy could shoot them at a much more accurate rate, and they too could shoot the invaders more accurately. So they gathered what's left of their mana and started to shoot faster, to which dozens of explosions erupted by the minute, as a few of their strongest spells consumed the foul beast, and therefore sank into the bottom of the ocean, which would become corals and food for the sea creatures.

But despite their best efforts, the invaders got nearer and nearer. With the steel beasts nearing the shoreline, the elves could now see flickers of light from the enemy’s weapons. To their horror, the invaders’ muskets were continuously firing shots after shots, each volley claiming more elven lives in the shootout. Though the defenders managed to strike back, killing some of the attackers as they all state “An Eye For An Eye”, the cost was steep.

Then the unthinkable happened. Figures began to come out of the steel monstrosities, humanoid invaders wearing grotesque armor and tattered mismatched clothing. The sight of their crude and chaotic attire bewildered and appalled the elves. They could define the assets of the invaders as dirt trash

"What sort of civilization possesses such an abhorrent fashion sense?" they thought, their horror compounded by the enemy's alien appearance.

But fashion was the least of their concerns. Overwhelmed by the sheer might of the invaders and drained of mana, the defenders knew they could fight no longer. Exhaustion and despair weighed heavily upon them as they sounded the retreat.

They had inflicted significant damage on the invaders, sinking one of their steel monstrosities and causing dozens if not hundreds of heavy casualties. Though defeated, the elves retreated albeit bitterly knowing their efforts had not been in vain.

————————————————————————

Kingdom Of High Tarxa, In An Ocean, High Tarxan Sea, Island of Arlithrien, In A Tarxan Island Outpost, In The Beachhead

1st Year of God. Monday, 1st Week, Month Of David

Smoke was billowing through the vibrant sky, darkening the horizon as the burning wreckage of what remains of the destroyed amphibious vehicles along the shoreline. Shattered pieces of armor and burnt corpses littered the bloodstained sea as the ocean washed the remnants of the carnage ashore.

Hundreds of amphibious vehicles were now landing through the beachhead and advanced steadily toward the outpost. Many traces of deep tracks could eventually be found carving into the sand marked the path of the Liberation Navy.

Bullet casings lay scattered all over the sand and across the battlefield, tainted with pools of crimson blood. The fight for the beachhead standing was no joke, it was brutal, short in duration but costly in blood, with hundreds of lives lost even if the battle only lasted a few moments.

The air was alive with chaos. Loud thunderous explosions along with the clatter of gunfire echoed through the outpost. The ground shook as the thumping on the boots of the marines dashed from cover to cover. Amphibious vehicles rumbled forward with their engines growling as they pushed deeper into the forest, leaving churned earth in their wake.

Above, birds were chattering in frantic flight as their cries mingled with the sounds of war. The glassy morning sun pierced through the smoke, casting flickering beams of light over the battlefield and forest alike.

Within the dense forest, flashes of light erupted as skirmishes broke out in the shadows.

“Move left! Now!” barked a commanding officer.

The marine obeyed without hesitation and dashed to a new position just in time. Moments after he abandoned his previous spot, a massive flaming projectile exploded where he had been. The ground erupted in fire and shrapnel. If he had delayed even a second, he would have been reduced to burnt flesh.

Realizing his narrow escape, the marine glanced toward the officer on top of the amphibious vehicle and thanked him.

“Thank you, sir!” he shouted in gratitude.

The officer tipped his visor cap in response, but the moment of relief was fleeting. Just as the marine turned back to the fight, a magically enhanced arrow struck him in the chest and pierced through his bulletproof vest as if it were paper.

The officer froze in shock as he watched the marine collapse to his knees. The young soldier’s life flashed before his eyes, moments of joy, regret, sorrow, and pleasurable moments in his mind. Then, with the arrow embedded in his chest, he fell lifeless to the ground.

“Man down! Man down!” a voice cried out, cutting through the cacophony of battle.

The fighting intensified as the defenders were being overwhelmed by the invaders’ advanced technology and sheer numbers, but the Austronesians paid a price for their progress. Many of their soldiers lacked combat experience, and their disorganized tactics slowed their advance. But with each bloody skirmish, they adapted and slowly learned the harsh realities of war at a steep cost, developing a more proper and sophisticated doctrine and tactics in warfare albelt with a sacrifice.

All of a sudden, another marine fell as he was shot by an arrow that glowed faintly green. This time, the effect was horrifying.

The moment the arrow's glow intensified, the marine let out a bloodcurdling scream as luminous green veins spread across his body. His flesh dissolved before their eyes, leaving only an unrecognizable heap where he had stood.

“What the fuck!?” the officer shouted as his voice broke with disbelief.

If his instincts were correct, the arrow was not only magically enhanced but laced with some kind of corrosive magical acid, a cruel and efficient weapon designed to instill fear as much as inflict pain.

Just then, his senses alerted him, and the officer leaped from the amphibious vehicle, but not quickly enough as a glowing green arrow struck his arm mid-flight.

Horror gripped him as he stared at the point of impact, expecting his flesh to dissolve like the unfortunate marine earlier. But to his astonishment, the MK-I Mithril armor he wore began to emit a radiant blue glow. The blue energy surged, overpowering the corrosive green magic of the arrow. Relief flooded him, though his arm throbbed from the force of the impact.

Despite the Austronesians’ technological superiority in and in most of the aspects, it became increasingly evident that they were lacking in some of the much needed departments such as in the skills and experience. After all, experience comes with skills, and superior tools alone could not win battles. Without experience to guide them, failure became inevitable. How could one improve without first knowing the bitter taste of defeat?

The officer shook off the haze clouding his thoughts as his mind snapped back to the battlefield and realized casualties were mounting, and the marines were exposed.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed his radio and shouted, "Vehicles to the front! Provide cover for the marines! Move, now!"

The message was relayed instantly. Dozens of amphibious vehicles rumbled forward and positioned themselves as mobile shields for the marines. With the added cover, the marines regained some composure and fired back with renewed focus as the protection bolstered their confidence.

The defenders, however, fought with great ferocity. Splinters of bark and shards of earth were spewing everywhere as they shot nonstop with magical spells and arrows, each imbued with different magical attributes as they rained down on the invaders. The defenders were desperate, fighting tooth and nail to their last breath and sacrificed blood for every inch of ground.

The officer surveyed the chaotic scene just as a thunderous explosion rocked through the battlefield. When the smoke cleared, he saw the smoking wreckage of a nearby vehicle as it was shot dead. Shards of metal, pieces of flesh, and dead bodies lay scattered around the surrounding area.

Apparently, many marines had been too close when the explosion happened, and the shrapnel had torn through them dead like paper. Only those wearing MK-I armor had survived the carnage.

The officer stared at the devastation in speechless horror, but there was no time to process the loss as-

“[Twin Maximize Magic: Electrosphere]!”

A booming voice rang out, followed by two crackling orbs of electricity streaking through the trees and the spheres slammed into a vehicle behind him.

BOOOM!!

The vehicle exploded with great ease as it sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield. Smoke billowed into the air, and the charred remains of the crew were left strewn across the ground.

Realizing they were being pushed back, the officer made a desperate decision to save what remained of his forces.

"Charge!"

With on the front, the amphibious vehicles led the charge and unleashed their mounted gunners with mithril rounds in a hail of fire at every enemy they could see. Marines moved forward behind them and used the vehicles as cover. Only a few continued firing as they advanced, carefully aiming to avoid friendly fire in the chaos.

“Avenge our brothers and sisters! Glory to the People’s Empire!!” the officer roared as he raised his AF-1 “Magelock” rifle and fired precise shots every few seconds.

Red laser-like projectiles streaked through the smoky battlefield. Two shots missed their mark, but the third struck true as it hit the elf responsible for destroying an amphibious vehicle. The elf cried out in pain but managed to remain standing as his vast reserves of mana kept him alive despite the direct hit.

As the elf struggled to rise, another volley of red projectiles gunned him down as more marines in Mithril Armor and armed with Magic Rifles moved forward with their thunderous shots added to the cacophony of the battlefield.

Explosions erupted around them as the defenders fought valiantly with their magic clashing with the firepower of the invaders.

“Grenade!” a marine shouted.

At the warning, the marines scattered. Some dove for cover behind vehicles, while others, caught in the open, dropped to the ground, trying to shield themselves from the impending blast.

The grenade landed amidst the defenders, catching the attention of an elf. He stared at it with his curious eyes locked onto the strange device. As he bent closer to examine it, a sudden jolt of instinct warned him of danger, but it was too late.

BOOM!

A deafening explosion ripped through the area, sending blood, flesh, and shattered armor flying in all directions. The elf’s remains splattered across the surroundings, some pieces of his blood and organs landing on his comrades, who recoiled in horror and disgust.

Amidst the chaos, the marines took their chance. Using the confusion to their advantage, they dashed forward and raised their firearms, their coordinated advance accompanied by a symphony of chopping gunfire.

Flickers of yellow and red light illuminated the entire outpost like a relentless strobe, as if someone threw a flashbang repeatedly and all the while repeatedly being flashed by the same flashbangs.

The bullet casings that were falling were matching the sounds of the footsteps that the marines were taking, while the ground was being littered all over by it. Smoke and the acrid stench of gunpowder permeated the air, spreading far beyond the immediate battlefield.

Distorted shouts and cries echoed through the thick haze as silence ceased to exist all throughout. The only sounds were the roar of explosions, the crack of gunfire, and the anguished screams of the dying.

The landscape bore the scars of the assault. Trees were being splintered asunder and toppled, the once-green grass of the spoil charred and were being deformed beyond recognition. The environment is getting torn to shreds as flames consumed abandoned vehicles and smoldering debris, while missed magic spells left scorched craters in their wake, destroying large amounts of trees and lifeforms.

The atmosphere is almost becoming unbreathable and more toxic with a noxious mix of smoke, burning chemicals, and charred flesh. This leaves the defenders with no choice but either abandon or stay and fight, risking asphyxiation and annihilation.

Though, abandoning is almost an unfeasible choice as they weren't even sure if any of the navy still held the surrounding waters, or if their ships remained functional.

If the invaders had displayed such a powerful amount of power, then they should have already known from the start, that there was no navy left, and if there was it was being currently taken care of.

Meanwhile, aboard the bridge of the Sovereign-class battleship stationed offshore, electric sounds generated from the advanced machines that were present in the bridge were ranging all day long, processing streams of battlefield data. Pieces of information were being gathered all over the battlefield, and the corresponding order was being given when needed.

In the meantime, the Liberation Navy had taken a calculated stance, patrolling the island to prevent any escape from the encirclement.

Far from the battlefield, in the secured zones that they had properly taken hold of, construction crews were already at work. Tents were erected, and fortifications began to rise. The invaders moved quickly and expanded their control.

For them, this was a race against time, and one they intended to win.

————————————————————————

Kingdom Of High Tarxa, In An Ocean, High Tarxan Sea, Off The Coast Of The Island of Arlithrien, Captain's Quarters

1st Gear of God, Monday, 1st Week, Month Of David.

The semi-wooden hulls of the ironclads were crashing against the rolling waves of the High Tarxan Sea. Four ironclads led the fleet, accompanied by twenty wooden sailing ships as the breeze of the wind pummeled the deck of the ironclad.

The sails were blowing forward as the ironclad closest to the flagship turned to port, carving a steady path through the calm waters.

Elven sailors were moving across the decks in precise and synchronized movements as they manned the vital stations that kept the ships running efficiently.

At the heart of the flagship, an elven captain stood firm on the bridge with his keen eyes surveying the fleet under his command. Magic Communication Artifacts pulsed with faint light as officers transmitted orders to the other vessels to maintain seamless coordination.

With efficient communication among the entire fleet’s ranks, they were able to move as fast as one could on the calm ocean waters. The elves prided themselves on their superior communication systems, confident they could outmaneuver any enemy that dared to confront them.

Concurrently, the fleet of thirty ships had one primary goal which was to return to the Kingdom of High Tarxa and report the dire news of their failed campaign to save multiple nations from occupation. After months of fighting, they had uncovered the ultimate fate of the Principality of Musten with its leader dying a valiant death in a naval battle against the Iron Kingdom, marking the principality’s tragic fall.

The clues to Musten’s downfall had been pieced together gradually. Reports of dwindling encounters with Iron Kingdom ironclads and the ominous disappearance of entire fleets near their waters painted a grim picture.

Now, the truth was undeniable that the Iron Kingdom had deployed a new breed of ironclad, crafted entirely from adamantite and equipped with devastating magic cannons. These monstrous ships, unhindered by sails, were nearly impervious to traditional weapons. Their devastating firepower had rendered conventional naval strategies futile that forced the coalition to rely heavily on powerful magic spells to inflict any damage.

But magic alone was not a sustainable solution. The energy-intensive spells left their mages exhausted, and the range limitations of their cannons made engaging the Iron Kingdom’s fleet a costly gamble. But amidst the desperation, hope had emerged.

After months of research and collaboration among the Kingdoms of the Third Civilization Zone, a breakthrough was achieved.

At the forefront of the fleet sailed a single peculiar ironclad, its hull gleaming with the same adamantite sheen as the Iron Kingdom’s Ironclads.

The Tarxan Coalition had succeeded in building one adamantite-clad Ironclad known as “The Leviathan”. It is a massive heavily-armored magical Flagship heavily armed with fifty magic cannons and outfitted with a landing deck for the Dragon Rider Corps.

The coalition had pooled their knowledge and resources to construct this weapon of war they believed could rival even the mightiest forces of the Second Civilization Zone.

These advancements had rekindled their resolve, but questions remained.

Why had the Iron Kingdom’s fleet become less aggressive? Were they regrouping or preparing for something far worse? The fleet’s officers were feeling suspicious that prompted them to send a full-sized fleet to High Tarxa. The news of Musten’s fall, along with the appearance of the adamantite ironclads, needed to reach the Tarxan Coalition and its allied nations quickly. Only then could they prepare for what lay ahead.

In the captain's quarters within “The Leviathan”, the fleet commander sat at his desk, writing down a simple letter to his family back in the Kingdom of High Tarxa. A rare smile graced his face as he imagined their joy upon his return. To heighten the surprise of his homecoming, he planned to send the letter ahead, making it seem like his arrival would be far in the future. Then, shortly after they received it, he would appear at their doorstep unannounced.

“Hah! This is the most ingenious plan I’ve ever devised,” he chuckled to himself, clearly pleased with his cleverness.

His musings were abruptly interrupted as the door to his quarters flew open without warning. Startled and irritated, the fleet commander’s jovial mood vanished and was replaced with a fiery glare as he sprouted curses at the person who barged in.

“The audacity! Do you not know how to knock, you insolent fool—”

“Fleet Commander Sephral!” the intruder interrupted. “We’ve spotted an unknown ship in the distance. It appears to be made entirely of metal, similar to our ironclads. Your guidance is required immediately.”

The officer’s tone and blank expression barely concealed his attempt to offend the fleet commander, knowing how hysterical he is and volatile his temper could be.

The fleet commander’s irritation flared for a moment as he longed to deliver a lecture on the importance of proper decorum. But the urgency of the situation stayed his tongue, at least for now. He resolved that if this elf dared barge in again without knocking, they’d face a tirade of his wrath, along with severe punishment.

Grumbling to himself, the elven fleet commander named Sephral rose from his seat and motioned for the subordinate to follow him. Together, they ascended to the deck.

When they arrived, the scene that greeted them was peculiar. Nearly every crew member had abandoned their tasks as their eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of a strange vessel. Even from afar, its shape was unmistakable and the awe among the elves could be seen in their faces.

But amidst their wonder, one observation sparked derision. “Who in their right mind would paint a ship gray?” one sailor muttered under his breath. “The lack of style is insulting.”

At this point in time, the fleet was nearing one of the outer outposts of the Kingdom of High Tarxa, the Island of Arlithrien. Perhaps the mysterious ship on the horizon could very well belong to the kingdom sent to intercept them. However, the crew’s suspicions told a different story. The distinct design of the Iron Kingdom’s ironclads had already made its mark on their memories, and the vessel before them bore an unsettling resemblance which proves otherwise.

Even so, they still held hope. They were, after all, within the boundaries of High Tarxa’s territorial waters, and there was always surely a chance the approaching vessel was an ally.

Unfortunately for them, all of their hopes were lost the moment they found out that the distant ship they were observing came into clearer view.

“What in the gods’ name is that?”

“What an enormous magic cannon?”

“What nation flies that flag?”

While they struggled to comprehend what they were seeing, the commander’s expression darkened. He could already piece together the grim reality. A ship of this size, flying a foreign flag unknown to this civilization zone, and welding technology far more advanced than anything his people could construct, it could only mean one thing. They were being invaded by nations from the outer civilization zones.

For years, the Third Civilization Zone had feared such an invasion, a force of unimaginable strength descending from beyond their borders. Now, it seemed, that nightmare was becoming a reality.

His thoughts were shattered by a deafening roar that tore through the skies and seas.

The sound of the ship’s magic cannon reverberated that sent shockwaves through the water, even from miles away, and the sheer power was so immense that could even be heard and feel the force it exerted even at this distance.

Sephral's stomach dropped as a thunderous explosion erupted at the heart of their fleet.

Alarmed, he rushed to the bridge and looked toward the rear of the command ship.

What met his gaze was a scene of utter devastation as he witnessed one of their sailing ships had been struck and burst into a fiery inferno with its deck engulfed in flames that licked hungrily at the wood.

Elven sailors screamed as they leapt overboard in desperation to escape the all-consuming flames that devoured the wooden hull with terrifying speed and dragged the ship beneath the waves in mere moments.

“Fleet Commander!” an Elven sailor shouted in panic and terror. “The ships, there’s more of them!”

Snapping into action, Sephral raised his telescope and enhanced its range with a quick spell. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The single enemy vessel now appeared to have split into four identical ships, each bore the same alien flag and housed the same astronomically large magic cannons.

His mind rebelled against the sight. Am I losing my mind? Was it an illusion? A trick of light? He doubted his eyes for a moment, questioning his sanity. But no, this was real. A horrifying reality.

The invaders had not just arrived from another civilization zone to invade the third civilization zone, they had brought weapons and technology that far surpassed anything in the third civilization zone.

As the commander watched through the telescops, he watched in horror all four enemy ships unleashed another salvo. The air itself seemed to tremble under the force of the shots and the deafening roar of the cannons filled the skies once more. The projectiles screamed through the heavens before slamming into the disoriented fleet, followed by fiery impacts.

Nine colossal 14-inch shells spun through the air like harbingers of destruction, their paths interwoven with the smaller-caliber brothers and sisters rounds already streaking toward the approaching Tarxan Coalition fleet.

The impacts of the smaller 3-inch shells were insignificant compared to the monstrous detonations promised by the 14-inch rounds. But none reached their intended targets unscathed as the fleet's magical barriers intercepted them, crackling with ferocious energy as they shielded the ironclad hulls.

The smaller shells ignited on contact with the magic barriers and exploded. High-explosive and armor-piercing alike, they detonated violently but futilely, creating brief holes in the shimmering barrier that were quickly sealed. A handful of shells, by sheer luck, managed to knock down the projecting apparatus and holes appeared in the barrier, allowing a very small handful of 3" shells to slip pass.

But the sporadic shelling was not powerful enough to overwhelm the Tarxan Coalition's magical defenses held firm which bolstered the confidence of the advancing elven fleet.

That confidence shattered when the nine 14-inch shells impacted precisely dead center in the barrier field put up by the Tarxan Ironclads with timing perfect and unparalleled orce. The resulting explosion was beyond imagination, even for the battle-hardened elves.

A colossal black cloud erupted, enveloping the four ships responsible for maintaining the magical barrier. In an instant, they vanished beneath the smoke and flames.

The barriers simply vanished, and 0.07 seconds later, the shockwaves surged forth like an unstoppable wave. The combined force of the nine 14” shells, each containing almost half a ton worth of high explosives, slammed into the ships and their protective magic defenses. The barriers barely held for no more than a half a breath before succumbing from the shockwaves that tore into the iron and wood of the fleet, snapping entire vessels like brittle twigs.

Broken ships fell and sank into the ocean. Many aboard died without ever knowing what killed them while those who survived the initial attack could only scream as the ocean claimed their lives.

The Fleet Commander of the Leviathan widened his eyes in horror from the bridge with his crew frozen in shock at the spectacular explosion that wiped out a third of their forces in the blink of an eye.

“D-Di-Disperse the fleet now!”

His frantic yell jolted the stunned crew awake and they hurried to carry out his orders. Slowly one by one, the remaining 22 ships broke their tight formation and emerged from the massive drifting cloud of smoke that claimed so much of their fallen brethren. But the respite was brief, enemy fire resumed almost immediately and targeted the scattered survivors.

“Fleet Commander! The rest of the fleet is requesting permission to retreat! Their numbers are falling fast!”

Sephral cursed under his breath with fury and desperation in his voice as more pleas for retreat poured in.

“Damn it! All ships, fall back! Produce smoke to cover our retreat!”

As his orders rang out, a panicked cry sounded from the observation deck.

“Cap-Captain!”

“What now?” he growled as spun toward the source.

The terrified observer pointed out the viewport, his trembling hand betraying the gravity of the situation. Sephral followed the gesture and his face drained of color as his eyes locked onto a swarm of tiny black dots rapidly closing in on their flank.

“By the Gods...”

And not a moment too soon, a similar streaking pillar of yellow grazed their starboard side, skimming off the magic shields and scorching the plating beneath. Though the hit was superficial, a scratch on the surface, it carried a large lesson the captain would not ignore.

“Screw this,” Sephral growled under his breath. It didn’t matter whether they could escape or not, he would not die as a coward, not in the eyes of his family, nor his people.

Even if retreat was an option, it would only prolong their inevitable deaths.

“Contact all surviving ships in the area,” he barked. “Tell them to push toward the wreckage of the destroyed ships. Use the debris as cover. We’ll lead the way!”

His orders were carried out and even parroted by other canny officers of the Tarxan navy. Within moments, he and 20 remaining ships were cruising at full thrust for the drifting and steered toward the white hot wreckage of the explosion that they had just barely escaped. Sephral knew their magic cannons would be useless at this range, but survival was their priority.

“Sir, shouldn’t we close the distance? Get into effective weapons range?” one of his officers asked.

“There’s no need,” Sephral replied. “They’re coming to us. Our job is to survive their salvos long enough to retaliate with our magic cannons. Get me in contact with the other ships around us, we need to form up as a fleet grouping. I’ve got an idea.”

His orders were carried out, and soon “The Leviathan” and its 20 allies were moving across the sea in a tight formation, having nearing the debris field of their destroyed fleet.

Half the surviving fleet formed up around his flagship, while a quarter rushed forward in a desperate charge at the enemy. Though their numbers matched those of the attackers, the comparison was laughable like a swarm of fishes flying toward a pack of sharks, and Sephral had no illusions about their effectiveness as their sacrifice would only buy precious time.

Then it happened. Two Ironclads near the flagship “Leviathan” were struck. This time they weren't sitting ducks, however, the projectiles didn’t burn through their magic shields or tear them apart like before. Instead, they skimmed the surfaces of the ships, veering off after minimal contact.

“Captain,” Sephral spoke through the magic communication artifact. “What’s the situation on your ship?”

[Our magic shields are nearly depleted, and it’s getting hotter in here,] the captain from one of the Ironclads reported. [But we’re holding on. Keeping our sides to them reduced the area of contact, though I won’t be using the port hanger anytime soon.]

“Understood,” Sephral replied, only for an elven officer to call out moments later.

“Sir, one of our ships is drifting out of formation!”

Sephral turned to the crystal display, which flickered to show the stricken ship. Its hull was largely intact, but the twin bridges on top of it were smoldering with molten metal dripping into the sea. Despite the damage, Dragon squadrons and wind mages launched from its decks as the ship itself was rushing forward at full thrust, but it was clearly veering off course.

At first, Sephral assumed it might collide with the debris field. He was wrong. Another enemy projectile pierced through the air and slammed into the ship. A second blast followed, narrowly missing the formation, but the damage was done.

The Ironclad cracked apart, a quarter of its hull shearing away and tumbling forward on its own momentum. The remainder of the ship spun wildly, its damaged magic core destabilizing it until, 48 seconds later, it detonated in a fiery explosion.

The captain stared at the devastation with his mind racing. Retreat tempted him, but he knew he couldn’t leave, not yet. If they were to fall back, it would not be without first drawing blood for High Tarxa.

“Prepare the cannons,” he ordered grimly.

Soon, he and the surviving ships drifted into the debris field. The enemy's barrage ceased abruptly as their magic weapons seemed significantly weakened when fired through the dense particles and floating wreckage. But it was clear they had not been forgotten, for it was easy to see that one of the ships had had broken away from the main force and advanced steadily toward them.

As the enemy ships approached, the captain busied himself organizing his remaining fleet. He arranged their formation, monitored the enemy movements, and waited, biding his time. For a moment, he redirected his attention briefly to the larger battle being waged by the encroaching battle fleet.

He blinked in disbelief.

The Tarxan Coalition’s vanguard was gone, almost entirely wiped out. The enemy fleet had not slowed down, had not maneuvered into firing positions, nor assumed tactical angles of attack in any conventional sense. Instead, they had charged through and plowed forward, never halting, never stopping, literally ramming their way through them in suicidal charges.

And yet, they were not suicidal charges.

Even as the Coalition ships rained their haphazard magic cannon volleys, the enemy armada showed no signs of stopping. They didn’t break formation, didn’t falter, not a single one.

And then, with a clearer view of the enemy ships, he realized why.

Their prows.

Massive wedge-shaped prows made out of full adamantite jutted from the front of the enemy vessels, impervious to damage. The Tarxan magic cannon fire, no matter how concentrated, did little more than scorch, dent, or melt the surface of this powerful magical steel. The material was too thick, too resilient to be breached.

The design of the enemy ships was a paradox. While most of their guns were mounted as broadsides, there were only a few forward-facing weapon batteries visible. Despite this seemingly archaic setup, they turned their apparent weakness into devastating strength.

As the enemy ships rammed through the Coalition’s forces, those few Tarxan vessels that managed to evade the charging adamantite prows found no solace. Cascading broadsides from the enemy ships shredded them as they passed, leaving ribbons of smoking wreckage in their wake.

The guns of the enemy fleet were monstrous, dwarfing anything the Coalition had encountered before. Where a Tarxan vessel of comparable size might carry forty or more weapons batteries for ship-to-ship combat, these enemy ships boasted barely ten, and some even fewer.

And yet, to call them lightly armed would be a grave error, if not an outright lie. Each cannon was massive, rivaling or even surpassing the size of the Coalition’s largest magic weapons. The raw power of their salvos was unparalleled, each shot carrying a weight of destruction that rendered their numerical inferiority irrelevant.

Sephral's jaw tightened as he watched the carnage unfold. The enemy wasn’t just overwhelming them, they were dismantling the Coalition’s forces by literally ramming through them.

Watching the red pings of the enemy ships collide with the blue pings of their own fleet, and then seeing the blue vanish like snuffed-out candles, was enough to churn the captain’s stomach.

“We can’t just sit here, sir!” one of the elves protested, desperation threading his voice. “They need our help! We could flank them from here, or charge and—”

Sephral silenced him with a sharp shake of his head. He didn’t trust his voice as fear threatened to crack it if he spoke too soon.

“Badgjemon, you know we can’t.” He managed after a tense pause.

The elf stiffened, but the captain continued. “They’d cut us to pieces with their broadsides. And those larger ships, they’re still holding back, waiting for us to break cover. The moment we do, they’ll do to us what they did to the last ship. Besides,” he added and glanced at the enemy ships bearing down on them, “they’re coming for us anyway. We don’t need to go to them. We need to stick to the plan.”

Still, as the enemy drew closer with every passing second, Sephral knew that even with his plan there was no certainty.

“Launch all Dragon Squadrons and deploy the Air Combat Mages,” he commanded.

Barely a minute after the order was given, the invader's ships had arrived. They fired, had been firing, despite the debris in the way. Many of their weapon fire were proportionally blocked as the wreckage absorbed much of the fire, shielding the fleet somewhat, though scattered blasts still made their way through. wreckage absorbed much of the fire, shielding the fleet somewhat, though scattered blasts still made their way through.

Sephral flinched as one of the magic cannon shots skimmed across his ship’s deck and grazed the second bridge. No structural damage, just strain on the magic shields, which, for now, were holding.

He exhaled in relief, though it was short-lived as the projectile had been smaller than the devastating weapons that had annihilated the other ships. Still, his ship wouldn’t remain unscathed for long.

Then it came when a solid slug, larger than an elf, perhaps larger than an orc, flew past his bridge at a speed that defied comprehension.

“All power to the magic shields!” Sephral roared. “Divert everything for the next twenty seconds, weapon systems, internal lighting, magic core strength, life support, everything except the cannons!”

The timing was perfect as the next shell, a massive projectile, struck the ironclad and slammed into the reinforced magic shields with a blinding flash. It ricocheted off, spinning wildly before smashing into the bridge with another burst of light and then careening into the sea.

The other ironclads followed suit by bolstering their shields and enduring the salvo. One by one, they survived the barrage. But then the enemy shifted tactics. The firing ceased. Now, their intent was unmistakable, which they were preparing to ram.

“Steady,” Sephral called calmly.

The enemy ships moved forward, leaving trailing thick plumes of smoke in their wake. As they accelerated, the smoke doubled in intensity, signaling their intent to close the distance at breakneck speed.

“Shut off all magic shields. Redistribute power to the magic core and maneuvering systems,” Sephral ordered as his voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Stay steady!”

The hum of the shields faded, leaving the crew in tense silence. The false comfort of their magical defenses was gone, but the captain had made his choice. Against these weapons, shields were useless. Their survival hinged on their maneuvers now. Either they would outwit their foes, or they would perish.

"NOW!" He yelled.

In perfect synchronization, 50 magic cannons, all of which had already locked onto an enormous slice of a destroyed enemy ship, fired at once. The colossal piece of metal, large enough to shield the entire fleet, even as debris, was pulled forward by invisible threads of energy as it flew across the ocean’s surface and slammed to a halt directly in front of the charging enemy ships.

The invaders scrambled to veer off course, engines straining as they fought to slow their momentum. But they were too late, not when Sephral’s next order kicked in which sealed one of the enemy ships’ fate.

“Push! Full forward!” he yelled.

The Magic Core within the Tarxan Flagship “Leviathan” lit up blindly, glowing with ferocity as the fleet rushed ahead. The massive slab of metal became an unstoppable battering ram, driven forward by the combined force of the ironclads and the enemy ships’ own momentum.

The charging enemy vessels had no time to adjust. One by one, they slammed into the makeshift barrier. Hulls crumpled, windows shattered, and fiery explosions erupted along the lengths of their ships. All but one were completely stopped, their advance turned to chaos.

But the exception was devastating. One enemy ship, instead of slowing down, accelerated. Its reinforced adamantite prow punched clean through the debris wall, tearing through with terrifying force. Sephral watched in horror as the unstoppable vessel crashed into the sailing ship to his right and split it nearly in half in a cataclysmic collision.

“By the moons! One breached the wall!”

“Leave it for now!” Sephral barked. “Dragon Riders, Air Combat Mages, stick to the plan! Target the breaches! Hit them with everything you’ve got! Move!”

At his command, the Dragon Riders and Air Combat Mages, hidden within the swirling debris, launched in a coordinated assault. The stunned enemy ships, battered and sluggish, struggled to retreat from the wall of wreckage pressing against them. The ironclads continued their push, keeping the invaders pinned while the riders and mages unleashed a merciless barrage.

Even as enemy anti-air weapons cut down several dragon riders and flying mages, the survivors had little trouble finding their marks and torrents of dragon fire and magic spells engulfed the enemy vessels.

Most of them were damaged and caused multiple casualties among the sailors, so they immediately retreated, but one ship didn't seemed to be stopping and charged forward.

Though heavily damaged and engulfed in flames, the charging vessel was unrelenting. Its adamantite prow remained lodged in the gutted ironclad, and its broadside cannons fired at the ships flanking it. Explosions ripped through the Tarxan fleet. The ironclad to its left disintegrated under the bombardment, and Sephral’s own vessel barely survived the initial salvos as its shields absorbed two hits before collapsing entirely.

With its defenses gone, the ship was torn apart by enemy fire, its hull splintering under the relentless assault. As the sea consumed the wreckage, only five Tarxan ships remained, their survival measured in seconds as the final enemy vessel continued its deadly rampage.

"Open fire! All Magic Cannons, all Air Combat Mages, all Dragon Riders! Fire, fire, fire!" Sephral yelled.

His ship shuddered violently as their magic cannonball ripped through the enemy ship's hull, tearing open the hangar to the outside. But damage no longer mattered. All that could be done now was to shoot and shoot and shoot and unleash everything they had, until there was nothing left, either their enemy or themselves were.

And it worked.

The enemy ship seemed to stall as, from all sides, the ironclads and magic ships opened fire, covering it with sprays of blue and green projectiles as it streaked through the air and hammered its frame with magic cannonballs pelting into its hull from all sides, each impact shaking the invader’s vessel to its core.

Like a delicate salt sculpture blasted with high-pressure water, the enemy ship began to fall apart. Under the concentrated outpouring of their weapons, its armored shell disintegrated, piece by piece, until the wedge-shaped prow separated entirely from the rest of the ship.

The elven crews erupted in cheers that echoed across the battered fleet.

"We did it! We destroyed one of their ships!" an elf shouted, his voice filled with relief and pride.

"That’s the might of High Tarxa!" cried another.

But amidst the celebration, one elf was not cheering.

"Fleet Commander," an elf said quietly with a pale face. "We’ve received… a message from the General. We're going to pull back immediately."

Sephral nodded and spoke calmly despite the sinking feeling in his gut. "Understood. We’ll pull out as soon as we’re clear of this fire. What’s the status of the main battle?"

The elf hesitated with a grim expression. "The battle is over, sir. It’s been over for several minutes now."

Sephral felt his stomach drop, but he kept his composure.

"Show me." He ordered, and the elf obeyed.

The magical screen flared to life, and the sight before him stole the breath from his lungs. The once-mighty Tarxan Coalition fleet was gone, reduced to a graveyard of smoldering wreckage. In their wake, the invader’s massive monstrous ships prowled like predators.

As the enemy ships began to orient toward them, the captain realized the bitter truth that he had just became a survivor to a battle that would be remembered in history, not for heroism or victory, but as a catastrophic defeat for as long as High Tarxan existed. And for all the wrong reasons.

Without hesitation, Sephral channeled his mana into the magic communication artifact and addressed the remaining captains.

"We need to retreat immediately," he commanded. "His Majesty and the Coalition must know what happened here. And activate the Dragonite Crystal!"

"But sir," one captain protested, "there are only a few left in our arsenal! We were saving them for the Iron Kingdom—"

"I don’t care!" Sephral snapped. "These outsiders are far more dangerous than the Iron Kingdom. Activate the Dragonite Crystal now!"

They had survived… for now. But the weight of what they had witnessed would follow them, and the memory of this battle would burn in their minds as the fleet turned to flee.

————————————————————————

The low metallic hum of the Sovereign-class Battleship's engines filled the bridge as the Captain General stood near the viewport with his arms clasped tightly behind his back and his piercing gaze fixed on the horizon.

The aftermath of the battle lingered like a bitter taste. One of their Sovereign-class battleships was destroyed by the combined might of the enemy. And yet, one enemy ironclad remained and was attempting to flee the battlefield.

Whoever commands the enemy fleet, he is an incredibly lucky or intelligent individual and the Captain General couldn't help but feel respect towards them.

“Captain, the enemy fleet remaining is retreating,” reported a Lieutenant as he lowered his telescope. “Shall we give chase?”

The Captain General turned toward the gunnery officer. “No,” he said coldly. “It won’t escape. Arm all forward batteries and fire on these ships.”

“Aye, sir!”

The order was carried out, and moments later, the Sovereign’s advanced cannons roared, sending a salvo of shells streaking through the air. The ocean trembled under the force of the bombardment and destroyed most of the ships. But as the projectiles struck the ironclad, their explosions dissipated harmlessly and fizzled against an invisible barrier as though the ship were wrapped in liquid steel.

“Direct hits, Captain,” said the Gunnery Chief in frustration, “That shield seemed to be holding the large ironclad greater than before.”

The Captain General's jaw tightened. “What’s the status of the Mana-Monitoring device?”

“Picking up extraordinary levels of mana, sir,” said a female crew member as her eyes fixed on her console. “It’s equivalent to hundreds of thousands of mana stones. This has to be a high-tier magical artifact, possibly similar to the one used on Arlithrien Island to block the nuclear strike during the last conflict.”

The captain general's eyes narrowed. “A magical shield that powerful...” He trailed off and raised his binoculars to study the retreating ship.

“Sir,” his Lieutenant spoke again as he lowered his telescope once more. “A bird just flew straight through the barrier.”

The Captain General turned sharply. “What did you just say?”

“A bird, Captain,” the Lieutenant repeated. “It flew straight through the shield. Looked like it wasn’t affected at all.”

The captain general frowned as gears turning in his mind.

“Speed,” he muttered. “What speed was it flying at?”

“Hard to say, sir,” the Lieutenant replied, “but if I had to guess… maybe 20 to 30 miles per hour.”

The captain general’s eyes lit up as he realized something. “And what’s the average descent speed of a parachute, Lieutenant?”

The Lieutenant blinked, then his eyes widened. “About 17 miles per hour, sir.”

The captain general allowed a small grim smile. “That barrier is designed to block high-velocity impacts. Anything moving slower than its threshold can pass through. If the artifact powering it is on that ship, we don’t need to destroy the barrier. We need to take control of it.”

He turned to the communications officer. “Signal the airborne units. Prepare for deployment.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Captain General faced his officers and spoke in a sharp and commanding voice. “We neutralize whoever’s operating that shield and secure the artifact they're using. I want this done quickly and cleanly. No mistakes. Understood?”

“Aye, Captain!”