Chapter 19. The Line of Defense.
The Parpaldian Empire. Capital City Esthirant. First Department of Foreign Affairs of His Imperial Majesty.
Kaios walked down the corridor, feeling the cold floor beneath his feet. The walls, adorned with intricate patterns, still bore the marks of bygone years. And here, precisely here, by order of His Imperial Majesty, he had been summoned.
Approaching the heavy, carved door adorned with the Empire's coats of arms, Kaios stopped. He scrutinized it, as if trying to decide what awaited him on the other side. Inner tension mounted, as if the door itself held the answer he could not foresee.
This should have been my office by right. — a painful thought cut through his consciousness, causing his gaze to dim for a moment. These feelings, which he carefully concealed, could not be expressed. A moment of weakness, and then the mask of indifference returned.
The door opened, and he entered. The clerk, as if not noticing the lord's inner tension, led him into a spacious room. Here, comfort and an atmosphere of authoritative calm prevailed. Deputy Chief Elto stood in the corner of the room, his figure noticeably static, as was the expression on his face, concealing any emotion. Next to him were other leaders, surrounding a rich table with glasses of wine. Their conversations, sounding like white noise, held no significance for Kaios. He noticed only one thing — the woman sitting in the shadow by the soft couch.
She was about twenty-five years old, with silver-tinted hair that slightly cascaded onto her shoulders. There was something elusively cold yet elegant in her demeanor. A black dress with long sleeves contrasted with her skin, giving her image a mystical aristocratic severity.
Having greeted each in turn, as dictated by the etiquette of the Parpaldian Empire, Kaios, controlling his gaze, said:
"Lord Kaios has arrived by order of His Imperial Majesty. How may I be of service?"
His words were spoken with clear respect, but they also carried a hint of bitterness — the bitterness of fate's betrayal and his own position.
The noblewoman glanced at him sideways. Her eyes flashed with coldness, and her lips curled into a sardonic smirk.
"As if you don't know? Lord, grow up and start thinking for yourself."
Her voice was like ice, sharp and piercing. The words lingered in his ears, as if they had left a scar on his soul.
"I beg your pardon, but with whom do I have the honor?" Kaios asked politely but somewhat tensely, trying not to succumb to her provocation.
The woman, not giving him time to respond, exhaled, set aside her glass, and raised her gaze.
"The Revision Service of Foreign Affairs of His Imperial Majesty, Chief Remille."
The moment her name finally registered in his consciousness was like a lightning strike. Lord Kaios bowed his head, his muscles tensed instantly, and his pride choked on bitterness. He was forced to utter a restrained apology.
"I apologize, Your Imperial Highness."
But Remilla had no intention of stopping. She took a sip of wine and continued with cold determination in her voice:
"As you know, we are gathered here for a reason. We are currently discussing matters concerning the Russian Federation. Am I mistaken in believing that you and your department are responsible for diplomatic relations with barbaric countries?"
Her words seemed to tear into his face, leaving no room for doubt. But when she continued, sharp and precise words flew from her lips like poisonous arrows.
"The words of His Imperial Majesty cannot be misunderstood, Kaios. He clearly said: 'Tame Russia' — there is not a shadow of ambiguity in that phrase. And if you continue to treat them as state guests, we will all end up losing." She cast a glance at him that could shatter any fortress.
Kaios felt the veins on his temples throbbing, and his face instantly covered in cold sweat. He shrank, his hands behind his back clenched into fists. Every word from Remilla was like a lash, merciless and unrelenting.
"I am recalling all affairs of the Central 3rd Department concerning the Russian Federation. From this moment, all questions with this barbaric country will be under the control of the First Department." Remille continued with such confident calm that it was even more terrifying.
She turned to the assembled leaders and Elto, making it clear that the decision was final.
"From now on, all diplomatic matters regarding Russia must be resolved through me."
She turned back to Kaios, and her words carried the weight of a sentence.
"Lord Kaios, those who cannot understand the intent of His Imperial Majesty are not needed by the Empire. However, you remain the head of the 3rd Department. You should be grateful for that." Remille paused, and, raising her index finger, said in an authoritative tone: "But henceforth, be careful in your actions."
Kaios froze, but a storm raged in his soul. This meeting was like a cold shower crashing down on his ambitions. He could not hide his feelings of disappointment and rage, but outwardly he remained calm.
"I… obey, Your Imperial Highness," he said barely audibly, clenching his teeth.
His gaze slid over the faces of those present, and he noticed slight smirks on the leaders' faces, as if they were enjoying his humiliation. It was unbearable. How could it be that in his seemingly firmly established career, he now had to fall to such levels of humiliation? But all that was left for him was to endure.
Thus began a new chapter in the diplomatic history of the Parpaldian Empire. The First Department, under Remille's leadership, now took over all matters concerning the Russian Federation.
Remille looked at Kaios with pride, knowing that her victory was final. But for Kaios, this victory was only the beginning of a long journey with losses and possible grim consequences yet to be experienced.
Kingdom of Fenn. Western Region, Province of Nishinomiyako.
Nishinomiyako, a province located at the westernmost tip of the Kingdom of Fenn, has become a key point in preparations for the inevitable war with the Parpaldian Empire. It was a strategically important region, expected to become the front line. To prevent possible destruction, it was decided to evacuate the population. Currently, two thousand Fennish warriors were stationed here, ready to fight for their homeland, along with a stealth infantry unit from the army formed by the private military companies (PMCs) of the three largest corporations. This was enough to hold back the first assault, but even under these conditions, a sense of anxiety did not leave the local residents and soldiers.
Three kilometers west of Nishinomiyako, there was a small uninhabited island where a watch post had been set up. It was a crucial strategic object serving for early warning in case of invasion. Sixteen sentries, positioned around the entire perimeter of the island, were to immediately notify headquarters of the start of an offensive. The first signal response consisted of a radio transmission, which was then to be confirmed by a red flare launched into the sky using a signal pistol. Everything was ready to repel an attack.
Today, however, it seemed that everything was too calm. A light breeze, an almost mirror-like sea surface, and the melodious singing of birds in the air created an atmosphere of tranquility, as if the war were a distant and undeserved nightmare. The wind carried with it a wave of calm, but this was only a temporary effect. Everyone understood that the situation could change dramatically at any moment. Tension hung in the air, subduing all other emotions. In one of the secluded corners of the island, two Fennish warriors, clad in full combat gear, were observing the horizon. They held binoculars in their hands, and their gaze was directed towards the sea, where the calm water surface seemed endless and peaceful. But their experience did not deceive them — they noticed many small dots moving towards the coast.
"— Run, warn the Russians," the first sentry whispered, not taking his eyes off the binoculars. "It's the Parpaldians."
"— Got it," the second sentry replied briefly and, without wasting a second, dashed into the depths of the forest to deliver the urgent information.
Watch Post.
"— Central, this is watch post 0-1, enemy spotted one kilometer out, how copy?" the radio operator transmitted with precision that underscored the gravity of the situation.
A moment later, the voice of the headquarters officer crackled through the radio:
"— Watch post 0-1, copy that. Situation confirmed. Stand by for immediate action. We'll keep you posted."
Kingdom of Fenn. Western Region, Province of Nishinomiyako.
In Nishinomiyako, everything was already prepared for a warm welcome of the guests. The entire shore was strewn with barbed wire entanglements, forming massive, nearly impenetrable barriers for the enemy. Through these jagged barricades, narrow passages were left, which could be easily blocked if necessary. Opposite each passage, in classic tactical fashion, two fortified firing points—pillboxes—were set up. These reinforced concrete fortifications stood like unyielding towers, ready to meet any onslaught, precisely calculated to hold back the first wave of attack.
Three hundred meters from the defensive line and on both sides of it, machine gun nests were positioned—another layer of protection capable of laying down dense fire on the enemy at a moment's notice. Every Fennish soldier standing here knew that their weapons and training were not just tools but symbols of resilience, a readiness to meet death with banners raised. Firmly dug into the ground, the machine guns were shielded from both air and ground attacks. Each fighter knew their task: one glance through the sights, one burst of fire—and the enemy would fall.
The ambush was planned down to the smallest detail. Echoes of the wind barely disturbed the silence, but every Fennish soldier, hidden in the shadows of their defensive positions, was ready to respond to the signal at any second. Each one knew: breathing didn't matter, only focus, reaction, and readiness for lightning-fast action. There was no noise, no movement—only deep concentration and tense anticipation.
Against the backdrop of waves crashing against the rocks and the rustle of wind through the wooded terrain, a deathly silence pierced every soldier. They were not just ready for battle; they were inseparable from this land and this war, becoming part of a great and relentless force directed against the enemy. All were filled with fighting spirit and ready for combat. A simple glance at the fighters, lurking in their fortifications, was enough to understand—fear did not exist for them, only duty.
The sound of battle drew ever closer.
The Imperial Squadron, three hundred meters from the uninhabited island.
General Sius stood over the map, meticulously studying the report received from the wyvern lords' squadron. He held the map in his hands, tuning out the loud discussions around him, his attention wholly fixed on strategically vital targets. The Western Castle, nestled deep within Nishinomiyako, and the military-industrial districts had become his top priorities. The general's focus was unwavering, intent on securing a beachhead for his squadron to push forward. He knew this moment would be pivotal, and the war's outcome hinged on how swiftly the landing could be established.
"— Ensure the passage is secure for the assault battalion!" he ordered his subordinates, his voice steady and his determination unshakable.
Sius understood that without a solid beachhead, his forces couldn't break through to the mainland. He commanded the ships to drop anchor right at the shoreline, leaving the enemy no room to maneuver.
"— Transmit my order immediately!" he added, his voice rising with authority. "— Unleash a massive barrage from the ship cannons on the military districts. The first assault battalion is to land on the enemy shore and secure the beachhead."
"— Yes, sir!" responded the chief of staff, relaying the command for execution.
Soon, thunderous salvos roared across the city's military-industrial districts. The Parpaldian Empire's battleships, aligned in formation, fired as one—their full might slamming into the defense's weak points. The deafening blasts echoed like rolling thunder, shaking both land and sea. Each salvo struck like a final note, shattering the old world. Within minutes, Nishinomiyako's military districts transformed into a veritable Hell on Earth. Smoke and flames billowed into the sky, veiling the horizon like a harbinger of impending doom.
The assault units, having issued their final orders to their combat teams, began preparing for the landing. In one of the landing ships, standing by a porthole, Arm, commander of the fourth squadron, didn't bother hiding his confidence. Relaxed and composed, he already savored the taste of victory. A hundred small landing craft, each carrying a hundred soldiers, surged toward the shore, leaving a powerful wake in their path—proud to serve as the vanguard, the first step in subjugating the barbarians of the Kingdom of Fenn.
Arm gripped the latest magical arquebus in his hands—a marvel of weaponry so lethal that a single shot could send an enemy to meet their ancestors. His eyes gleamed with self-assurance, his shoulders squared in a bold, almost scornful stance. After the conquest of the Kingdom of Altaras, he was convinced that nothing and no one could halt the Empire's assault force. The enemy's siege weapons lay in ruins, and ancient tools like bows and crossbows were powerless against magic.
"— Hah, a walk in the park," Arm remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. His confidence carried an edge of mockery.
"— The enemy is advancing toward the target; hold your fire until they land," came the order over the radio, cutting through the rumble and clamor of exploding shells.
The Imperial assault battalion, despite its strength, proceeded with caution. The landing was executed at full force. Yet, on the sandy shore, the soldiers disembarking from the landing craft scanned their surroundings warily. Danger lurked behind every barricade, every rock. The commanders' eyes were glued to the terrain—it didn't feel as safe as their calculations had suggested.
At the shout, "— Move, move! Form up!" soldiers spilled onto the beach, aligning into formation, bracing for potential surprises. Squadron commanders barked orders to their sergeants, who scrambled to organize their troops as fast as possible.
"— Hold!" crackled the radio.
The fourth squadron, led by Arm, was the first to hit the shore. Battle preparations unfolded swiftly yet methodically. Arm's unease began to grow as he noticed patches on the sandy beach that didn't fit the usual scene. These areas had an odd, slightly different hue. It put him on edge instantly, and a sudden gust of cold wind brushing his neck only sharpened his sense of dread.
He whipped his head around, scrutinizing a seemingly harmless hillock that appeared incapable of posing a threat. But the nagging caution wouldn't let go.
"— To arms!" rang out from the pillboxes.
In that instant, machine guns opened fire on the naval landing force.
The sharp, air-rending bursts of machine gun fire froze the hearts of the Imperial soldiers. Panic gripped them in seconds. They flung themselves to the ground—some dropped instantly, too stunned to grasp what hit them, while others, eyes pleading, sought cover wherever they could. The fear was so overwhelming that some burrowed into the sand, clutching their knees and sobbing as bullets whistled overhead.
Arm, still on his feet, barely ducked in time as rounds sliced the air around him. He hit the dirt, as if in slow motion, clapping his hands over his ears to block out the deafening roar—a chaotic din where the only clear sound was death streaking by. It felt as if the earth itself was swallowing him, offering neither shield nor refuge.
In a nearby trench lay the manacom operator. When Arm crawled to him, his eyes widened in horror. The operator's lifeless body sprawled on the ground, a stray bullet having pierced his skull, leaving only a vacant, glassy stare. His death was swift and, ultimately, pointless—just another casualty in this senseless war.
Meanwhile, those who could took cover, desperate to escape the onslaught. The wounded and immobile waited for the machine guns to quiet. Each second stretched into eternity, survival growing harder, held together only by the rigid discipline drilled into the army.
Then, as the machine gun fire ceased, the air finally cleared of whistling bullets. The echoes of death faded, and the soldiers who could move began to rise. Under their officers' commands, they reformed, steeling themselves for the next assault, uncertain of what lay beyond the horizon.
Orders crackled through the manacom, and a fierce resolve burned in the commanders' eyes. They had to seize the high ground, take it at any cost—only then could victory be within reach. But events unfolded too fast, and the sky seemed to darken with a swarm of shadows crashing down upon them.
From hidden trenches on the opposite side, Fennish warriors erupted—wielding curved blades and clad in sandy camouflage, they swung their weapons like a curse. Their fearsome roar sliced through the air as they swept over the Imperial forces like a tidal wave.
"— FOR FENN! HURRAAHH!" The shout of five hundred voices boomed like thunder, rattling everything in its wake.
And in that moment, a brutal melee erupted. The Parpaldians, determined to repel the enemy's charge, parried the curved blades with their magical arquebuses, but the Fennis fighters were quicker, deftly exploiting gaps in the defense. Every move, every block, every strike became a matter of life or death.
"— Hold your fire!" blared the radio, a desperate bid for salvation.
Arm, adrenaline surging, found himself face-to-face with a Fennish warrior. The tension between them was electric, the air practically ablaze. He clutched his arquebus, fending off the rapid strikes. But in a critical moment, a blade knocked the weapon from his grasp, forcing him to draw his sword. A duel ignited. As their blades clashed, sparks flew in all directions. Each swing, each parried thrust mirrored the savage struggle. The Fennish warrior, faster and more cunning, breached Arm's guard with a feint. A deft maneuver, and then—the blade plunged into his chest.
The storm of war primed for another strike, when a horn pierced the silence. As the Fennish warrior yanked his sword from Arm's body, he bellowed a cry that echoed across the battlefield: "— Retreat!" In an instant, the Fennish fighters melted into the shadows, vanishing behind barbed wire, leaving only devastation and death behind.
Arm, unable to stand, bled out, his final glares steeped in hatred. He stared at the retreating foes with such despair that even his death felt like one last insult. With each breath, his strength ebbed, and with a final gasp, he perished, leaving only his blood and the memory of the fight on the field.
As the machine guns resumed their relentless barrage, they mercilessly cut down the Imperial soldiers. The war pressed on. The warriors of Fenn and their stealth infantry, battling a vastly larger foe, did everything to hold the high ground and thwart the beachhead's capture. Of the thousands of rifles in the assault battalion, only a hundred survived.
General Sius, rage boiling over, tore at the manacom, nearly choking the operator. The allies' losses were staggering, a bitter blow. Yet the war marched on. For Fenn, it was just beginning.
The Sword King Shihan ordered all forces to converge on Nishinomiyako. At clearings and forward positions, ZU-23-2 anti-aircraft guns were deployed, poised to fend off air raids. The brief respite was used wisely. Sappers mined the entire shoreline, while two kilometers from the front line, one-hundred-and-twenty-millimeter mortars were set up.
Kingdom of Topa. Fortress City of Tormeus.
The central square of the city was overflowing with people, noise and bustle filled the air. The town crier, standing on a platform, shouted words that made the crowd fall silent as soon as his voice pierced the atmosphere:
"Listen to me! The Russian Federation has declared war on the Parpaldian Empire! The clash of two titans is inevitable!"
The murmur among the onlookers grew quieter, and several people stepped closer, listening as if it were something inevitable that they had to hear. Many eyes, fixed on the town crier, awaited news that would determine the future of the entire region.
One of those present, a young man with a barely noticeable interest in his eyes, leaned against an old stone wall and whispered to his companion:
"Who do you think will win?"
His companion, a man with large hands and a stern appearance, thoughtfully scratched his chin and glanced toward the square, where the crowd continued to stir:
"Russia, of course. Their might is proven! They destroyed the demon lord Nosgurath! Isn't that obvious?"
The young man shook his head, but a spark of doubt flickered in his eyes. He looked up at the sky, as if trying to find answers to the questions that tormented his mind. Then, lowering his gaze to the ground, he spoke again:
"Yes, perhaps you're right. But still, they're going against one of the superpowers. When Parpaldia invaded Altaras, in the first days, rumors say they suffered almost no losses."
The first onlooker pondered, his face turning serious. He couldn't deny that although the Russian army indeed seemed invincible, they were still entering battle with an opponent long established as a master of strategy and violence.
"That's true," he said after a brief pause, "but still, war with such an adversary will be brutal. Their army isn't weak either."
Both fell silent, contemplating what lay ahead. Bloodshed that could overshadow all that came before, and a possible outcome that was impossible to predict with certainty. The residents of Topa relied on what they knew in their judgments, but in their hearts, there was far more fear than confidence.
Kingdom of Fenn, Capital Amanoki.
Shihan stood on the observation deck of his palace, his gaze locked on the horizon where, as if summoned by the wind, the silhouettes of majestic magical ships from the Russian Federation emerged in the distance. He felt a deep satisfaction and something close to a quiet joy. His kingdom, which had teetered on the brink of destruction, had now gained a chance at survival. This nation, renowned for its mighty warriors who effortlessly crushed wyvern lords and repelled assaults on Nishinomiyako, was now ready to lend its aid. And this moment was pivotal—the fleet of the Russian Federation, carving a powerful and unyielding path through the stormy waters, was heading here. They weren't just coming to save; they were marching into battle.
Shihan reflected on how swiftly his kingdom had forged an alliance with such a formidable neighbor. He himself had been skeptical when the idea of military assistance first came up for discussion. But now, as the magical ships—adorned with runes and gleaming sails—advanced forward, he felt that his homeland was truly safe, at least for the time being.
With each passing day, he grew more convinced of the wisdom of his decision. Instead of standing on the sidelines, his people were now receiving help from a force capable of halting Parpaldia in its tracks. A fight with that monster, that insatiable beast that knew no bounds or limits, was unavoidable. And Shihan knew his country was ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Russian Federation in battle, because in this alliance he saw a lifeline. Preparations intensified day by day, and all that remained was for him to issue his final orders.
He rose from his chair and walked to his desk, where a map lay spread out. His gaze was resolute. He penned an order that would mark the beginning of new military operations, an order that would unite the Kingdom of Fenn with Russia in their struggle against a shared enemy. He commanded his forces to assist the Russian troops in every way, to be prepared for any challenge. There was no more time for hesitation, no room for weakness. The enemy would find no mercy.