Chapter 517: The Beginning
Savvedra Plains, the Empire's Wall.
A piercing cold wind swept through, howling as it funneled into the fortress vents.
The vast wasteland was devoid of life, the sky dark and foreboding. Even the hawks soaring across the land seemed restless, as if sensing an imminent catastrophe.
Inside the bunkers, officers and soldiers bustled about, hurrying through corridors, moving between various sections. The voice of Imperial Marshal Dolo rang clearly through the loudspeakers.
"Soldiers, before us lies an arduous and painful trial.
You ask: What is our goal? I can answer in one word—victory. Victory at all costs!
For without victory, we do not survive. Understand this: without victory, there is no Ember Empire. There is nothing left of what we stand for!
Twelve years ago, His Majesty Cassius personally founded Ember Nest. Over the years, from a nest to a kingdom, and now an empire, we have never been defeated!
And today will be no different!
Twelve days ago, demons attacked the Trier Mines.
Nine days ago, demons struck the Storm Highlands Ranch.
Three days ago, they assaulted Marl City.
Yesterday, they ambushed the train to Isthalia.
These Abyssal vermin have poured forth, seeking to tear apart our empire, to destroy everything we have built!
As warriors of the Great Red Dragon, as citizens of His Majesty Cassius, we will not tolerate this insult, nor allow these demons to invade unchecked!
The empire is vast, but we have nowhere left to retreat! Behind us stands Isthalia!"
In one of the command bunkers, George flipped through a supply report while casually listening to the broadcast, muttering, "Marshal Dolo still loves grandstanding."
"Come in."
A soldier knocked and hurried in, handing over an urgent message.
"Commander, high command sent a classified telegram—we might be the first defensive line to face the demon assault."
"I see.
Make sure the men are mentally prepared. Keep them on high alert, and don't let them take this war lightly.
Remember, this isn't some battle for personal glory—these demons aren't those soft-bellied nobles from the North."
George set down the report, his voice steady.
He rose from his seat, turning to the map pinned to the wall, his eyes scanning the dense array of markings. The corners of his lips curled slightly.
"Though… whether they even reach our front line remains to be seen."
George turned toward the ventilation window, gazing out over the desolate wasteland.
His golden double-footed wyvern insignia, marking his rank as Colonel, gleamed under the bunker lights.
The Empire's Wall.
This colossal defensive line stretched for hundreds of miles, constructed from reinforced concrete, an unyielding bastion.
It was divided into the Hoxie Fortification Zone, the Ter Fortification Zone, and the Lower Valley Region.
Hoxie and Ter boasted the strongest fortifications, while the Lower Valley used the Inaki and Orel Rivers as natural barriers.
The defensive line housed cannons, trenches, fortresses, kitchens, hospitals, and factories, all fully equipped. The larger fortifications even had steam locomotive tunnels.
There were 276 regimental command posts along the wall, all interconnected via communication networks. A total of 550,000 soldiers stood ready to defend it.
This was an unprecedented war in Anzeta's history. For a thousand years, the Scanians had never faced a battle of this scale.
The empire's years of military buildup had reached its peak, with emergency mobilizations sending steam locomotives loaded with troops and supplies southward.
Counting logistical personnel, over a million people were involved in the war effort.
And if indirect participants were included, one could say—the entire empire had been mobilized for this war of national defense. The war machine was in full motion.
But their enemy was formidable—the Abyssal Legions.
They had destroyed countless mortal nations and slaughtered unnumbered mortals across the ages.
The Abyssal Legions were true engines of destruction, reveling in rivers of blood, delighting in suffering and torment, existing solely to spread evil, terror, and chaos.
The clash between the Empire and the Abyss was about to begin.
"Commander, another report."
"Go ahead."
"At 9:45 PM yesterday, Leo Village's frontline outpost lost contact. At 10:21 PM, Ander Village's outpost went silent. At 11:45 PM, Arcad Village's outpost fell.
As of now, nearly all Starfallen outposts have been overrun. Most of the Starfallen are reviving at the magic formations, leading to overcrowding and minor trampling incidents."
George frowned. "That fast?"
The Starfallen might not be the strongest, but they numbered over a million, with outposts in over a thousand villages.
Even if you were butchering a million pigs, it'd take more than three days. But in a single night, their entire defensive line had crumbled?
There was only one conclusion—the Abyssal Legion's strength far exceeded expectations.
George drew his ornate pistol from his holster and wiped it with a handkerchief. "How long until they reach the Empire's Wall?"
The adjutant swallowed hard, his voice heavy. "According to command's reports… Right now."
The adjutant's tense words lingered in the air.
Suddenly, George felt the bunker tremble slightly. The water in his glass rippled.
He stood and looked out the window—then inhaled sharply, his expression darkening.
Even a battle-hardened veteran like George had never seen such a sight.
"By Cassius…"
In the distance, a churning tide surged across the wasteland, stretching across the horizon, staining the earth in a chaotic mass of color.
But it was no flood—it was an army of demons.
The lowest of their kind, cowardly dretches, pushed forward, their shrill, grating screams filling the air.
Scrawny, red-skinned barghests darted among them like phantoms, their laughter echoing eerily.
"Boom! Boom!"
Towering figures stomped across the cursed land, their every step shaking the earth. Their nostrils spewed thick smoke.
Their elongated, trunk-like arms swung with immense strength, and atop their broad shoulders sat gaunt demons wielding poisoned arrows and wands—like mobile fortresses.
Berserker Demons, Bagura Demons, and other powerful mid-tier fiends roared as they charged toward the bunker.
Above, Quasits, Caz Demons, and Fro Demons flapped their wings, colliding midair with harsh screeches.
Demons darkened half the sky, swirling like storm clouds, casting chaotic shadows over the land.
The entire south was shrouded in darkness—the sun obscured by the demon tide, its light unable to reach the earth.
And this was just the beginning. From the distant snow-capped mountains, more demons poured forth like a relentless torrent, covering the land with no end in sight.
In George's field of vision alone, there were already hundreds of thousands.
And in terms of individual strength, the thousands of Berserker Demon and Bagura Demon battalions alone outmatched ordinary imperial soldiers.
This was the greatest enemy the empire had ever faced.
And for the first time, doubt crept into many soldiers' minds—could they truly win? Could the empire withstand this demonic tide and even strike back?
Staring at the abyssal flood, George's expression remained firm. Memories of the Red Dragon spreading its wings and roaring years ago resurfaced in his mind.
Back then, as a serf, George had once thought the Northern nobles' armies were invincible.
He glanced at his unsettled adjutant and continued polishing his pistol, speaking with unwavering conviction.
"The Empire will triumph.
Just as it always has."