The region Orsaga and his group were stationed in wasn't part of a continental plate.
It was a cluster of small- to medium-sized islands surrounded by a vast, endless sea.
Originally, four kingdoms had controlled this stretch of ocean. But after a carefully orchestrated campaign by the Chloroya Merchant Guild, one and a half of those kingdoms had already collapsed, serving as the initial sacrifice for the descent of the abyssal legions.
At this moment, the kings of the two remaining nations sat together in a lavishly renovated meeting room, gazing at the storm-filled skies through magical scrying devices.
Worry clouded both of their faces.
One of them let out a heavy sigh.
"The abyssal demons have likely begun to descend… Forces from the Azure Temple, the Sanctuary of White Wings, and the Golden Tide Order should be arriving soon. I only hope some portion of our land can still be saved when all this is over…"
The other king took a slow sip of fine wine, his expression numb as he shook his head.
"Based on historical precedent… probably not."
After a moment of silence, he reached for the helmet beside him and secured it in place.
"…Come on. Let's prepare to meet the first wave."
According to the laws of the Seven Seas Realm, once a demonic outbreak occurred, local governments were required to mount a full defense before the divine churches arrived.
In this case, because the threat had been reported early, the Three Great Churches had enough time to fully mobilize. Their forces would soon arrive.
But that didn't absolve the two kingdoms of responsibility.
Because they had failed to contain the spread, they were now expected to hold the line and stall the abyssal forces, even if it meant sacrificing themselves—until reinforcements arrived from the other mortal nations.
A tall order.
Even the weakest Lesser Demons could tear through beasts and armored soldiers alike.
To prevent immediate surrender, the churches had extended assistance: temporarily empowering the military, aiding in civilian evacuation, and offering a faint sliver of hope.
And so, for the sake of their families, their legacies, and what little future remained, the remaining citizens of both kingdoms braced for the storm.
Success was optional.
Resistance was mandatory.
Even for the kings themselves.
Unless they were willing to cast aside all ties—family, duty, pride—and kneel to the Abyss, there were no other choices left.
---
Meanwhile, dozens of kilometers out at sea...
A massive translucent golden ring suddenly shimmered into existence above the water.
As it rotated, figures began to emerge one by one—passing through the portal in orderly waves.
There was no need to guess their affiliation: the clothing alone clearly marked three distinct factions.
The first wave of troops quickly landed and began unloading heavy equipment from their spatial storage—forming landing platforms for the rest of the soldiers and cargo.
After all, only a few elite transcendents could sustain flight unaided, and the magical artillery they brought with them—especially the rune-powered cannons—required physical ground to deploy.
Within minutes, as men and materials poured out of the portal, the once-empty sea transformed into a fully-formed battle fleet.
---
The ships, each several hundred to several thousand meters in length, were mostly constructed from magically enhanced wood—harvested from supernatural trees with strength and durability far exceeding steel.
Each hull was engraved with sacred scripture. Over centuries, priests and clerics had chanted blessings into the timber, imbuing it with divine protection and mystic might.
A single one of these warships could flatten an entire island nation.
Now, three complete fleets had assembled—all of them armed with oversized magical weapons.
---
On the deck of the central flagship...
A neatly robed middle-aged man turned toward an elderly figure and respectfully reported,
"Your Grace, all magical artillery systems have been calibrated. Are we clear to advance?"
The elderly archbishop, short and slightly portly, his kind face weathered with age, gazed silently at the rolling black clouds in the distance.
After a pause, he nodded.
"Send the signal to the other two fleets. We advance together. And remind everyone: no unnecessary aggression. Keep it measured."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
After the officer left, the archbishop let out a tired sigh.
He hadn't expected that, so close to retirement, he would find himself caught in a full-scale demon invasion—the likes of which hadn't happened in thousands of years.
If it were just a minor incursion, it would be manageable.
But if this was anything like the historical catastrophes…
Then odds were high that he wouldn't be walking away.
For a brief moment, he rubbed his temple and muttered under his breath,
"I was supposed to be enjoying my old age… please, gods above, let this go smoothly."
That final thought—knowing the divine were watching—was the only thing keeping his morale afloat.
---
As the fleets approached the island covered in storm clouds, the archbishop's gaze sharpened.
He raised his arm and gave the order,
"Relay to all ships: Charge all Magi-Cannons to full output. Erase that island—completely."
"Understood!"
Through enchanted communication tools, the command echoed across all three fleets.
The other fleet commanders, upon hearing it, nodded in agreement. No one objected.
In the blink of an eye, hundreds of battleships, each at least a hundred meters long, surged with energy.
Glowing runes lit up along their hulls.
Then—
Boom!
Hundreds of blazing energy beams launched in unison, shrieking through the skies in radiant arcs.
Their target: the island that served as the current staging ground for the abyssal invasion.
If even a fraction of those attacks landed, the entire landmass—measuring hundreds of thousands of square kilometers—would be turned into rubble.
These ships might not be galactic warships, but against a world without spacefaring tech, they were terrifying.
In fact, they might even be more efficient than their sci-fi counterparts in some ways.
---
Of course, Orsaga and the other Greater-Rank Demons noticed the approaching barrage.
But none of them moved.
They didn't even lift a finger.
Among the tens of millions of summoned abyssal demons, there were plenty who had already reached High-Rank Demon level.
If this kind of attack required the five of them to personally intervene, then those demons were better off being turned into raw resources.
And Orsaga, a professional scavenger and soul recycler, was already thinking ahead.
'If they really are this useless, I'll just break them down into evolution points.'
After all, even garbage has value—if you know how to harvest it.
---
The moment the beams came into view, the nearby demons finally reacted.
Realizing that the Greater-Rank Demons had no intention of protecting them, a few braver ones leapt into action—blasting spells skyward in retaliation.
Soon, others followed their lead.
Unfortunately…
Their "combined response" was a complete mess.
Spells with conflicting elements, random trajectories, zero coordination—it was total chaos.
Some of their own attacks even canceled each other out before reaching the enemy blasts.
It was a perfect demonstration of abyssal cooperation—or rather, the lack thereof.
Any military strategist witnessing it would've died of a brain aneurysm on the spot.
__
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access 80+ advanced chapters and support the translation.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon