Victoria's Southern Border, Cornwall County.
The once rolling green hills and tranquil villages had been replaced by scarlet and black. The air was thick with the heavy stench of blood, the acrid smell of burning, and a nauseatingly sweet aroma—the scent of Originium mixed with burning flesh.
The war banners of Kazdel, emblazoned with the broken crown and thorns, were planted atop the ruins of every town. The defensive line of Victoria's 12th Border Defense Regiment had been completely obliterated within the first hour of the Sarkaz offensive. This was not a battle; it was a unilateral massacre.
Sanguinarch Duqare, dressed in an immaculate, luxurious formal suit, stood atop a leveled hill, elegantly using a pristine white handkerchief to wipe nonexistent dust from his fingertips. Beneath him, his progeny were serving as the vanguard, tearing apart the final will to resist of the Victorian defenders.
A Victorian soldier used every ounce of his strength to thrust his long spear into the chest of a Sarkaz warrior. The warrior grinned, scarlet blood spraying from the wound, yet he did not fall. Instead, the flesh at his chest squirmed, and several thicker scarlet tentacles burst forth from the wound, instantly wrapping around the soldier's body.
"No... No!"
The soldier screamed in terror as he felt his life force being rapidly drained by the slick, slimy tentacles. His body shriveled at a speed visible to the naked eye, finally turning into a skin-and-bones desiccated corpse that was casually tossed to the ground. The Sarkaz warrior's wound had already healed; the tentacles on his body grew even thicker, emitting a red glow as he lunged toward his next target.
Even more terrifying were the fallen Sarkaz soldiers. Their corpses did not grow cold; the blood flowing from them gathered into pools on the ground, pools that squirmed as if possessing life. Soon, monsters composed entirely of pure blood crawled out from the puddles. They had no fixed form—sometimes running hounds, sometimes demons brandishing sharp claws—emitting piercing shrieks as they joined the charge.
"Monsters! They are undying monsters!"
"Retreat! Retreat quickly!"
The Victorian formation collapsed completely. Soldiers threw away their helmets and armor, crying and shouting as they fled to the rear, but how could their legs outrun those bloodthirsty creations?
An officer attempted to organize a defense line, waving his longsword and shouting of Victoria's glory. The next second, his voice came to an abrupt halt. An invisible ripple swept past, and the ground beneath his feet instantly turned into a swamp-like mire, trapping him firmly.
Not far away, the legion of the Nachzehrer King Nietzhere was advancing. Sarkaz wizards chanted in low voices. What they cast was not Originium Arts, but an ancient witchcraft.
A Nachzehrer caster pointed his staff toward a dense cluster of Victorian soldiers ahead. The space around him began to distort, and the light grew dim. The soldiers in that area discovered with horror that their bodies were becoming stiff, their skin losing its luster, as if their life force had been instantly drained dry. A few seconds later, they all turned into gray-white stone statues, frozen in their terrified postures from the moment before death.
Another wizard summoned several black vortexes on the battlefield. Countless pale arms extended from the vortexes, dragging every living thing nearby—enemy or ally—into the depths, leaving them no time to even scream.
Their tactics defied logic, yet they sliced into every weak point of the Victorian defense line. Villages burned; towns were razed to the ground. Wherever the Sarkaz army passed, no survivors were left. They held a pure pleasure for the slaughter itself, regarding the wails of the Victorians as the most melodious music. They sought not only to occupy this land but to use fear to thoroughly erase the name "Victoria" from it.
At the rear of the Kazdel formation, Theresis observed all of this in silence.
"Your Highness, the Sanguinarch's troops are advancing faster than expected, but he has ignored your order regarding the preservation of some infrastructure," a messenger reported in a low voice. "The Patriarch's legion is doing the same."
Theresis did not look back, his voice devoid of emotion. "Let them be. The Sarkaz have suppressed their anger for too long; they need a vent. The land of Victoria needs to be washed with Victorian blood before it can become our new home."
He looked at the soaring flames in the distance, watching the banners that once belonged to Victoria being trampled and burned by his subordinates. He knew this was a path of no return. To allow the Sarkaz, this cursed race, to have a land where they could look up at the sky, he had to transform into a devil and turn his people into devils as well.
He thought of his sister, Theresia, and those eyes of hers that were always full of compassion. If she saw this scene, her heart would surely break. But the ideal of peace, on this continent of Terra where the weak are meat for the strong, was such a fragile luxury.
"Pass the order. Let the Confessarius troops follow up and exterminate any who slipped through the net," Theresis's voice turned cold. "Tell the Sanguinarch and the Patriarch: I don't care how they play, but within three days, I want to see their vanguards arrive at the southern foothills of Silverstone Cliff. Whoever arrives first, the richest area of the future duchy belongs to them."
"As you command!"
Theresis closed his eyes. He seemed to hear the wailing of countless Victorian ghosts, and the maniacal laughter of countless Sarkaz warriors. This was the overture of rebirth composed for the Sarkaz, only every note of this overture was constructed of fresh blood and bones.
...
Meanwhile, inside the Council of Dukes.
The atmosphere was incredibly oppressive. The news that the Duke of Kaest's flagship, the Glory, had been sunk, her fleet completely annihilated, and the Duke herself confirmed KIA, had shattered the last bit of luck held in the hearts of all the Grand Dukes.
That was Kaest! One of the eight Grand Dukes of Victoria! She was among the most powerful even within that group! A woman renowned for her calmness and wisdom, possessing one of Victoria's most elite fleets! Her Glory was a warship capable of going toe-to-toe with the Duke of Wellington's Gastrell!
Could even she not match Leithanien? In just a single morning, Kaest's fleet had been beaten into a pile of scrap metal by the Leithaniens.
"...Air-ground integrated strike... dive bombers... a new type of weapon with extreme speed, called 'missiles'..."
The intelligence officer's voice echoed in the empty hall.
The Duke of Wellington, the man known as the "Iron Duke" with distinguished military service, had a face ashen as iron. As a battle-hardened general, he knew better than anyone what this battle report signified. It meant that Victoria's proud landship system was thoroughly obsolete in the face of Leithanien's new war machines.
"A bunch of useless trash!"
The Duke of Gododdin slammed the table violently, his refined face twisted with anger. "What are those legions in the East doing? One day! The entire line collapsed in just one day!"
"What is the use of saying this now?" the Duke of Windermere, a Feline woman famous for her swordsmanship, interrupted him with a cold voice. "Kaest is already dead. She died because of the arrogance and stupidity of us all."
Her gaze swept over every Duke present. "While we were still infighting, still suspicious of each other, the enemy had already put a knife to our necks."
Just then, an attendant scrambled into the council hall, his face written with terror. "My Lords! Emergency report from the South!"
"Cornwall Fortress fell yesterday! The 12th Border Defense Regiment is completely wiped out! Kazdel's Sarkaz army... is advancing north at an astonishing speed! They... they..." The attendant's voice trembled as he reported. "Wherever they pass, nothing grows! Cornwall County has... has turned into a purgatory!"
If the news of Kaest's death was a thunderclap, then the battle report from the South was an earthquake declaring the arrival of doomsday. The Leithaniens only wanted conquest, but the Sarkaz wanted thorough destruction and revenge! Pincered from north and south, Victoria had no retreat.
The Duke of Wellington, who had been silent, finally spoke. "Enough."
The entire room instantly fell quiet.
"Kaest used her life to tell us how powerful the Leithaniens are. Now, the Sarkaz have used the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians in Cornwall County to tell us how cruel they are."
"We have no time to argue over past stupidities." The Duke of Wellington stood up. His aged body appeared exceptionally upright at this moment, like a pillar stabilizing the sea. "I propose we immediately form a coalition army. All Ducal territories must hand over full military command of their forces, to be unified under the direction of myself and Windermere."
His gaze was sharp as a falcon's, sweeping over everyone present. "Who approves? Who opposes?"
This time, no one raised an objection. The shadow of death hung equally over everyone's head. Past grievances and power calculations became insignificant in the face of the crisis of national extinction.
"I agree," the Duke of Windermere was the first to declare her stance.
"Seconded," the Duke of Gododdin said through gritted teeth.
"Seconded."
"Seconded."
...
Amidst the death knell of the nation, the old nobles of Victoria were finally forced, at the very last moment, to lay down the butcher knives they held against each other and point them together at the foreign enemy.
"Very well." The Duke of Wellington nodded. "Pass my order. All Ducal territories are to mobilize immediately! Gather all our warships and all our soldiers together! We will fight them to the death right here! We will let the Leithaniens, and the Sarkaz, know! Victoria has not fallen yet!"
________________________________________
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