Dawn always comes accompanied by hope.
But at Silverstone Cliff, this final natural barrier of the Victoria capital, dawn brought only the color of death.
A thin layer of morning mist shrouded the continuous cliffs, as if draping a white cloth over the tragedy about to unfold.
The remnants of the Victoria coalition of Dukes had been driven all the way here.
The faces of the soldiers were filled with exhaustion and fear.
Many of them were proud warriors who, just yesterday, believed in the undefeated military might of Victoria; overnight, that faith had been torn to shreds.
On the cliffs and within the passes, they constructed defense lines, transported shells, and reinforced protections.
In the bridge command room of the Gastrell, Wellington Duke had not slept all night.
He looked through the porthole at the soldiers below, whose souls were still unsettled, his gaze complex.
Beside him, Windermere Duke wiped her longsword, the blade reflecting her equally haggard eyes.
"They are afraid," Windermere Duke said softly.
"Who isn't?" Wellington Duke did not turn back. "I am afraid too."
This was the first time in the life of this Iron Duke that he had admitted to fear.
Windermere's movements paused for a moment, and she did not reply.
She knew that what Wellington feared was not death, but defeat.
It was watching helplessly as the country he had guarded all his life fell apart in his hands.
"Where are Gododdin and Fife?" Wellington asked.
"The Duke of Gododdin is commanding the dreadnoughts at the central pass, and the Duke of Fife is responsible for the gunship positions on the left wing," an officer answered in a low voice.
Wellington pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Just then, on the eastern skyline, before the sun had fully risen, a familiar shrieking sound once again pierced the vast sky.
Buzz—
They're here!
Everyone's heart skipped a beat.
Dozens of Leithanien "Stuka B-type" bombers appeared in the glimmering morning light.
They did not rush to dive but circled at high altitude.
"Anti-air—"
Wellington's order was not even finished when a completely different sound came from the southern horizon.
A black tide.
That was the Royal Court Legions of Kazdel.
Charging at the very front was the legion of the Withered Royal Court; they drove countless creatures twisted by witchcraft—things that were once civilians or soldiers of Victoria but had now become bloated, rotten monsters that knew only slaughter.
And behind them, the progeny warriors under Sanguinarch Duqare advanced with eerie strides.
The bright red tentacles on their bodies danced in the air, emitting a nauseating scent of blood.
Further away, mobile altars were slowly being pushed forward, with Sarkaz wizards raising their staffs to drive the altars.
A pincer attack.
The Leithanien army and the Kazdel army did not even disdain to play with tactics; they only needed to attack from two directions simultaneously to crush Victoria in one fell swoop.
"Fire!!"
Wellington Duke's roar finally broke through his throat.
"All guns! Free fire!"
The artillery deployed on the cliffs and the turrets on the remaining warships let out a roar simultaneously, driven by despair.
Shells whistled as they flew toward the sky and toward the Kazdel army in the south.
However, just as the artillery fire of Victoria covered the southern front, the "Stukas" in the sky moved.
They dove down in squads.
The Duke of Fife stood at the left wing position he was responsible for, commanding several gunships.
His face was pale as death, and he waved his command saber hysterically, ordering the gunners to turn their muzzles toward the sky.
"Shoot them down! Shoot all those things down for me!"
He had been the coward who first proposed peace talks at the meeting, but when death truly descended, the dignity of a noble made him choose bravery.
Several "Stukas" locked onto his position.
They wove through the sparse anti-air barrage, and the bombs beneath their fuselages detached.
The Duke of Fife raised his head, seeing those few black dots expanding rapidly in his pupils.
He opened his mouth, wanting to shout something, but his voice was completely swallowed by the whistling sound that followed close behind.
Boom—Kaboom!!!
A series of explosions lifted the entire left wing position into the sky.
The Duke of Fife and the warship fortress beneath his feet, along with his pitiful dignity, were vaporized in an instant by the high temperature and shockwave.
The Duke of Fife, KIA.
The firelight of the explosion soared into the sky, forming a massive mushroom cloud, as if holding a brief funeral for this Duke.
The left wing position instantly went silent.
"Duke Fife..." a noble on the bridge muttered to himself, but before he could finish, he was rudely interrupted by Wellington.
"Shut up! Hold your positions!"
But the collapse had already begun.
The loss of the left wing gave the southern Sarkaz Legion a breakthrough point.
Sanguinarch Duqare let out a long, pleasurable whistle, and the progeny beside him immediately began to surge toward that gap.
"For the Sanguinarch!"
"For Kazdel!"
A Victoria officer led a squad of infantry, attempting to plug the gap.
They formed a phalanx, raising their long spears and shields; this was the standard tactic the Victoria army had drilled for hundreds of years.
However, they were not facing enemies who followed the rules of war.
A progeny warrior charged at the very front; he ignored the long spear stabbing toward his body, allowing the sharp tip to penetrate his chest.
He grinned, revealing a twisted smile, and the flesh-and-blood tentacles on his body suddenly elongated, instantly wrapping around that officer and several surrounding soldiers, then tightening violently.
The crack of shattering bones and shrill screams mixed together.
Under the gaze of the crowd, those few Victoria soldiers were squeezed into a pile of meat paste alive.
This scene completely shattered the psychological defenses of the surrounding soldiers.
"Devils! They are devils!"
"Mama..."
A young soldier threw down his weapon and turned to run, his crying tearing at the heart.
His breakdown spread, and the entire infantry phalanx disintegrated instantly.
In the rear, at the Kazdel command position.
Theresis stood on the observation tower, looking indifferently at the slaughter ahead.
Beside him, Sanguinarch Duqare had a look of enjoyment on his face.
"Truly a wonderful symphony, isn't it?" Duqare said in an aria-like tone.
"The wailing of the Victorians is more melodious than any instrument."
Theresis did not pay attention to him; his gaze was cast more toward the east.
There, Leithanien's "Tiger II" tank cluster, after the bombers had completed their carpet bombing to clear the field, had already begun to advance steadily.
Tanks and mobile infantry coordinated, covering each other alternatively, using artillery fire to knock out the firing points on the cliff one by one.
"Do you see, Sanguinarch?" Theresis suddenly spoke, his voice low.
"That is the future of war. The Sarkaz still have a long way to go."
He pointed at those "Tiger II" tanks that were opening fire.
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