Surprise Attack

The demons' offensive continued, with monsters from the Abyss surging forth like a tide, launching wave after wave of attacks.

Faced with the Embers of the Burned Empire's fierce artillery fire and treacherous landmines, they resorted to the most primitive means of countermeasures—relying on lower-level demons to deplete the Empire's shells and clear its landmines.

Countless Primordial Devil and Quasit surged toward the Imperial Wall under the command of the High Demons.

Most of them were blasted into charcoal and dust by the dense barrage of shells. Only two or three out of ten were lucky enough to break through the blockade and reach the minefield, where they quickly triggered the traps buried underground. In this way, the Abyss Legion often had to pay the price of tens of thousands of low-level demons to advance its front line by ten meters.

Such an exchange may seem unequal, but there are far more than a few hundred million low-level demons in the Abyss. The number of Primordial Devil and Quasit on the layer controlled by Jerrazak alone probably exceeds that number.

To the demon overlords, these low-level demons were cheap consumables, their value less than the Empire's cannonballs, landmines, or even a single bullet.

Anyway, demons that die outside the Abyss will return to the Blood Pool to be reborn. Sending these guys to their deaths is a win-win situation, as long as—we can conquer the Embers of the Burned Empire.

The continuous explosions and the endless deaths illuminated the dark earth as if it were daytime, leaving no place for the demons lurking in the shadows to hide.

The offensive continued until dawn, as the sun gradually rose, the morning glow reddened the clouds, and the arcs of artillery fire still crisscrossed the slightly dark sky.

The ground was covered with the charred remains of demons, which covered most of the ground, forming eerie "soil," and there were even small hills made of corpses.

When the shells land on those "hills," the corpses of demons will suddenly explode, and severed limbs will fly everywhere.

But even the empire's finest artillery needs to cool down and rest; it cannot bombard continuously around the clock, and the artillerymen's energy is also limited.

But demons are different.

They were born from the chaos of the universe, endlessly spreading evil and disorder.

By the latter half of the night, the earth was riddled with holes, and the entire wasteland had been eroded three feet lower, only to be filled with the corpses of the Quasit and the Primordial Devil. At this moment, the demonic tide was gradually approaching the Imperial Wall, reaching a region more than a thousand meters away from the defensive line.

"Smack!"

"Those cowards only dare to hide in the back and throw iron balls. Once we engage in close combat, they will surely be torn to shreds! Mortals are always so weak and incompetent, only fit to become food for us demons and nourishment for the Great Abyss!"

The Kyton wielded his long whip, and the Gorebull Devil, like mobile fortresses, let out muffled roars and spewed out puffs of smoke. The Vrock flapped its wings in mid-air, emitting noisy shrieks.

"Roar"

"Aww!"

Meanwhile, the Quasit and Primordial Devil continued to writhe and twist, crowding and charging at the forefront of the Magic Tide, surging towards the Imperial Wall.

Thick cannon barrels appeared from the sturdy fortress, their dark muzzles aimed directly at the demons, followed by bursts of intense fire.

"Boom!"

"Boom! Boom!"

The familiar booming sound, the billowing Gunsmoke, and the rolling flames echoed as explosions repeatedly ripped through the Magic Tide, turning the leading demons into charred remains once more.

Charred remains and severed limbs rained down from the sky, but the demons continued to roar and charge.

For these lowest-ranking demons, the orders of their superiors are everything. There are often cases where a Devil Lord, on a whim, transforms his entire army of Quasit into Glabrezu.

On the defensive line that stretches for hundreds of meters in front of them alone, tens of thousands of demons are charging forward, and a surging black tide covers the land and sky, almost taking over the world in front of the defensive line.

"Too many"

"Not enough, the firepower is still insufficient!"

George, holding binoculars, observed the situation in the distance with a solemn expression, muttering to himself.

This time, he was entrusted with high expectations by his superiors. The area he was in charge of was a key area of the war zone, which was related to the safety and stability of the entire defense line and could not be neglected.

The cannon fire inside the bunker was so loud that it was almost impossible to communicate at a normal volume. He turned around and yelled at his adjutant, "Let the men on the other side of the gun emplacement continue!"

"You are not to stop without my order!"

"Yes, Commander!"

The messenger nodded in agreement and then hurriedly set off, waving the signal flag to relay the order to the other battalions' garrisons.

The adjutant said, "What about the machine gun team? There are others that were specially transferred from above."

George simply observed the scene through the telescope, extended his right hand, and said in a deep voice, "It's not the right time yet, let's wait a little longer."

George also came to a window of a bunker, set up a fixed machine gun, and aimed it at the demons in the distance.

"Damn Abyss bugs, how do they reproduce? We can't kill them all."

He couldn't help but curse under his breath.

Due to the crossfire from more than a dozen defensive turrets, hundreds of demons fell every second.

But under the command of the higher demons, the Magic Tide still surged forward, carelessly trampling over the mangled and blurred corpses of its own kind, as if it would never retreat.

The demons' hideous, twisted faces and their cacophony were drawing ever closer to the Empire's soldiers.

The soldiers' hands, gripping their guns, were trembling slightly, and sweat dripped from their foreheads.

There are too many.

There are just too many.

This didn't seem like an enemy army at all, but rather like an unstoppable natural disaster, like a black avalanche on a wasteland.

Meanwhile, the distance between the Magic Tide and the defensive lines is constantly shrinking.

One kilometer.

900 meters

800 meters

At the 600-meter mark, George suddenly pulled the trigger hard and shouted, "Fire! Shoot!"

Instantly, flames shot out from dozens of windows in the defensive bunker complex and from the hundreds of cold metal gun barrels protruding from those windows.

For the soldiers, after hundreds of training sessions, this has become muscle memory, and they will never make a mistake.

"Da da da—"

"Da da da da da—"

Bullets swept across like a storm, a dense barrage of fire crisscrossing between the demons and the defenses.

The hundreds of demons in the front row were instantly riddled with holes, blood blossoms blooming from their bodies, and then they fell one after another.

However, these machine guns showed no sign of stopping.

"Die, you vermin from the Abyss!"

George, also holding the gun, scanned the area with a serious expression and slightly reddened eyes.

"Da da da da da—"

"Boom! Boom!"

Bullets rained down with a sharp whistling sound, and more shells fell into the horde of demons.

Demons fell one after another, and even the demons that had been so aggressive just moments before were forced to flee in disarray.

By the time the gun barrels were red-hot and had to be cooled with cold water, only thousands of demon corpses remained on the distant wasteland.

"They retreated! The demons retreated!"

Long Live the Empire!

"Long live His Your Majesty Keosius!"

The soldiers cheered and embraced each other in the bunker, celebrating their victory with great excitement.

However, George's face remained solemn. He knew very well that the demons' retreat was only temporary, and that they must be hiding a much larger conspiracy.

My mission is far from over; this is only the beginning of the war, not its final end.

Sure enough, a rough, muffled roar came from afar, as if from the wilderness, filled with the smell of blood, instilling an instinctive fear—the fear of prey against its predator, of pigs and sheep against their butcher.

"Roar--"