The sky, the land, the river—all of them were full of people.
Some carried guns, some carried Cold Weapons, some carried magic staves, and a small number carried machine guns.
And in the sky, a dense mass of people rode in on wyverns, carrying Bolt-action Rifles made by Dwarves.
On the river, mages drove the ships upstream. Cannons were mounted on them, and countless wooden sailing ships surged toward them.
The sight left everyone dumbfounded.
Lucia stood frozen for a few seconds before coming to her senses. "Intercept their Air Force. Use my range and firepower to suppress them!"
"Artillery observers, direct the artillery fire!"
The river and the land were draped in a mantle of white. A world made of countless tiny snowflakes was shrouded in a hazy, almost opaque mist.
Across the snowy plain, only the armies—like swarms of ants—slowly advanced toward the same destination.
A squad of conscripts and Serf soldiers, about ten men, followed Joel. They should have been packed tightly together, but after their Empire instructors' training, they had begun keeping two or three meters apart.
Squads in this formation stretched across the entire battle line.
The place they were attacking seemed completely deserted. All that stood there were blockhouses and what were supposedly trenches, riddled with holes.
At least there was some comfort: artillery would support them from behind. They said the shells were imbued with magic.
Those powerful spells would wipe out the enemy. The survivors with guns who fired bullets were nothing to fear, because swords were what made a man.
That was certainly reassuring, and a great boost to morale, wasn't it?
Their bombardment began.
Everyone could see the magic erupting across the enemy positions.
Tornadoes swept people into the sky, and the enemy screamed as flames scorched them.
It