At this moment, white was blacker than the night.
The air had been replaced by an eerie haze, thick black fog rolling down from the Oliason Hills under the force of fierce winds.
Brilan did not believe this was a natural wind. This was absolutely not a natural weather phenomenon.
During a lull in the fighting, he had heard the war wizard Domiti speculate that this was some large-scale Ork sorcery—their barbaric psychic power had once caused terrifying devastation during the Battle of Tyre, an incident widely known in magical circles.
It was said that the Benedict Empire's fourth greatest wizard at the time had clashed fiercely with the Orks' chief Great Shaman. The Benedict Empire claimed victory, while the Orks, lacking any propaganda apparatus, had made no comment. But judging by the outcome, the Orks had won that battle.
And this time?
For now, there truly was a glow of fiery storm clouds on the southern horizon.
The Ninth Army at the Oliason Muster Point, along with scattered units and skirmishers from other Civic Temple hunting teams, had withdrawn from the completely destroyed camp area and were now holding the perimeter of an industrial district.
Brilan had never entered the place, but he knew there was a vast underground space beneath the industrial district.
Some of it consisted of residential areas, air-raid shelters, and military bunkers. This had originally been a muster point, but it had now become a defensive position. The irony could not have been clearer.
More than ten thousand workers who had failed to evacuate in time were still hiding below, and only the Ninth Army stood between them and the enemy.
At the heart of the industrial district stood a large smelting plant, converted into a small fortress. It concealed and guarded the entrances to