The Goblin World's army set out.
Mana tanks rolled forward in columns, their tracks crushing the earth and leaving two deep ruts behind.
Mana mechs followed behind. Every step of their eight-meter-tall steel bodies made the ground tremble slightly.
The infantry wore gray combat uniforms, carried mana crystal rifles on their backs, and stood in neat formations.
The air force's airships rose from the base, the mana cannons suspended beneath their gondolas glinting coldly in the sunlight.
The navy's cruisers, destroyers, and battleships departed from their home port, trailing black smoke as they slowly sailed along the coast with their guns aimed at the sea.
Both sides of the narrow strip of land were packed with people.
On the Goblin World's side, sandbags and iron plates were piled along the front line. Mana cannons had been mounted on high ground, their barrels aimed at the other side.
Infantry crouched in the trenches, their gun barrels extending over the edges.
Mana mechs stood behind the infantry, their towering bodies like walls.
The moment the enemy dared show themselves, they would be greeted by a barrage of saturated artillery fire!
On the Source Realm's side, the allied camp of the orc tribes stretched from the Northern Wasteland all the way to the entrance of the passage.
Tents stood densely packed together, smoke from cooking fires rising through the gaps and joining into a single haze beneath the gray-white sky.
Shatterrock stood atop a high slope. The wasteland lay beneath his feet, tents behind him, and the narrow strip of land before him.
He was tall, half a head taller than the surrounding orcs, with shoulders as broad as a door.
He was a golden lionman with thick fur, a scar splitting his face from forehead to chin, and pale yellow feline eyes.