Mage? Magic Engineer!

The end of December.

It should have been the Saints’ Day Festival, but the soldiers hadn’t celebrated it in two years. According to the propaganda, this was progress—a step toward freedom from the Church’s deceptions. A false holiday wasn’t worth celebrating. But in this harsh, foreign land, the men clutching their rifles felt a pang of nostalgia.

They didn’t necessarily miss the festival itself, but rather the peace and tranquility of spending the cold winter at home with their families.

The Empire was said to have similar traditions of praying for a good harvest around this time, but the two sides were now mortal enemies. Members of the National Guard, deep in enemy territory, peeked out from trenches and tents. The world outside was nothing but a scorched plain, plowed by artillery fire. There wasn’t a trace of harvest or celebration to be found.

Shivering, they were a little confused. ’Aren’t we the National Guard?’ they thought. ’Why are we "defending" on someone else’s land?’

Fortunately, the Guard’s leadership had been conducting ideological work from top to bottom. Most men understood that fighting here was to secure a safe future for their country. "You have to beat someone until it hurts before they learn you’re not to be trifled with!" Everyone could understand that.

So, on this abolished holiday, their only comfort was food from home. The soldiers shared treasured rations or parcels sent by their families.

They used to complain about how bad the canned food was, until the production was outsourced to Istani. That was a wake-up call, and the men shamefully admitted they owed their home factories an apology. Occasionally, mysterious cans with scraped-off labels would appear. Their contents were decent, and bore a striking, almost identical, resemblance to the spoils of war captured from the Empire.

Even these cans were becoming scarce. The delivery of winter uniforms and padded jackets from home couldn’t keep up with the plunging temperatures or the speed of their northward advance.

Around a fire, someone started singing. A mournful tune drifted through the camp, but it didn’t reach the command post.

"Only one major city remains before the Imperial Capital: Ovord. It’s bisected east to west by the Oder River, which shares its name, splitting the city into northern and southern districts. And along that river lies the final defensive line before the Imperial Capital." Pascal spread out a map. "The defending commander is rumored to be the Empire’s famous Turtle General... I think we’ve fought him before."

Paul had no interest in indulging his senior’s pointless reminiscing. "That’s not important. What’s crucial is our own situation..."

He swept aside all the small items weighing down the map. The view opened up, forcing all the command staff to look beyond their current position and the immediate battlefield to the entire eastern part of the Empire.

"We’re now deep in enemy territory, without the protection of the Black Forest. Our right flank will be exposed to the Empire’s western garrisons. We know that the Empire Army units in Valois have begun to pull back and are marching toward us. Meanwhile, since we’ve moved away from the coastline and the Empire’s navy has finished assembling, our sea-based supplies are starting to lag behind."

"In other words, the pressure on us, both militarily and logistically, is about to increase dramatically. I’m questioning whether we should even continue the attack."

The other generals immediately protested. "We’re so close to seeing the ’esteemed His Majesty the Emperor’! How can we give up halfway? Besides, if our supply lines are failing, isn’t this city the best source of resupply?" Many of the generals were already dreaming of the glory of marching into the Imperial Capital. No one liked hearing Paul throw cold water on their ambitions, but thankfully, they were still willing to listen.

"I’m not just considering abandoning the attack on Ovord," Paul explained. "I’m considering halting the entire offensive." He complained impatiently, "What are those politicians doing right now? Those windbags in the National Assembly? They should have sent envoys to negotiate with the Empire long ago."

"Think about it, everyone. Is our real objective the Imperial Capital? The capital of another country? Are you planning to conquer and annex their territory?"

"Of course not, we’re..."

"We’re here to defend our homeland," Paul cut in. "There were several overlapping factors for choosing the Imperial Capital as our target. First, attacking from the Lowland Duchy allowed us to break through the weakest point in the Empire’s strongest defensive line. Second, this was a preemptive strike to tie down the main force of the Empire Army, because our own capital, like theirs, is the closest and most vulnerable point on the eastern front. That’s why aiming for the Imperial Capital was the right choice."

"And now? The crisis in our homeland is over. The Empire’s armies have mostly returned to their own territory. As I see it, our mission is complete."

"Are we really supposed to change every country’s political system and force them to join some grand family of ’Sister Republics’? I think that even if the whole world became a republic one day, as long as nations and ethnic groups still exist, there will still be friction, conflict, and bloodshed—in other words, war. And if that’s the case, I don’t see the point in having our warriors die in a foreign land."

He kept one more thought to himself: ’An Emperor doesn’t necessarily need to be eliminated. The masses need exceptional people to lead them. Is calling someone "His Majesty" inherently bad, and calling them "First Citizen" inherently good?’

Pascal couldn’t help but interject, "Say that in Valuva, and you’ll be ’invited’ to the National Square by tomorrow."

"The one for executing important people? I wonder if its gallows will be of great historical value someday..."

None of the command staff agreed with Paul’s view. The generals didn’t argue or criticize him directly; instead, they cleverly requested instructions from the National Salvation Committee.

The message that came back over the telegraph line they had laid all this way was clear, concise, and forceful: All generals are to fight until the Empire is destroyed.

Paul sighed heavily. "Every one of the great men on the National Salvation Committee should be made to serve as a common soldier for at least ten days. No, just three days would be enough. This telegram would have read very differently."

Paul didn’t yet have the power or prestige for his words to become law, so the National Salvation Committee’s directive was the supreme command. The winter offensive to break through the Empire’s final defensive line began.

To solve the supply shortage and create a stable rear and a strong supply hub for the future assault on the Empire, nearly everyone agreed on taking Ovord.

Since no enemy had set foot in the Marlin Kingdom for over a hundred years, many of the major cities in the Empire’s Core Area were similar to Valuva. Their old, cramped city walls had long since been reduced to mere historical landmarks—a value that had yet to be recognized in the current era. The newer urban and industrial districts were left exposed on both banks of the river, a tempting sight for the Valois people.

Between the smokestacks on the south bank of the Oder River, all the Assault Juggernauts sounded the charge. Countless shells screamed over their heads in a relentless back-and-forth.

The defenders of the inland city hadn’t prepared Chain Bombs. Their only means of resisting the Juggernauts were conventional artillery and the Airship fleet.

"The Empire’s Forbidden Magic Domain is active! Eleven units are showing deceleration but have maintained mobility and limited firepower!" By now, all the Juggernauts that hadn’t been lost on the battlefield were equipped with the new-generation Black Coffin System, allowing them to continue operating, albeit barely, within a sustained Domain.

Paul was fairly satisfied with the battle’s progress. The city’s south bank could be taken today. The resistance in the streets and alleys was not as fierce as anticipated...

Suddenly, he smelled something burning. Paul frowned and sniffed the air, then saw a gray "snow" begin to fall from the sky.

"What...?"

In an instant, the fruits of the National Guard’s victory—the south bank of Ovord—were consumed by a sea of fire. But the ash seemed to fall even before the flames, igniting everything it touched in a flash. Merely breathing the air caused a searing pain in one’s nose and throat.