Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 29

In this world, due to the formation of hot points by magic, it had become common to deploy numerous skirmishers and small groups ahead of the main force to avoid being annihilated or severely damaged. In the recent defense battle, numerous earthen ramparts had been created in front of the fortress clusters, constructed with the full effort of the engineering corps of the Highserk Empire.

Particularly, the horse-mounted ramparts guarding the smaller entrances and the sixth rampart, which was large enough to accommodate two battalions and equipped with dry moats, horse barricades, stakes, earthen walls, and wooden walls, had been intricately combined. Walm had never seen such meticulously prepared fortifications before.

For the enemy forces, these ramparts were critical points that had to be captured to advance on the fortress. The problem for Walm was that one of the battalions assigned to the sixth rampart was the Reglia Battalion. When not fighting, infantry were often used as versatile engineers or laborers, and Walm was no exception. He compacted the earthen walls with tools and feet, drove stakes into the ground, and sharpened their tips.

Those with nimble hands, mixed among the engineers, helped reinforce the walls and assemble pillars. The excavated soil was packed into baskets and empty barrels to create even slight elevations for the fortifications. Stones and arrows for throwing were brought to the walls. The work was almost completed, but the engineering corps’ traffic was most frequent near the sixth rampart.

“The height and width are impressive,” Walm had noted. The mounds of earth were two or three tiers higher and broader than other ramparts. He had wondered where all the soil had come from. When the day ended and work was declared finished, smoke signals rose in the distance.

“They’ve come within two or three days’ distance,” Jose, who had been working with Walm, said.

“The full-scale battle will be in three or four days since it’s just the vanguard for now.”

“About that long, yeah. But man, the enemy troops number over 50,000. The fortress might get buried in corpses.”

A dark-skinned young man looked around and sighed in disgust.

“Hopefully, neither mine nor our squad members’ bodies will be among them.”

“Exactly. It’s too early for a last supper, but it’s time for a graceful dinner.”

“Don’t rush it. You’ll get scolded by Mom for not washing your hands properly.”

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

After grumbling, Jose led the way to the corner where large pots were lined up. The battalion had gathered by platoons, with every available pot being used to prepare combat rations. Anything edible was thrown into the pots and boiled. Even slightly spoiled food could be salvaged by cooking. It was all good to go. The ingredients were all roughly prepared.

Walm had checked beforehand, and the contents varied from pot to pot. There were small amounts of chicken, pork, orc meat, beans, cabbage, turnips, carrots, and potatoes, all being indiscriminately boiled. Walm took out a wooden bowl from his bag and held it out, and a soldier in charge of cooking filled it with soup. The taste was just warm, which was better than nothing, and, being tired and hungry from continuous work, it was passable.

He ate, mixing in leftover bits of hard-baked bread, and filled his stomach. The squad had collected bronze and silver coins to buy fruit wine, which Walm poured into his bowl. He puffed on his pipe, sending purple smoke into the air. The two moons had risen in the sky, starting their chase. Unlike in his former world where air pollution from exhaust gases and the like existed, the starry sky of this world was splendid. It was one of the things he had gained in this world. But he might have lost more, especially the things he had to abandon due to the war, which had changed Walm, for better or worse.

“What’s with that sentimental look on your face?” Jose had asked Walm, who was gazing up at the night sky at a corner of the wall.

“Just wondering how long this war will go on.”

“Till we win, of course.”

“Till we win, huh.”

Walm had thought that it was because they kept fighting to win that things had come to this. In his opinion, the Highserk Empire, which had obtained everything through victory, didn’t know the words ‘peace’ or ‘negotiation.’ Their way was to provoke the opponent, fight back if attacked, and thoroughly subdue them. That had led to a war against four countries at once. In a world where showing weakness meant being devoured, Walm might have been too soft. But even after fighting so much, the war seemed never to end. It was as if wartime had become the norm, and Walm felt a sense of closure and a looming end.

“Feeling down? Hey, the enemy may be numerous, but we’re surrounded by strong fortifications and natural defenses. We won’t lose easily.”

Walm partly agreed with Jose’s militarily sound opinion.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

His response had been half-hearted, but Jose didn’t say anything further. Walm knew that in a few days, he would have to kill again to avoid being killed himself. He wasn’t kind-hearted or a good person to the extent of being killed without killing. He sipped the fruit wine from his bowl. The acidity ran over his tongue and down his throat, making Walm grimace, which Jose found amusing and laughed at.

◆

The beginning of the battle was marked by dazzling flashes and booming explosions. Siege warfare often started with attacks by magic soldiers, and the exchange of magic between tens of thousands of troops was nothing short of spectacular. Flames danced, limbs torn off whirled through the air, and soldiers hit directly by clods of earth fainted. When ice flowers bloomed, blood dripped from the pierced bodies of soldiers, coloring them red. Soldiers hit in the head by earth bullets lost their balance and drowned on the ground.

While the Highserk forces, entrenched in their meticulously built positions, had the upper hand in the exchange of fire, there were those among the Four Nation Alliance who stood out with their attacks. Their holy attribute magic, accompanied by light, eroded the earthen ramparts and obliterated the Highserk Empire soldiers who were likely hiding behind the mounds.

Amidst the incoming barrage of four-attribute magic, part of the ramparts was breached under the fierce attack. Supported by magic soldiers, the Four Nation Alliance began to slowly advance, using golems created with earth magic as shields.

To prevent the advance, a counterattack began. Archers, ineffective against the golems, continued shooting arrows in high arcs at the enemy soldiers likely behind them. Meanwhile, some soldiers with skills like “Strong Bow” succeeded in destroying golems with projectiles of unimaginable destructive power. Soldiers without cover hid behind shields or undulations in the terrain, but casualties increased rapidly under the relentless assault. Facing more resistance than expected, the Four Nation Alliance shifted to capturing the ramparts while constructing earth walls and communication trenches.

“Changeover! Move the platoon to the third rampart!”

Cozul’s platoon was assigned to the third rampart, built on the left flank. The Reglia Battalion, initially placed in the ninth rampart located at the heart of the rampart group, served as both a communication network and a supply collection point. By the third day of the clash, the exhausted battalions at the front were being replaced with the reserve forces of the Reglia Battalion. 6,000 soldiers were at the forefront of the ramparts, with another 4,000 behind them. At the bottleneck of the fortress front, it was impossible to deploy all 50,000 soldiers at once; only about 8 to 10 thousand could be deployed at a time. The enemy rotated their troops daily, launching intermittent attacks.

“Good luck.”

Half of the retreating platoon was injured. Expecting intense battles due to significant understaffing, Walm peered at the flatland from the flattened mound known as a “warrior’s run.” The ground was zigzagged with communication trenches dug deep into the ramparts, stretching down to the ramparts, where the enemy was closing in. On the slope’s side, a diverse range of soldiers lay exposed as corpses.

“Ah, this is like a graveyard for soldiers.”

Jose remarked sarcastically.

“There are soldiers from all five countries here.”

Nohl said, her face twitching.

“Even knights from Crest are scattered around. Did they pick a bad spot to hit?”

Barrit noted, looking at a Rehazen Knight who had lost his head and was half-buried in the soil.

“Those must be the victims of last night’s all-out attack. They could turn into Dullahans if left like that.”

The squad members laughed at Squad Leader Duwey’s comment, but to Walm, what they were doing seemed rather heartless. Toiling up the slope, Walm had launched fireballs at the enemy, while Wilart fired ice spears and water balls, creating muddy quagmires. Nohl and Barrit also kept throwing objects at the heads of enemy soldiers who had lost their shields or bamboo bundles.

What astounded Walm was that Squad Leader Duwey himself was hurling logs at the enemy. Walm’s squad and the squads on either side were successfully repelling the enemy’s offensive, but they couldn’t defend everywhere.

“Walm, Walm, are you here?!”

A friendly soldier, serving as a messenger, was calling out Walm’s name. Generally, such calls meant bad news, which Walm had learned by now. Unfortunately, a surprise for his birthday was still far away.

“I’m here! What’s up?”

Upon finding Walm, the messenger rushed over and began to explain hurriedly.

“Orders from Platoon Leader Cozul. You are to pulverize one of the enemy breach points forming at the eighth squad’s position with ‘Demon Fire.’ I’ll guide you, follow me.”

“Ah, more fire-fighting.”

“More like arson, actually.”

Jose corrected him with a quip, but Walm hardly cared.

“Is this really the time for jokes?”

Though Walm wished he could refuse, as a mere foot soldier without the right to say no, he had to follow orders. The place he hurried to was where Platoon Leader Cozul had deployed reserve forces to fill the gap, but the slope was densely packed with the enemy, swarming like ants to food. They weren’t going to miss this perfect opportunity to break through.

In an era where melee combat was the main form of warfare, charges in tight formations were powerful, but if there were individuals with potent area-of-effect attacks like “magic” or “skills,” timing was crucial. If Walm’s magic power had been depleted or he hadn’t arrived in time for support, it would turn into a melee where both friend and foe were mixed, making it difficult to launch an attack carelessly.

However, the enemy had not yet managed to break through, and they were in a dense formation, ideal for Walm’s “Demon Fire” even though were protected with shields.

“Lend me two shields.”

The soldiers, understanding his intent, handed over the shields to Walm. He slung his halberd over his back, checked the round shields, and pulled out a mask from his pouch and put it on. The demon mask seemed to quiver slightly, as if anticipating the upcoming event. Walm took a breath through the mask’s gaps, then clung to the earthen rampart where spears and swords clashed.

The soldiers who had been engaged in close combat withdrew from the earthen ramparts like a receding wave. As Walm watched them, he activated the “Demon Fire” spell. The enemy soldiers were taken aback by this. The Libertoa soldiers, used to daily killings in the Refun Mines, reacted quickly, reducing the spell’s effectiveness. However, Walm’s adversaries today were ordinary soldiers from Crest. They variously braced themselves or tried to charge upon seeing the mask. Their quick transition to attack was admirable in Walm’s eyes, but it amounted to little more than suicide by fire.

“Aaagh!”

“Make it stop, please!”

“Move, get out of the way!”

Screams filled the air as the bluish flames, sticking like glue, engulfed the enemy soldiers, spreading rapidly around Walm in a fan shape. A chorus of curses, shouts, and screams arose; the loudest Walm had ever heard in his wartime experience. Within a radius of 10 meters, soldiers turned into human torches one after another, their fate dependent on their magical power. Those who rolled down the slope were fortunate.

“Retreat, everyone pull back!”

Soldiers, unable to move freely in the dense formation, writhed in agony as their muscles charred and lungs inhaled fire, rendering them breathless.

“W-wait!”

“Ahh, ughhh!”

Wearing the mask seemed to keep Walm from getting flustered. Whether it was because his face was hidden or because he could pretend to be someone else, he wasn’t sure. He extended the reach of his “Demon Fire” from a fan shape into a straight line, setting the entire slope ablaze. If not for the earthen ramparts, the fire would have spread further.

“It’s ‘Demon Fire.’ It really exists. Just like the Libertoa guys said.”

As Walm leaped onto the slope, spreading intense flames and hot winds around, some soldiers regained their composure and attempted long-range attacks. However, arrows shot at him were blown off course by the strong winds, and their aim was obscured by the heat, resulting in misses. Various magic attacks were also blocked by the explosive flames and hot winds, and the few that reached him were withstood by his round shield. He concentrated his fire on areas where he suspected magic soldiers and archers to be. For 40 seconds, he fought until his magic power was nearly depleted and then returned to the ramparts. Instead of joy at having repelled the enemy, everyone was lost for words at the sight of the charred bodies covering the slope.

“Haah… Haah… Huff…”

Panting heavily from the significant use of his magic power, Walm was approached by a figure.

“You did well. Thanks to you, Walm, the rampart wasn’t breached.”

It was Platoon Leader Cozul who had watched from somewhere and now greeted him with applause. In the midst of such a tragedy, the fact that he didn’t forget to praise his subordinate’s efforts showed he was a good leader.

“Thank you,” Walm responded, removing his mask and expressing his gratitude. The other soldiers also seemed to recover their composures and welcomed him. The damage inflicted by the “Demon Fire” during the dense formation was extensive; over a hundred enemy soldiers were killed and an equal number injured, forcing them to pull back significantly to the trenches. The smell of burning flesh lingered in his nostrils for a long time. The mask, seemingly satisfied, stopped its trembling vibrations.