CH1482 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1482: Pincer Attack from the Air and Ground

“Sixth Battalion reporting — moving to eleven o’clock.”

“Third Battalion has secured the one o’clock position.”

“Large magic source inbound — flagging the Aerial Knights for intercept.”

“Lightning here. Understood.”

“Tanks 19 and 20 engaging. Target: blade beasts.”

The command center filled with voices the moment ground troops came through the Distortion Door, correspondents sorting the incoming reports and pressing them upward to the General Staff, who pressed them back down to the sand table, where the strategists watched the shape of the battle shift in real time. The map was filling: red flags for infantry, red squares for armor and artillery, all of them spreading outward from the center of the Bottomless Land in slow, deliberate arcs. The plan’s opening moves were holding.

The Sky-sea Realm noticed the troops immediately. Most of the monsters that had been converging on the floating island peeled away and redirected. But the perimeter encampments had hardened quickly, and the scattered attacks that reached them accomplished nothing except to teach the monsters, lesson by lesson, that rushing organized lines was a way to die. The Distortion Door kept feeding soldiers through. The island absorbed them and the fighting positions grew.

The operation was moving toward its most uncertain phase: the search.

No one knew where the Guardian was. No one knew whether she would appear at all, or in what form, or whether she would open the path to the Realm of Mind even if found. The plan had a hard edge here — solid strategy on one side, open water on the other.

“I’ll hand command to you.” Anna turned to Iron Axe and Edith.

Wendy’s expression tightened. “Must you go yourself?”

“We agreed on this.” Her voice didn’t rise. “I’m no use directing a battle. And the Guardian’s appearance may depend on who is present — if we stay in the air we may miss her entirely.”

“I’ll take care of her.” Nightingale was already in combat clothes: the pistol Roland had given her on her hip, a semi-automatic rifle slung across her back, a sword beside it.

Wendy stepped forward and folded Anna into an embrace. “Come back safe, Your Majesty.”

“I will.” Anna said it without hesitation, meaning it completely. Then she turned to Phyllis. “Are the God’s Punishment Witches ready?”

“Ready.”

“Then let’s go.” She walked out of the command center without looking back.


“This is from Malt.”

“Thank you.” Danny accepted the round, chambered it, and put a bullet through the skull of a sea ghost that had come within twenty meters.

As an elite sharpshooter operating as a wandering unit, Danny chose his own terrain. He had chosen this: the outer edge of the armor advance, behind the tanks, in the gaps where the steel machines had no eyes. The tanks were imposing in the way that anything large and loud and armored was imposing, but their flanks were exposed, and the steles erected across the island’s interior blocked the crew’s sightlines from inside. Blade beasts had learned to use that.

This ground was made for him.

“Blade beast. Hundred and fifty meters, your right.”

“Got it.”

Danny eased around a stele and spotted it — medium-sized, moving in the exaggerated lateral arc that blade beasts used when they were circling to take a vehicle from behind. Their heads were armored against conventional rounds; their legs and flanks were fast. The war tactics manual was specific: do not engage blade beasts alone. Wait.

He let it move. He tracked it with the barrel but didn’t acquire the head. The creature felt no threat. It reached the angle it wanted, opened its light wings, and lunged.

Danny fired.

The bullet struck exposed forehead — exposed because the beast had committed to the pounce, every inch of attention given to the tank and none to the margins. The blade beast froze mid-leap, skidded forward on momentum, and crashed into the ground near the tank’s tread. Its body convulsed once. Then nothing.

“You’re still so accurate.”

“Because you keep watch for me.” Danny scanned for the next target and caught it immediately: more than ten sea ghosts, closing from the direction he hadn’t been watching.

They came while I was focused on the blade beast.

“Qu.”

He pulled Malt behind him and pressed against the stele, rifle up. No escape route. He counted the targets and counted his rounds and calculated how many he could kill before they reached him.

Then the sea ghosts turned on each other.

It lasted seconds. When the last one fell, the ground around them was soaked and reeking. Not one intact body remained.

A platoon emerged from cover — First Army uniforms, but something about their bearing was different. Southern troops. Mojin’s soldiers.

The soldier in front glanced at Danny’s rifle and insignia. “Marksman? You’re out here without a protection unit?”

Another soldier grabbed his sleeve from behind, embarrassed. “Farry — if you don’t mind,” he said to Danny, “you’re welcome to move with us.”

“I’m not operating alone, but I’m grateful.” Danny had registered what the one named Farry was the moment he watched those sea ghosts. Not an ordinary soldier. “I’d prefer to keep moving freely—”

The tank unit ahead erupted.

A rolling salvo, then the grind of tank treads reversing in formation — not retreat, the specific ordered dispersal of armor facing a high-priority threat. Danny turned and saw them along the horizon: more than ten Nest Mothers advancing behind a screen of blade beasts, the blade beasts’ rib structures splayed open, organs visible and pulsing.

Venomous variants.

“Seek cover!” Farry’s arm went up. “Anti-demon rocket-propelled grenades, now!”

Ordinary fire was insufficient. The tanks were pulling wide and backing, creating distance and spread, trying to deny the Nest Mothers a concentrated target. The blade beasts came on regardless, absorbing rounds that slowed but didn’t stop them.

Then the planes came.

Two biplanes dropped out of altitude, steep and fast, and released their bombs directly over the Nest Mothers’ cluster. The explosions didn’t just detonate — they burned, the incendiary cling of it smearing across whatever it touched and refusing to release. The Nest Mothers screamed and rolled, but land took their mobility and gave them nothing back. They burned. They slowed. They stopped.

The troops around Danny erupted into noise — cheers and whistles cutting through the smoke.

One of the pilots banked low on the pullout, close enough that Danny could see the raised thumb before the plane climbed away.

The Fury of Heavens reformed overhead, turning into their next run, the pincer closing from above while the ground forces pushed from below.


Anna moved through the island’s interior with Nightingale beside her and the God’s Punishment Witches fanned out ahead, the sinkhole drawing her eye whenever the treeline broke.

The fighting sounds reached them in pulses — concentrated where the perimeter held, quieter deeper in, quieter still in the places that felt, inexplicably, like they were waiting.

She searched.

She had not yet found what she was looking for.

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