CH981 · Rewrite
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Chapter 981: Unexpected Start

Morning Light climbed to the crest of the slope and his heart seized at the sight below.

This was not his first battlefield. At fifteen, he had ridden as a knight’s squire through the thunder of charges, and in the years after, he had won the reputation of the Western Region’s finest knight. War held no mystery for him.

Yet the atmosphere here was something else entirely.

He knew what battlefields looked like before the first blow. Nobles urging men forward with promises and wine, freemen and mercenaries filling the camps with the roar of an open market, and knights laughing quietly at how little it cost to buy a man’s life. He had stood among those knights. He had laughed.

He had believed that without nobility to lead them, freemen were scattered sand.

Then Duke Ryan fell at Border Town to a rabble of miners, and Ferlin Eltek learned that the world was not shaped the way he’d assumed. At the time he had been satisfied with the lesson and turned his attention back to Irene.

Two years later, his father pulled strings and placed him in the Adviser Department, and the lesson continued.

The First Army’s discipline during last month’s march had already astonished him. The professionalism they displayed now would make most of the nobility feel ashamed.

No agitation, no exhortation. Everyone knew their task. At the base of the slope, trenches had been cut into the earth, and the excavated soil packed into sacks and stacked before the machine-gun positions. Wired iron nets and chevaux de frise stood assembled in the middle of those trenches. A frontal breakthrough would be nearly as hard as breaching a city wall.

Behind the defensive line, cushion areas had been prepared in depth — if the machine guns fell, the battle would not fall with them. The Taquila witches held themselves ready to shield the Artillery Battalion and reinforce the front at need.

Furthest back, on the highest ground, sat the core of the assault: six Longsong Cannons, muzzles angled toward the demons’ outpost. The cannon crews were running through their shooting parameters, making their final preparations.

None of it had required a commander’s hand. In one day, the First Army had shaped this piece of ground into an adequate battlefield and done it without being told.

Ferlin had witnessed the new firearms in demonstration. Machines were impressive enough. But the machines were only as good as the men who operated them, and it was those men — freemen every one — who surprised him now.

A platoon with such strict discipline and clear division of labor would have been difficult to assemble even from the knightages of great nobles.

He had noticed the change in the people of Neverwinter. He had not understood it until this moment.

“Do you understand now?” A familiar voice rose behind him. “The answer to that question before.”

Ferlin turned and nodded to Sir Eltek. “Yes, Father.”

When His Majesty had announced his intention to unify Graycastle within a month and then strike Hermes and the Kingdom of Dawn simultaneously, the Adviser Department had offered no objections — only a succession of plans that seemed, to an outsider, incomprehensible.

The weapons and the soldiers explained it. Before these, no enemy on the continent could match him in strength; or rather, the measure of strength itself had changed.

“Unfortunately, His Majesty forbade nobles to join the army,” Ferlin said, with something that felt very close to regret. “Compared to sitting in an office, I would rather be fighting alongside those people—”

“Individual bravery no longer determines much.” His father smiled. “The Adviser Department suits you. Besides, the enemy are demons — unknowns. What if something happened to you? I’m still waiting for a grandson. Irene’s friend recently gave birth. You should try harder.”

“Father!”

“Fine, fine, I won’t say another word.” Sir Eltek stroked his beard. “The sun is nearly down. Let’s go back to the camp. The Artillery Battalion will start firing soon — I can’t stand that noise.”

“Yes.” Morning Light took one last look across the camp and walked down the slope beside his father.

He had another battlefield waiting for him, and duties of his own to finish.


At five in the evening, the cannons opened.

One by one the six guns fired in sequence, shattering the silence of the Fertile Plains. Four hundred years after mankind had retreated from these lands, human guns were speaking at the demons again.

The first two rounds calibrated range and angle. After Sylvie’s corrections came through, the guns fell into synchrony.

The improved 152-millimeter Longsong Cannon had moved closer to its historical antecedents. To extend its range, the ammunition chamber had been doubled, and shells now had to be loaded in sections — a process that added half again to the firing time. But under the increased pressure, these guns could threaten fixed targets at ten kilometers. The longer barrel meant greater weight, and the logistics problem was solved by disassembling each cannon into four pieces and hauling them on the Taquila worm carriers.

No one at the battlefield could hear the sound or see the flash when a shell struck. It was an entirely new form of war. Had the soldiers not already fought several cannon engagements, they would not have believed that strongholds and cities could be unmade by a sequence of repetitive motions, with no enemy ever stepping into view.

Two reasons had governed the timing — twilight. Sylvie’s Eye of Magic needed no sunlight and could guide the artillery through the night. And Devilbeasts could not fly in darkness. Whatever the demons suffered, they would have to bear it until dawn.

The Longsong Cannons fired every two minutes. Beyond the horizon, faint sounds rolled back. To the naked eye, the battlefield appeared unchanged.

In Sylvie’s sight, the landscape ten kilometers away was unrecognizable.

Shock waves had overturned the terrain. Dozens of Blackstone Pagodas stood mostly destroyed. When shells penetrated the mist storage tower, the explosion that followed made the black stones glow like an erupting volcano.

Yet she still could not find the demons.

Through the long darkness, through what everyone assumed was the enemy abandoning their position, the night dragged toward morning — and then the situation broke open without warning.

A massive force of demons materialized to the north of the First Army’s camp, eight kilometers from Northbound Slope.

At the same moment, Sylvie spotted dozens of Devilbeasts in motion. The enemy that had been absent for days was coming.

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