First Wave

"Leila, sitrep." Ivan called the mage,

Hearing that, Leila tilted her head and replied, "What?" 

Ivan sighed inside the driver's compartment. "What I mean by 'sitrep' is Situation Report."

"Ah~ I got it. Well then," The mage gazes at the horizon and counts the red. Each red light represents a squad that have a sight of enemy forces. 

Earlier in the strategy room, the numbers had been grim. Their total defensive force is only around 1000 personnel. Of that, 400 had already been deployed to the north sector, leaving just 200 each for the east, west, and south sectors. The north had been prioritized after intelligence indicated the largest wave of enemy forces—approximately 1,000 goblins and orcs forces would strike there. To make matters worse, mana detection conducted by their mages had revealed the presence of at least eight Cerus among the enemy ranks.

A force of 1,000 demons supported by eight Cerus was more than capable of annihilating an entire brigade of 3,000 soldiers, let alone the 300 defenders stationed in the north. Fortunately, reinforcements from the Empire were poised to intercept the demon army with a flanking attack. However, their forces couldn't depend entirely on imperial intervention—they had to hold their ground.

Meanwhile, recon reports from the west indicated a demon army of approximately 400 attempting to flank their position. The east sector was also under threat from several hundred demons. The south, however, remained a mystery—their intelligence there is incomplete, but they estimated that it might face similar numbers to the east.

The real issue is the Cerus. Eight in the north, five in the south, two in the east, and five in the west—a total of 20 Cerus. Even one of these creatures was enough to tip the scales in any battle. Depending on their type, the worst-case scenario could see both the Empire and the Republic incapable of holding their lines.

In the south sector, where Ivan and his team were stationed, the situation had deteriorated rapidly. Forces were already deployed to their respective sectors, making redeployment for reinforcements difficult. The plan relied on the Red Musket for an immediate response while waiting for squads from the east and west to flank and assist.

For now, the south's defensive force is spread thin. With limited intelligence on enemy movements, the units were scattered into squads and parties, mixing swordsmen, spearmen, and shield bearers. Mages and ranged attackers had taken positions along the walls, while a few were embedded within squads to provide field support.

Leila focused on counting the red lights dotting the horizon. "Five squads have already detected enemy forces…" She paused and squinted. A moment later, the once-steady lights began blinking. Her expression darkened. "They're engaged," she muttered. The blinking red lights meant those squads were already in combat.

Outside the tank, several squads could be seen rushing toward the first defensive line. As they passed the tank, their movements faltered briefly, awed by the sheer size and imposing presence of the steel giant. One of the platoon leaders stopped, saluted Leila—her upper body still visible from the tank turret "We're moving to hold the first line. We're grateful you're here. The Cerus are yours to handle. May the goddess bless you!"

Leila gave a curt nod. "And may she be with us," she replied firmly.

"All squads, on me!" the platoon leader roared before leading his troops into the fray. Above the walls, magic circles materialized, glowing with radiant energy before streaks of light arced through the air like artillery fire, striking the distant treeline.

Inside the tank, Ivan's voice broke through the tense atmosphere. "Cerus?"

Leila gulped, her hands gripping the rim of the turret. "Any moment now," she replied.

The air inside the tank is thick with tension. Heartbeats pounded like war drums as the crew braced themselves for what was to come. Sensing the nervous energy, Ivan spoke into the comms, his voice calm but commanding. "Stay focused. Keep your composure. We cannot afford mistakes—not one. If we slip, we're done. Remember that." He paused, his scarred face hardening, eyes narrowing like steel blades. "They're here."

A flare shot into the night sky, illuminating the battlefield in grim hues of blue. In the distance, the treeline began to shake violently, the movement signaling the approach of something far worse than goblins or orcs.

"Cerus detected!" Leila announced sharply. "Ten o'clock position, distance three kilometers!"

"HQ orders?" Ivan asked.

Leila turned to check the rear, where a green flare streaked upward from the HQ. She exhaled and reported, "It's green. We're good to engage."

"Good," Ivan said. "Light up our signal. We're going in."

With a nod, Leila raised her wooden staff, whispering an incantation. The runes etched on its surface glowed as a blue-and-red flare shot into the sky, its light cutting through the darkness like a beacon. It's a sign now of "Red Musket Attack" light

This system of light signals had proven invaluable in the ongoing battle, especially during nighttime operations. However, Ivan raised concerns about potential miscommunication and the risk of the enemy deciphering the signals. Still, it was explained that the combatants had become proficient with the system after its trial during the first wave of the attack earlier. Also, the use of this new blue-and-red signal had been briefed to the squads just after the Red Musket's sudden arrival, ensuring no confusion.

"Let's move." Ivan twisted the throttle, and the tank roared to life. The sudden surge of movement threw the crew off balance momentarily, but they quickly steadied themselves.

Jusis, gripping his station, muttered, "I still can't believe we're moving without horses pulling us…"

Leonard, ever the composed observer, added in a deep, almost archaic tone, "This beast is forged of iron."

Meanwhile, Leila sat with a detailed map of Manilia spread across her lap, marking their position and the detected location of the Cerus. 

At the frontline, The orcs and goblins marched forward, their guttural roars filling the air like an ominous drumbeat. The ground beneath the soldiers trembled with each step of the enemy horde, but the shield wall stood firm. Clad in gleaming metal armor, the defenders braced themselves, their spears and swords aimed at the encroaching tide of grotesque, snarling faces.

The first wave hit like a thunderclap. A group of goblins, smaller but unnervingly agile, darted forward, shrieking as they lunged. The front line reacted in unison. Shields locked together with a metallic clang, forming an unyielding barrier. A goblin hurled itself at the shield wall, only to be met with the unforgiving point of a spear. Its body crumpled to the ground, twitching before falling still.

"Hold the line!" barked the commander, his voice cutting through the chaos. The soldiers pressed their shields tighter, grunting under the strain as the orcs arrived next. Larger and more powerful, the orcs wielded crude but massive axes, hammering against the shields with brutal force. One soldier staggered, but his comrade quickly stepped in to support him, driving his spear upward into an orc's exposed throat. The creature gurgled, black blood spraying as it toppled backward.

Above the fray, mages on the walls unleashed volleys of magic. Bolts of fire and arcs of lightning streaked across the battlefield, slamming into the rear ranks of the advancing enemy. Goblins shrieked as flames consumed them, while orcs roared in rage as lightning seared their flesh.

A gap appeared in the shield wall as one shield man fell to a goblin's dagger, the small creature leaping through the breach with wild glee. Before it could reach the next rank, a swordsman stepped forward, slashing cleanly through the goblin's midsection. "Close the gap!" the commander roared, and the line shifted, shields clanging as they reformed.

The orcs, sensing weakness, pushed harder. One swung its axe in a wide arc, smashing through a shield and sending its wielder sprawling. The orc raised its weapon for a killing blow, but a spearman drove his weapon into its side before it could strike. The orc roared in pain, its blood soaking the ground, before collapsing.

"Second line, advance!" the commander ordered. A fresh wave of combatants surged forward, spears bristling as they replaced the front line. The injured were pulled back, and the relentless grind of the battle continued. Overhead, archers fired a steady stream of arrows, thinning the goblin ranks as they tried to flank the defenders.

"Push forward! Do not falter!" bellowed the commander, his voice barely audible over the chaos. The shield wall advanced, their boots squelching in the mire of blood and entrails. Swords hacked and slashed, severing limbs and splitting skulls. The ground was littered with grotesque remains: goblins with their guts spilled open, twitching and gurgling; orcs clutching at their throats as dark ichor bubbled from fatal wounds.

A swordsman stumbled, his footing lost in the chaos, as a goblin sprang from the darkness, its wiry claws raking deep into his calf. He screamed in agony, his sword trembling in his grip as he stabbed frantically at the creature. The goblin hissed, undeterred, its jagged teeth sinking into his leg. The sickening sound of flesh tearing filled the air as it ripped a chunk of muscle away, blood cascading in thick streams. The swordsman's cries turned to choking gasps, his strength waning with each passing second.

Another swordsman dashed to his aid, his blade plunging into the goblin's spine with brutal force. The sickening crack of bone echoed as the creature's body spasmed and split apart, its shriek abruptly silenced. The injured man tried to rise, his blood-soaked leg trembling beneath him, but collapsed to the ground. His pale face contorted in pain as his lifeblood spilled onto the trampled earth, mingling with the corpses of friend and foe alike.

"Healer! I need a healer!" his comrade shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

"All injured personnel, fall back now! Cover the healers!" barked the platoon commander, his voice cutting through the bedlam.

The wounded were dragged from the front lines, their groans and screams haunting those still standing. The commander's gaze swept over the carnage—twenty of his men already lost to this unholy assault, and the wave of enemies still pressing on. Blood pooled at his feet, thick as sludge, and the coppery tang mixed with the acrid smoke of burnt wood and flesh hung heavy in the air. But retreat was not an option. Not yet.

"Hold the line!" he roared, his voice sharp enough to cut through the terror. He turned toward the treeline, and his breath caught. There, amidst the twisted shadows, malevolent crimson eyes began to glow. One by one, they appeared, flickering like cursed lanterns. His spine stiffened as an icy dread clawed at him.

"Damn this cursed bastard," he muttered under his breath, knowing full well the second wave was about to descend. They must not break through.

"Combat mage!" he snapped. "Target that treeline. Call for a barrage—now!"

"Yes, Commander!" A mage stepped forward, sweat dripping down his temple. He raised his staff, a faint crimson light gathering at its tip. The spell shot forward in a searing streak of red, its energy carving through the air before striking the treeline. The impact burst upward, creating a vertical beam like a laser.

On the walls, the Mage Captain raised his staff, his commanding voice booming. "All mages, prepare your spells. Aim for the marker. Use your strongest incantations!"

"Charge mana!" The air above the wall shimmered with the formation of dozens of magic circles, glowing in hues of fiery red, electric blue, and stormy violet. The energy within each circle pulsed and hummed, growing brighter and spinning faster with each second.

"Hold…" the Captain ordered, 

"Release!"

A deafening roar erupted as the spells launched skyward in a dazzling storm of light. Fireballs streaked like comets, arcs of lightning crackled violently, and shards of ice gleamed as they hurtled toward the treeline. The explosion that followed was cataclysmic, obliterating trees and sending a plume of debris rocketing into the night sky.

Cheers erupted from the footmen, their morale bolstered by the spectacle of devastation. But their celebration is only short-lived.

As the dust began to settle, more crimson eyes appeared, glowing brighter, more numerous than before. And then, breaking through the forest's edge, a single blue light emerged, flickering like an ominous star. The earth trembled with each step, the sound of trees snapping growing louder, closer.

"Brace yourselves!" a soldier shouted, his voice tinged with panic.

The ground quaked violently as a massive claw emerged from the shadows, its obsidian surface gleaming in the moonlight. The beast's form followed—a colossal, lizard-like monstrosity covered in scales that shimmered like cursed gemstones. Its breath hissed through bared fangs, each one dripping with a corrosive blue liquid that sizzled upon contact with the ground.

The Cerus stepped into the clearing, its malevolent azure eyes surveying the battlefield. A hush fell over the defenders, their hearts sinking in unison as primal terror gripped them. 

The commander struggled to speak, his voice catching in his throat as the Cerus fixed its gaze on him. Its movements were swift, its massive tail whipping through the air with the force of a hurricane. It struck the defensive line, the impact shattering shields and hurling soldiers like ragdolls. Bones snapped and screams filled the air as lightning coursed through the beast's tail, electrocuting those caught in its path.

The commander found himself thrown to the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs. As he struggled to rise, he looked up—and froze. The Cerus towered above him, its fangs bared, its claws gouging the earth. Steam hissed from its maw, the stench of death thick in the air. Its glowing eyes bore into him, radiating a malice so profound it rendered him speechless.