Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1304 Have they already won?
One of the essences of war lies in making the enemy act according to one's own intentions. Conversely, it is equally true that whatever the enemy wants to do, you should do the opposite. In this way, although you may not achieve victory, you can at least remain invincible. General Franz Sander understood this principle well. He may not have known that Major General Andrei was waiting for reinforcements that would not arrive for an unknown period of time, but he also sensed the latter's attempt to stall for time. So, he casually issued an order in his command tent, and the pace of the war began to accelerate.

Like two seasoned swordsmen dueling, the moment a sword was swung, ready to strike, it immediately triggered a fierce reaction. In just three days, the two sides engaged in more than eighty battles, large and small, vying for every strategic location in the more than one hundred square kilometers. From a small mound, a low wall, or even a trench, to a camp, a fortress, or even a village that had not yet been evacuated, wherever gunfire rang out, there would inevitably be a pile of corpses, rivers of blood, staining the black earth red.

Sieges, raids, interceptions, infiltrations, defenses, retreats, counterattacks, ambushes… the methods of war escalated with increasing intensity. Initially, it was a confrontation between soldiers, with the defenders relying on manpower to build fortresses and dig trenches, using every means to hinder the enemy's advance; while the attackers demolished fortresses and filled trenches, silently advancing under the drive of anger and fighting spirit. In close combat, bullets would tear throats, and arrows could pierce chests. Both sides had abandoned reason, and all actions were solely for killing their enemy. This hysterical aggression sometimes even made the gods who created them tremble.

However, humanity's efficiency in slaughtering other humans has always been far inferior to that of their creations. On the second day of the war, Major General Andrei, having lost twenty kilometers of defensive territory in a single day, was forced to deploy his tank units. A torrent of steel rolled across the scorched earth, emitting a piercing shriek. Magic engines encased in their core units spewed forth scorching streams of magic power, the jagged tracks grinding and crushing mud and bone fragments into deep craters. The cold, hollow cannons slowly rose, a stream of eerie blue light rapidly converging deep within the barrels, emitting an unsettling buzzing sound. Then, at the commander's order, a dazzling volley of fire instantly pierced through the oncoming tide of people.

The rebel army had already begun to disperse while the tanks and cannons were accumulating energy. However, how could human footsteps outrun the operation of machinery and the surge of energy? Accompanied by a blazing flash like a solar flare, thick streams of magical light intertwined across the sky, forming a meteor shower that traversed heaven and earth. The concentrated burst of energy not only vaporized and evaporated all enemies who attempted to resist it head-on, but it was also enough to distort the air and melt the earth, leaving only crystallized remains.

The cannon fire of the magic chariot is a pure energy attack. Any living being directly struck by this high-energy magic will be reduced to nothing, leaving not even a trace. Only those bodies that are lucky enough to escape the core energy wave at the edge will be twisted and carbonized under the instantaneous high temperature and pressure, exhibiting a bizarre, semi-crystalline glassy state, maintaining their final, terrified posture before being reduced to dust in the shockwave. Some were even grazed by the beam of light during their charge, half their bodies turning to ash, while the other half continued forward, relentlessly forward, as if by charging into the enemy formation, they could fight against these steel creations with their flesh and blood.

A series of shrill screams, inhuman and agonizing, echoed across the battlefield. These were the unwilling roars of the rebel soldiers who had witnessed their comrades turn to ashes. But the cold steel could not feel human anger, and the drivers of the chariots could not hear their roars through the thick armor. Thus, the torrent of steel continued to advance steadily, like a tsunami, violently yet cautiously surging across the plains, over the mountains and forests, over the hills and the dilapidated fortifications, repelling wave after wave of rebel attacks, and even forming a counter-offensive trend at one point.

At this moment, General Franz Sander listened to the messenger's report in his command tent, moved a chess piece on the battle map, and said in a concise and calm tone: "Let the Knights of the Order go up, and the other troops will provide cover."

Two knightly orders within the rebel army were able to support ground operations. One was the Pale Knights, led by José Aschel, one of the leaders of the civilian uprising. The other was the Dark Knights, sent to support the rebels after the Church of the Night extended goodwill to them. Apart from José, the leader of the former order, who was a Sequence 8 superhuman, almost all the other members of the former were ordinary people. In contrast, all members of the latter were superhumans, ranging from Sequence 9 to Sequence 7.

Logically speaking, it would be safer for the latter to go into battle at this time. However, since General Franz Sand did not specify which knightly order it was, it was essentially saying that... all of them should be mobilized.

Those inside the command tent understood his meaning: this was a decisive battle, and therefore, there was no room for holding back.

Both knight commanders silently accepted the order, then silently left their command tents, without any communication or exchange, and directly led their soldiers to the battlefield. This action seemed reckless, but from the sky, the marching routes of the two knightly orders displayed an astonishing tacit understanding, as if they knew without words what to do and how to do it. The Dark Knights, with their superior frontal combat capabilities, spearheaded the enemy's advance. The cannon fire from their magical chariots flashed like a meteor shower, but these heavily armored cavalrymen always managed to disappear into the darkness like ghosts, silently avoiding the enemy's volleys. And each time their spear blades, burning with black flames, grazed the armor of the steel chariots, the seemingly weak attacks always left corrosive wounds.

The Pale Knights, though weaker in strength but superior in mobility, served as flank protectors. Led by José Asher, they moved swiftly across the chaotic battlefield, sometimes bursting out of the enemy's blind spots to draw fire for their allies fighting on the front lines; other times coordinating with infantry to create numerical superiority in small areas, thus suppressing enemy fire. While their offensive capabilities were inferior to the Night Knights, their fighting style was fearless. Their leader, José Asher, with his superb horsemanship, always narrowly avoided enemy artillery fire, drawing the most fire. Inspired by him, the Pale Knights' morale soared; they charged relentlessly, seemingly oblivious to retreat or fear. One Pale Knight even deliberately plunged his lance into the barrel of an enemy chariot to cover his comrades, triggering a violent explosion. The terrifying roar created a shockwave that swept across the entire battlefield.

In such intense combat, the greatest threat was not the enemy's artillery, but one's own physical strength and willpower. Exhausted knights constantly fell from their horses, crushed along with their mounts by the torrent of steel, becoming a pool of blood and mud beneath the tracks; but similarly, chariots were also constantly thrown off by this torrent, either their magical engines failing, leaving them whimpering and helpless; or their armor being pierced by enemy spears, the drivers losing consciousness in the endless darkness before they even felt the pain.

The shouts of knights, the neighing of warhorses, the grinding of tracks, the roar of cannons, the cries of those who fell from their horses as they saw death approaching, the wailing of steel chariots before they were scrapped, the sounds of wind, the sounds of fighting, prayers, the sounds of despair, the sounds of pleas, the sounds of explosions, the sounds of flames burning, the sounds of the earth groaning... Amidst all these sounds that could bring tears to the eyes of even the most hardened heart, the march of war continued unabated.

On the third day, facing the retreating front line on the tactical map, Major General Andrei remained expressionless, but his forehead was covered in sweat: "Maintain the original deployment of the tank units and send out the machine units to block the enemy's offensive outside the third line of defense."

Behind the third line of defense lies the second line of defense, consisting of the outer city walls, bastions, temporary fortifications, and garrison towns. Beyond the second line of defense lies the first line of defense, the final line, comprised of the main city walls, magic-powered turrets, and four force field devices. This is a dangerous distance, and Andrei will not allow the enemy to advance any further.

Meanwhile, General Franz Sand also issued orders in his command tent. He looked more haggard than anyone else. This battle, where trump cards were exchanged, looked like a game of chess, with each player taking a piece. In reality, only the players themselves could truly understand the pressure they were under: "Send out the Mountain Falcon Knights. The Mage Corps, get ready. Arrive at your designated deployment positions within half an hour."

As the gates of the magical military base built on the northwest side of Suarez City slowly opened, one after another, silver-white knight mechs over four meters tall took off. Gases mixed with grayish-white steam and star-blue magic flow spewed from the magical reactors behind them, gliding over the streets, houses, and even the city walls. The dark mass resembled a flock of silver-white birds flying towards the battlefield. At the same time, behind the rebel army's positions, a real flock of birds was soaring.

Born from the snowy winds of the North, yet possessing magnificent emerald-like feathers, the Mountain Falcons, ridden by knights, flapped their enormous wingspans, stretching over ten meters, and soared into the air with a series of clear cries, flying towards the distant steel-gray city. Each knight on the falcon's back was well-armored, carrying over two hundred arrows, thirty silver spears, and six chains with iron claws attached to their tails—for use in desperate situations to seize enemy aerial units and force them into close combat. Although their enemies this time were neither the Snowbiting Wyverns of the Northern Snows, nor the Pegasus Knights, Eagle Knights, or Winged Serpent Knights belonging to the other powerful lords, but rather a group of cold, steel mechs, these proud Mountain Falcon riders remained convinced that nothing was different, and that they would ultimately triumph.

An hour later, the 17th Legion's armored machine troops and the rebel Mountain Falcon Knights unexpectedly met high above the battlefield. Sunlight pierced through the smoke, illuminating both the cold, silver-white armor and the magnificent emerald feathers, outlining two completely different facets of war. There was no probing, no maneuvering; the moment their figures filled the horizon, a deadly dance suddenly unfolded in the sky.

The brave and fearless mountain falcon riders launched the first attack. The riders gave a loud whistle instead of a command, and the emerald falcons suddenly folded their wings and swooped down with a piercing whistle. Their feathers rustled like steel in the surging air. The riders on the falcons seized the opportunity and hurled their specially made silver spears. Dozens of silver streaks tore through the air and swooped down on the steel array below.

The silver-white armored mechs reacted swiftly. The magic reactors on their backs burst forth with even stronger blue light and more intense steam. Their slender bodies, propelled by the magic engines, displayed astonishing agility, stopping abruptly, shifting to the side, and rolling in mid-air. The humanoid metal joints emitted a dull creaking sound, while the muzzles of the cannons on their shoulders or arms lit up rapidly, gathering a deep blue light and emitting a high-pitched buzzing sound.

"Fire in a volley!" The commander's order was concise and cold.

A fiery blue net of light covered the Mountain Falcon Knights' path, leaving them nowhere to hide.

The dense stream of magical light precisely intercepted most of the silver spears, and the violent energy collisions exploded in mid-air, creating blinding spheres of light and scorching metal fragments. A few spears that slipped through the net struck the mechs' steel armor with deafening roars, leaving deep dents and sparks, but failing to cause fatal damage.

But the Mountain Falcon Knights' charge did not cease. They relentlessly rained down volleys of arrows and silver spears, using them as cover to swoop down and close the distance. The iron claws at the ends of their chains gleamed coldly, their targets aimed directly at the mechs' leg joints, the exhaust vents of their magic reactors, or the bases of their cannons. The experienced Mountain Falcon Knights knew that against these steel behemoths, long-range bombardment was always a disadvantage. After all, enemy artillery fire only consumed energy, while their own arrows and spears not only depleted their weapons but also their own stamina and willpower. Only close combat offered any chance of victory.

"Close combat formation, disperse!" The mech commander's voice remained calm and unwavering.

The armored machine soldiers abandoned their dense formation, scattering like a swarm of bees exploding, blue flames erupting from their backs as they drew graceful, orderly arcs in the air, actively meeting the diving knights. The enemy wanted close-quarters combat, and so did these armored machine soldiers. They firmly believed that flesh and blood could never withstand the torrent of steel, and that human willpower could never match the resilience of armor.

The battle instantly entered its most intense and brutal phase.

At the end of its dive, a mountain falcon abruptly pulled up, narrowly avoiding a streak of light that grazed its wing. The knight on its back roared, forcefully throwing off its chains, its iron claws gripping the cannon barrel connection on the shoulder of a mech. The giant falcon flapped its wings, attempting to drag the steel construct off balance, but the locked mech's magical reactor instantly increased its power, emitting a piercing shriek due to overload. Blue flames erupted from the nozzles like molten lava, not only counteracting the downward momentum but also beginning to drag the mountain falcon knight upward.

The knight yanked on the chains with all his might, the falcon letting out a painful cry as its feathers flew off under the immense strain. Another patrolling mech coldly turned its cannon, and a beam of light pierced precisely into the struggling falcon's abdomen. Emerald feathers were instantly replaced by charred flesh and blood, and the knight and his mount let out a mournful wail as they tumbled and plummeted to the ground.

The intensity of the battle escalated to its peak in a very short time. The silver-white mech formations and the emerald-green torrent of knights clashed, tearing at each other, fighting, and suppressing one another. Burning emerald birds plummeted with mournful cries, knights and their mounts turning to mincemeat upon impact; silver-white mechs constantly lost their balance, crashing to the ground in plumes of black smoke. Fragments of steel and magnificent feathers drifted together in the smoke-filled sky. Both sides were being consumed at an alarming rate, becoming fuel for this war machine. But it was clearly visible that the rate of Mountain Falcon Knight casualties far exceeded the rate of construct mech destruction; it took almost five or six Mountain Falcon Knights to die for one construct mech to crash.

Standing far away on the Governor's Palace, watching this scene through binoculars, Major General Andrei thought uneasily: They've won.

At the same moment, inside the command tent, General Franz Sander sighed wearily but with relief: We won.

The next moment, flames shot into the sky, burning the entire sky.

　How did you know I reached Diamond rank on SZB?
　　(End of this chapter)