Alice in the Land of Steam

The battle was brought to a close by the mage regiments that General Franzand had deployed in advance on the high ground on both sides: Ice Curtain, Scorching Flame, and Wind Howl. These three mage regiments together numbered just over a hundred, and their average strength was less than Sequence 8. However, they were the Earl of the North's greatest reliance in terms of military strength, because the extraordinary abilities they used were independent of the human potion system and magic system, and came from the inheritance of the Northern Shamans.

Given humanity's limited understanding of shamanism, this power to invoke elemental spirits and unleash natural disasters is closer to the definition of magic in traditional fantasy works. Fire, frost, or storms—pure natural elements often symbolize the purest destructive power. On the battlefield, if you want to win a war, there is no more efficient way than destruction and slaughter.

Shamanism originated in ancient forests and is said to have some connection with animism, particularly Druidism, possibly serving as its prototype. The shamanism of the northern barbarians in the Kingdom of Noah is merely one branch of this tradition. However, Druidism, fundamentally, defines the relationship between civilization and nature using human thought, remaining essentially anthropocentric. Shamanism, on the other hand, is more primitive and barbaric. Humans cannot understand the language of the elemental spirits and are therefore destined to be unable to become followers of shamanism unless they are willing to abandon their human identity, even if it is merely a severing of it.

Therefore, none of the three mage legions under the Earl of the North are pure-blooded humans; they are all half-human, half-elf, with the elven bloodline clearly suppressing the human bloodline, allowing them to understand the complex elemental language and become shamans in the traditional sense. However, the Earl of the North's method of creating half-elf hybrids is clearly unfriendly, thus provoking strong hostility from the relevant races. Faced with practical pressures, he, though willing, dared not recklessly expand the size of the mage legions. Furthermore, while half-elf hybrids can cast shamanic spells, their innate bloodline defects mean they suffer more intense mental pressure when casting spells. Frequent casting may even result in a backlash from the elemental spirits—a phenomenon similar to the corruption and loss of control experienced by superhumans, but relatively mild. It doesn't endanger life, but it causes the sufferer to lose the protection of the elemental spirits, forever losing the ability to cast spells.

For the Earl of the North, this phenomenon is probably less desirable than corruption and loss of control. At least, an out-of-control superhuman is still a superhuman, and can be used as a war machine for indiscriminate killing when necessary to deter enemies. What value does a mage who has lost the ability to cast spells have?

Various restrictions led the Earl of the North to regard the three mage legions as his secret weapons, never deploying them lightly except in crucial battles. His generous dispatch of these legions to aid Grayhill was merely a pretext; he had long considered Grayhill his for the taking, seeking to hasten the end of the war and reap his due rewards. Even so, before the army's departure, he privately instructed his trusted confidant within the rebel army—now General Franz Sand's adjutant—to strictly control the mage legions' movements, ensuring that his greatest weapon did not become a weapon in someone else's hands, or even risk his life to reclaim Grayhill. Otherwise, he would ultimately be the one to suffer.

Thus, this trusted confidant faithfully fulfilled the Earl of the North's instructions, repeatedly contradicting General Franzand in military councils and opposing the plans for the mage legions to fight. This resulted in some cities that could have been easily conquered requiring significant sacrifices to capture. So far, aside from their initial appearance in the battle to recapture the ironwork city of Bart'ien, the three mage legions have hardly stepped onto the battlefield again. Many have expressed their dissent, but General Franzand has remained silent, tacitly approving his adjutant's actions, seemingly also believing that these three mage legions were too precious to be wasted on this battlefield.

The adjutant's decision to prevent the mage corps from going into battle was merely to fulfill the Earl of the North's orders and preserve the lord's strength; while General Franzand's continued refusal to send the mage corps to the battlefield was to conceal his trump card, saving it for when it was truly needed.

This is undoubtedly the moment.

High on a heavily guarded, secluded hill, each mage in the spellcasting array was brimming with surging, wild magical power. The turbulent magical particles uncontrollably overflowed from their mouths, noses, ears, eyes, and even every pore, turning a blazing crimson the moment they came into contact with the outside world. It was as if they were being transformed into torches; their bodies and souls screamed in agony, a real and undeniable burning pain that made the entire spellcasting process seem less like manipulating elemental forces and more like a cruel sacrificial ritual.

Unlike extraordinary beings and magicians, the magic of shamanic spellcasters does not originate from themselves. The souls of half-elf blood are impure and spiritually corrupt, insufficient to contain much magic. The true source of magic lies in the sky, the earth, and the space they inhabit. Spellcasters use themselves as a medium to communicate with the soul and nature; the elemental spirits whisper, transforming magic into another form capable of altering matter—this is the shamanic explanation, but no one knows exactly what these elemental spirits are. A will? A law? Or even an incomparably powerful god? But what is certain is that the wind magic of the feathered elves, the sea magic of the mirror elves, and even the enigmatic fairy magic of the fairies are all related to it.

Despite their average strength being only Sequence 8, the magic gathered by the elemental spirits under the guidance of the unified spellcasting array still unleashed an incredible power.

"Boom—Buzz—!!!"

It wasn't a single explosion, but a terrifying sound, a mixture of high-pitched shrieks and low rumbles, like countless strings snapping simultaneously or solid ice being thrown into boiling oil. The sky suddenly changed color, and countless crimson pillars of fire shot into the heavens, like spears of judgment piercing the sky from the depths of the earth, instantly tearing through the billowing smoke and striking with unparalleled precision the silver-white mechs locked in combat with the Mountain Falcon Knights. The mechs engaged in fierce hand-to-hand combat with the Mountain Falcon Knights felt their built-in magic sensors instantly emit piercing alarms. The rapidly rising concentration of magic in the air was like a warning from the Grim Reaper—this energy had far exceeded the limits that their mechs could withstand.

"Execute emergency maneuver! Evade!" For the first time, the commander's icy voice trembled with urgency.

But it was too late. The knights riding the emerald falcons, seeing victory in sight, were naturally unwilling to let the enemy retreat. They even disregarded the fact that they were also within the range of the magic attack. The mountain falcon knights at close range threw grappling hooks at the nearest constructs, using the chains and the weight of the mountain falcons themselves to drag and hold them in place. Meanwhile, the mountain falcon knights at a greater distance gritted their teeth and squeezed out the last bit of strength in their bodies, throwing their silver spears with reckless abandon. The silver spears rained down like a storm, striking the constructs' armor shells, joint connections, and even the exhaust vents of the magic reactors on their backs, emitting a series of unsettling shrieks.

The Falcon Knights' desperate delay bought precious time for the Scorching Flame Mage Corps' magical strike. The flames of destruction had already descended; the first wave of contact was silent annihilation. Several constructs located at the very core of the magical attack didn't even have time to fully sound their alarms. Their sturdy, silver-white armor, like thin ice under the sun, melted and vaporized silently the moment it came into contact with the crimson-red elemental magic. The core of the internal magic reactor was detonated by the overloaded, high-energy magic within a fraction of a second, turning into blinding fireballs that suddenly expanded and then quickly extinguished. There were no fragments, only charred remains instantly burned by the intense heat and magic, leaving brief, distorted shadows in the air before slowly falling like burnt-out meteorites, tracing a pale arc across the sky. The detonation of one construct's magic reactor often triggered shockwaves and magical explosions that affected several nearby units, thus initiating a staggering chain reaction. The sky seemed to have transformed into a giant fireworks display, but the blazing sparks were so dazzling even in broad daylight that they evoked a sense of tragedy. Clusters of exploding fireballs rose and fell, engulfing the surrounding mech wreckage and the unfortunate Mountain Falcon Riders caught in the blast. Emerald-green falcon wings and silver-white steel debris rained down like a storm, their burning tails striking the scorched earth with dull thuds and secondary explosions.

The surviving constructs scattered and fled, their magical reactors erupting with unprecedentedly fierce blue flames as they accelerated recklessly. However, pillars of fire continued to rise from the ground, engulfing the entire battlefield like volcanic eruptions. Any fleeing construct accidentally touched by a pillar of fire had its armor and magical shields shatter like paper; its body was instantly invaded and dismembered by the raging elemental magic, transforming into a runaway burning meteor, trailing a long trail of black smoke as it plummeted into the distance.

In just a few dozen seconds, the airspace covered by the magical attack, which was originally dense and oppressive array of silver-white mechs, had been transformed into a burning, falling, and disintegrating steel inferno. The number of remaining mechs had been reduced to less than a third of the original, and most of them were badly wounded. Their mechanical strength was no longer sufficient to support high-intensity combat, and they were completely devoid of the coldness and lethality they had shown before.

This cannot be described as a resounding victory, but rather a Pyrrhic one, as the Seventeenth Legion also paid a heavy price. Leaving aside the Mountain Falcon Knights lost in the aerial battle and the aftershocks of the magic, the Scorching Flame Mage Corps, the main spellcasting array, was nearly destroyed after being overloaded with spells. Almost every mage's spirituality and magical power had been completely drained by this wave of casting. The pain of elemental magic burning their flesh and soul left them pale and breathless, as if they had just been pulled from the water. Any thought that surfaced in their minds caused excruciating pain. Some mages with weaker mental endurance were even directly devoured by the elemental magic, permanently losing their spellcasting ability.

It could be essentially assumed that this mage corps had completely withdrawn from the upcoming battle. General Franzand's adjutant, watching this scene, trembled uncontrollably, his eyes filled with both unease and trepidation. Even in the North, facing the ferocious barbarians and powerful, ruthless magical beasts, the Scorching Flame Mage Corps had never unleashed such extraordinary magic. The North's harsh, snowy climate made it unsuitable for large-scale battles; smaller skirmishes and ambushes were more common. Mage corps rarely appeared on the front lines, serving primarily as a deterrent force. As a native of the North and a confidant of the Earl of the North, this adjutant was witnessing for the first time the effectiveness of a mage corps on a large battlefield.

The three mage corps under the Northern Earl have an average strength of only Sequence 8. It is said that the most powerful empire in the Eastern Continent, the Yalas Empire, even formed a mage corps led by a demigod with an average strength exceeding Sequence 6, which is still active on the Central Battlefield. It is hard to imagine how terrifying that force is, and how powerful the main force of the Axis powers must be to be able to fight against it and maintain the upper hand.

On the watchtower of the Governor's Mansion, Major General Andrei, his face pale, watched as his last remaining trump card—the air force—collapsed like leaves swept by a storm under a combined spell from the enemy's mage corps. A chilling sense of despair gripped his heart. He had played all his cards, yet he couldn't stop the enemy's advance. The only defenses left were the walls of Suarez City itself and four large force field devices. Seemingly impregnable, they were, in reality, always vulnerable to attack. Moreover, the enemy's most powerful fighting force had never appeared on the battlefield: the near-demigod Gray Hill Eagle, and the mysterious vampire confirmed as a demigod.

Could he really hold out until reinforcements arrived? Or rather, even if reinforcements arrived in time, was there still a chance to turn the tide? Knowing he shouldn't, Major General Andrei couldn't help but let these thoughts cross his mind. At that moment, his adjutant, Krisius, silently stepped forward, avoiding the gazes of the other officers, and whispered to his superior, "It's not over yet, General… deploy the airship force."

Major General Andrei turned his head and stared intently at him. The airship units of the 17th Army Corps had long been transferred to the central battlefield, so where would there be any spare troops?

“In the warehouse, there are quite a few airships that have been damaged, scrapped, or retired over the years for various reasons. Before the war, I had already gathered a group of craftsmen to temporarily modify these old airships. Although they do not yet meet wartime standards, at least… they can serve as an emergency measure.” Krisius’s gaze was firm. He knew that his unauthorized actions would inevitably arouse the dissatisfaction and even fear of his superiors, but for this war, an emergency plan was very necessary. He could not place his hopes solely on reinforcements that had not yet appeared, otherwise he would make the same mistake as his superiors: “The number, movement, and location of the enemy’s mage corps are unknown. We must use airships to force them out, only then will we have a chance of winning the subsequent defensive battle.”

Major General Andrei frowned slightly: "How can you be sure the enemy's mage corps will move out again? What if they remain inactive?"

“Then our airship force can cooperate with the remaining mech force to gain air superiority.” Krisius had already thought it through: “This is even more important to our army than destroying the enemy’s mage corps. Haven’t you noticed, General, that apart from that Falcon Knights, the enemy has no air power at all?”

The Falcon Knights had already suffered heavy losses in close combat with the mech forces and in the aftermath of their own magical attacks.

Major General Andrei quickly made a decision after a moment's thought. Or rather, at this point, he had no choice but to make this decision: "Alright, then deploy the airship force!"

He gazed at the regrouping mech formation on the horizon, a resolute glint in his eyes: "Furthermore, order the mech units to operate without rest, directly coordinating with the airship units, with the priority being to suppress enemy air units and destroy the mage legions!" (End of Chapter)