A full quarter-hour passed. The rainforest that once stood here was gone—completely erased. Only the outer edge of the blast ring still burned, flickering with tongues of flame. Vast stretches of sand had been melted by the heat into glass, glimmering beautifully under the moonlight.
At the center of the blast, Selene exhaled softly as she descended from the sky, landing upon the searing molten ground.
For several kilometers in every direction stretched a hellish sea of fire—endless magma roiling beneath a canopy of burning air. The sight was terrifying enough, but the most deadly thing here was invisible: the immense radiation saturating the area.
Were an ordinary person to step foot here, even ignoring the heat, the sheer concentration of radiation would shatter their DNA in minutes—collapsing their genes and dissolving their flesh into nothing.
But Selene was no ordinary being. The nuclear blast's radiation, heat, shockwave, and billions of pascals of air pressure posed no threat to her at all.
Scooping a handful of molten, irradiated rock into her palm, Selene studied it thoughtfully. "So that's the true yield... such a high concentration of fallout."
The molten sea beneath her feet caused her no discomfort whatsoever. Her battlesuit remained immaculate, and even the silver-lined hem of her radiant skirt was untouched by the flames.
"As I thought... seeing it firsthand helps me grasp its secrets. Yes, this is progress. Now I just need to practice scaling the yield down."
"Too much destructive power is inconvenient. If an enemy were to ambush me someday and I lost my temper... well, the result would be catastrophic."
"The most important thing," she added with a faint smile, "is keeping the fallout away from my beloved army. They're the seeds of the future."
Tossing aside the cooled lump of magma, Selene closed her eyes.
Strong Nuclear Force Manipulation!
Not to absorb—but to push. She extended her will outward, driving every trace of radioactive particle she could sense westward, scattering the deadly remnants far into the lands beyond.
It was, after all, another "gift" for the Western Kingdom.
"Good. Now, let's see how the others are progressing."
...
"We must capture this tribe before the General returns!"
Kinshasa leapt high, landing atop the low stone walls of the southwestern tribal stronghold. Stretching his arms wide, his face shone with excitement and feverish zeal.
"Soldiers! The other major southwestern tribe has been annihilated by General Selene herself! These are the last of the enemy!"
"Glory and honor are within our grasp! Forward with me—slaughter every last one of them! Long live the Empire! Long live Selene!"
"Imperial Army—advance!!"
"Victory!!" ×N
The commander is the soul of the army.
Under Kinshasa's lead, the hundreds of veteran Imperial Guards under his command raised their weapons and roared in unison. The garrison troops joined the chorus, their countless blades flashing cold light under the moon.
"Kill—!"
Their thunderous shouts shook heaven and earth. Energized by the fervor, Imperial troops in every other sector surged forward with renewed fury.
In an instant, battle cries rose from all directions. The tribal city, under the Imperial Army's tidal assault, now seemed like a lone boat in a storm—their defensive lines faltering and trembling under the pressure.
On the battlements, the tribal chief, having barely repelled one wave of attackers, swallowed nervously. He was fierce, yes, but not a fool. He could see clearly how dire their situation had become. To resist further would mean certain death.
Even his personal guards were struggling. It had taken all of them to fight off a single small detachment that breached the wall, and even then, they had barely managed to hold their ground.
Now, as the Imperial forces below rallied for yet another assault, the chief's confidence wavered. This was nothing like the Imperial soldiers they had fought before.
He turned to glance at the Imperial artillery preparing to fire again outside the city. His heart sank. The moment of decision had come.
Even with the advantage of terrain—preventing the Empire from fully deploying its heavy weapons—the difference was clear. In close combat, their warriors were losing ground.
To surrender... or to fight to the bitter end? Surrender was shameful, but it might mean survival. Resistance, however brave, would bring nothing but slaughter.
While the chief wrestled with his decision, the Empire gave him no time to think.
Crash—!
With a thunderous crack, the battering ram struck again and again until a large section of the low wall collapsed.
"Damn it..."
"Kill—!!"
Before the dust could even settle, hundreds of heavily armored Imperial shock troops surged through the breach, shields locked together as they charged forward like an iron wall. The impact sent nearly a thousand tribal defenders reeling back several steps.
Then came the slaughter.
Spears, swords, and even firearms thrust out through the shield gaps, tearing through flesh in a coordinated rhythm of death.
Real armor wasn't like in the plays—fragile and useless. In truth, when two heavily armored armies clashed, thousands could fight from dawn till dusk with only a few thousand casualties. But these tribesmen were no match for Imperial steel.
Many of them fought bare-chested, their crude weapons barely leaving scratches on the Imperial armor. Every swing of an Imperial blade, every thrust of a spear, drew blood in torrents.
"Die, you tribal filth!"
At the front, a thousand-man commander roared as he swung his heavy axe, cleaving down foes with each blow—heads, arms, and torsos flying apart like leaves in the wind.
Spears impaled bodies, swords split them, and rifles tore holes through flesh—until the ground was littered with severed limbs and mangled corpses.
The tribal officer in charge of defending the breach shouted desperately as his men fell around him. "Go! Call for reinforcements from the chieftain! We need more warriors—now!!"
Would reinforcements come? Were there any left? He didn't know. But he did know that if they failed to push the Imperials back now, the walls would be lost within moments.
Roaring, he hefted his massive war hammer, blood streaming from a dozen wounds. With a battle cry, he hurled himself into the front line, smashing his weapon down with every ounce of strength he had.
BOOM!
The Imperial soldier who met his blow was sent flying, his shield shattered to splinters. The force of the strike toppled several more soldiers nearby.
For a moment, the sheer ferocity of his charge drew the eyes of both sides.
At the breach, a Guard captain who had just entered the city saw the sight. Kicking aside the corpse impaled on his greatsword, he bellowed, "Reform ranks! It's just a cornered beast's struggle! Imperial Army—advance!!"
"Whoever takes that beast's head will earn the honor of first assault!"
"Kill—!!"