3 Kilometres North of the DMZ
Vandoria-Ravendawn Main Army
The Vandoria-Ravendawn coalition army buzzed with nervous preparation. Soldiers sharpened blades, adjusted armor straps, and muttered prayers to the goddess.
"Just remember, stay behind me," said Fumi, a young human adventurer wearing green armor and a shield on his left hand. "My shield will protect us from the demon's musket until we get close to the demon's line."
"Yes, master. I know that you will always protect us." said Talia, a raccoon-type beastman girl who is also Fumi's slave-turned-party member.
"Master! Master!" chirped Firo, a childlike chicken-type beastman girl who had also been purchased by Fumi. "After we finish this quest and you become an S-class, you'll keep your promise and give Firo lots of meat, right?"
"Of course! And I will also give you both a special "meat" tonight hehehe," Fumi grinned, face twisting into a perverted expression.
He hopped onto a nearby rock and struck a heroic pose, challenging the demon army.
"So don't worry! This Fumi, who is called the Shield Champion, will protect you from the evil demons with his impenetrable magic shield!" "Exclaim, Fumi," while climbing a rock to strike a pose challenging the Demon Army.
SPLAT
Fumi's head exploded like a watermelon, leaving only his body still frozen in its dramatic pose.
"KYAAAAAAAA," Talia and Firo shrieked, with Fumi's blood covering their faces.
"THE SHIELD CHAMPION IS DEAD!?" a nearby soldier screamed.
"SOMETHING KILLED HIM BEFORE HE COULD CAST HIS SHIELD," shouted another soldier.
1.6 Kilometers South of the DMZ
Malvorath Mountain Range
"Got him," Kovalski murmured, still watching the chaos he made through his scope.
His spotter calmly drew a red X over Fumi's portrait in their target-list booklet.
"This is Sierra 1-4." The spotter said into his comm. "Gentlemen, we've just bagged the Ace of Diamonds. That means we're leading by 12 points."
The comm erupted with complaints:
"Oh, come on!"
"Fucking Kovalski!"
"Boooo!"
Kovalski and his spotter only chuckled while they browsing for another score.
Since the Vandoria-Ravendawn coalition army is conveniently parked on an open field across the Malvorath Mountain Range, General Hanz decides to put several sniper nests on the hills, hunting lists of priority targets—officers and "dangerous individuals"—courtesy of the Asmodeus Bureau.
With a clear line of sight and absolutely no cover, it's practically a shooting game for the snipers.
75 Kilometres North of the DMZ
Vandoria-Ravendawn Wyvern Station
The Wyvern station sat on a natural border where the Ravendawn Dark Forest met the barren stretch of the DMZ. Despite its ominous name, nothing in the forest dared to approach. When three hundred wyverns gathered in one place, even the fiercest predators understood the meaning of food chain.
The station itself spread across multiple camps, each holding ten wyverns and their riders. Wyverns couldn't be clustered too closely—pack too many together and territorial fight will happen, and a wyvern brawl was something no army wanted to break up. Each beast was the size of a two-story house and mean enough to prove it.
After receiving his order from the comm crystal, the station commander gathers all of the squad captains in his command tent for a strategy meeting. They are all surrounding the battle map.
"Alright. Squads 1 to 10, you're the vanguard—eliminate enemy aerial units and clear a path for the second wave. Squads 11 to 23, you'll proceed straight to the Great Demon Gate and hold position until ground forces arrive."
He paused to let the captain absorb the plan.
"As for squads 24 to 30, you are going to go deeper to ene…"
BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM
The ground shook. Dust rained from the rafters.
Dozens of explosions echoed across the station.
"W-What was that!?"
The commander and his captains burst out of the tent—just in time to see four sleek, metallic shapes roar overhead, slicing through the air with a thunder that made their ears ring.
All the wyverns in the camp screeched and hissed, wings unfurling instinctively. The unfamiliar invaders felt like predators.
"WHAT WAS THAT? DRAGONS?" a captain shouted.
Despite the panic and confusion, the commander—a veteran of countless battles—quickly regained his composure and shouted orders to his captains.
"ALL OF YOU, GO BACK TO YOUR UNITS AND SCRAMBLE! WE'RE LEAVING NOW!"
Hearing the orders, the captains sprinted toward their wyverns, climbing onto saddles as the beasts kicked up dust. But as they start to ascend, one of the captains pointed skyward.
"They're coming back!"
Inside the F-16, the demon pilots are starting to pick their targets.
"Pixie 3 to Pixie leader, I see multiple bogeys taking off on my 2 o'clock. Permission to engage? Please advise."
"Negative, pixie 3. Maintain formation and proceed with the main objective."
"Roger that."
Then each pilot split their focus, each selecting a different wyvern camp.
"Ripple-ripple-ripple," said every pilot as they launched a volley of rockets to every wyvern camp. Each jet carries 2 pods of Hydra 70mm unguided rockets—one pod per wyvern camp.
White smoke trails streaked across the sky.
"THEY'RE SHOOTING SOMETHING," a wyvern captain screamed, eyes wide at the incoming streaks of smoke.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
Multiple camps erupted at once. Wyverns shrieked as fire and debris tore through them.
"Those damned creatures!"
One captain drew his bow with trembling hands and started the chant to activate his archer skill.
"O Goddess, grant me—"
The F-16s already gone.
"They are too fast…" said the captain as he let down his arrow.
The sky thundered again as another squadron swept by.
BOOM BOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOM BOOM
Another explosions erupted again at several camps as another group of F-16s made a pass. But this time the captain can only watch, as he knows his archer ability is useless.
In less than five minutes, twelve F-16s have unleashed 168 unguided rockets into the wyvern base.
When the smoke settled, three-quarters of the wyverns were dead.
DMZ
Vandoria-Ravendawn Main Army
Duke Pierre had been given a report that many officers and individuals suddenly have their heads or limbs exploding out of nowhere. They know that it was a demons' attack, but they don't know how they do it. Their best assumption is it was a curse trap that had been planted by the demons around the area. Priests attempted purifications, mages attempted area dispels, only to find no curses, no traps, nothing.
Duke Pierre refused to leave his tent.
He told his aides it was "strategic prudence."
Everyone else knew it was fear.
But then the ground shook, and a wyvern's guttural growl rolled through the camp.
Pierre flinched. "W-what is that commotion?"
He stepped out just in time to see a wyvern descending, struggling to land. Its rider practically fell from the saddle, sprinting toward the Duke.
"Sir, I'm Captain Jacques from Wyvern Corps third unit. I bring an urgent report—the wyvern station has been attacked by presumably demons. Our comm crystal was destroyed, that's why I came here directly. Many wyverns were slain before they even launched.
"W-What!?" Pierre sputtered. "How do they attack you? Do they have a wyvern unit also?"
Jacques shook his head. "They attacked from the air. But they were not wyverns, sir. Whatever those creatures are, their wings don't flap—and they fly faster than anything I've ever seen."
"But that's impossible! No enemy units passed through the Gate, and nothing can cross the mountain range—it's seven thousand meters high! Even wyverns can't reach that altitude! Do they have a hidden base behind us?" Pierre's voice climbed in pitch with every sentence.
"I… I don't know, sir…"
"How many wyverns survived? And where is your commander?"
"The commander is dead. There are eighty-three surviving wyverns, including mine. They are heading here as we speak now. I came ahead to get orders from you, sir."
The duke swallowed hard. Despite his cowardice, his mind was sharp—sharpened by decades of political maneuvering. He forced himself to think.
"No… The demons are crafty. They must be hiding their flying units somewhere behind us. And since they haven't continued their assault on the main army, they may have limited range compared to wyverns." He stroked his ornate mustache in thought. "This setback is unfortunate, but we still have enough forces to launch an assault."
He straightened, voice rising with forced authority.
"We will launch the assault now! Go tell all the surviving wyverns to attack the demons, their main objective is to secure the Great Demon Gate. The ground forces will advance afterward—we must not give the demons time to pull another trick!"
"Yes, sir!"
Wyvern riders and all of the officers nearby sprinted to relay the orders.
FOB Doors
Stan stood beside General Hanz on the helipad as the CH-47 Chinook finished its final pre-flight checks. The twin rotors thumped the air with heavy, rhythmic pulses, stirring dust across the concrete. A massive cargo crate hung beneath the helicopter, secured and waiting.
Stan looked like a man watching his birthday cake arrive.
"Oh~ happy day, happy day." He practically sang.
General Hanz raised an eyebrow. "Has it been too long, sir?"
"You bet it has. After the Buer rebellion, things got boring. I was hoping that he would rebel again, but unfortunately these days he's more into politics. No fun anymore."
Hanz chuckled. "Heheheheh, maybe because he already experienced in the most painful way that it's futile to rebel while you're still around, your grace."
Stan laughed, deep and hearty. "Hah! It's been a while since someone called me that."
"My apologies, sir. All this… excitement… brings me back…" Hanz smiled faintly. "To the old days."
Stan turned to him. "Do you miss it, Hanz? Running around the battlefield, thrusting enemies with your lance?"
"If I may be frank… No, sir. Not at all."
"Oh? Enlighten me."
"Well, sir," Hanz said with genuine pride, "nothing beats the present. These days, I can send hundreds-thousands-of enemies to the afterlife from miles away, while sitting at home playing with my grandkid. It's truly gratifying. I wouldn't trade that kind of satisfaction for anything in this world, past or present."
"AAAHAHAHAHA!" Stan slapped his knee. "You'd never change, Hanz. Good to know that."
"And I didn't plan to, sir."
Stan leaned in conspiratorially. "Oh, speaking of satisfaction… did you know that with our new satellite tech, we can put a camera on our missile itself? Watch it live?" He widened his eyes theatrically. "Just imagine. Us, sipping our morning coffee while watching our enemies' last expression before a bomb explodes on their face."
"Seriously, sir? Oh my… this is truly the best time to live."
"I couldn't agree more."
They both burst into loud, unrestrained laughter.
A soldier approached, saluting sharply.
"Excuse me, sir. Preparations are complete."
Stan exhaled with excitement. "Well then, General, I have to go." He patted Hanz on the shoulder. "I'll leave the rest of the battle to you then."
"Very well, sire. Have a good hunt."
"Always"
Stan boarded the Chinook. Moments later, the helicopter lifted, rotors roaring, and rose into the sky with its oversized crate swinging beneath it.
Vandoria-Ravendawn Army, Center
The coalition army had formed up, tense and silent. The constant reports of soldiers' heads bursting apart from invincible attacks had shattered morale. Priests insisted it must be a hidden curse. Higher-ups insisted demons were weak. No one believed either.
Then a shadow rolled over the field.
The remaining wyvern corps—all that survived the earlier chaos—soared overhead in formation. The frontline soldiers erupted into cheers. To them, the wyverns' presence meant hope. Fire breath. Air superiority. A decisive first strike. Of course, most of the soldiers don't know anything about the attack in the wyvern station.
"HURRAAAAAAAAH"
Their confidence lasted three seconds.
BOOM
BOOOM
BOOOOM
Dozens of wyverns detonated midair in fiery blossoms. Bodies and wings were torn apart by something too fast to see.
"Wh-WHAT IS HAPPENING!?" Scream, Duke Pierre.
"L-Look! From the clouds! Southwest!" One avian lookout shrieked, an avian warrior that's in charge of battlefield observation, as they have better eyesight than other races.
"H-How… T-they're flying higher than the mountains…" Duke Pierre muttered with shock.
High above the mountain peaks, contrails streaked downward like white scars across the sky. From the distance came the faint roar of engines—an alien thunder.
Four F-16s descended from the upper atmosphere and released another volley of Sidewinder missiles.
The wyverns never stood a chance.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
Another dozen beasts exploded, their massive carcasses tumbling down onto the tightly packed ranks below, crushing men, snapping shields, and throwing formations into chaos.
"A-ANOTHER ATTACK FROM THE SOUTHEAST!" a lookout screamed.
A second squadron dove from the opposite angle. More contrails. More streaking white lines arcing downward.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
In under thirty seconds, every remaining wyvern was annihilated.
Silence followed—a stunned, suffocating silence as the soldiers stared at the empty sky in disbelief.
No wyverns.
No air support.
Nothing.
"I—Impossible… T-this is impossible," Duke Pierre muttered, clutching at his mustache like it could anchor him.
But a general could not freeze.
"A-ATTAAACK!" He bellowed with all his strength. "MOVE! THE ENEMIES CAN ATTACK THIS FAR! MOVE OUT! CHAAAAARGE!"
Horn-blowers lifted their instruments with shaking hands.
VOOVOOOOOOOOOOMMM
The flanks hesitated—but the logic was undeniable. Whatever had attacked them could strike as long as they stood still.
"C-CHAAAAARGE!"
"UOOOOOOHH!"
Thirty thousand soldiers surged forward, boots thundering through the wasteland.
The vanguard—thirteen thousand strong—sprinted ahead, widening the gap from the center ranks. Prince Luxius rode among the Ravendawn forces on the left flank, eyes scanning the terrain. He was looking for something. Waiting.
BOOM
A single explosion blossomed in the center of the vanguard line, flinging bodies and scattering limbs.
A signal for Prince Luxius. He immediately signaled his officers. The horn sounded.
VOOOOOOMMM
Without hesitation, all six thousand Ravendawn troops veered sharply west, away from the battlefield.
"W-WHAT ARE THEY DOING? ARE THEY RUNNING AWAY!? THOSE COWARDS!" Duke Pierre roared.
"Sir, our left flank can pursue—"
"No," Pierre snapped. "We'll deal with them after the demons. There will be no Ravendawn after this."
Behind them, the vanguard continues forward—alone, reduced to seven thousand.