Vandoria-Ravendawn Camp
At the rear of the Vandoria–Ravendawn coalition's main army, Duke Pierre entered his command tent.
It was less a tent and more an extravagant pavilion—silk drapes, gilded poles, and embroidered carpets—far better suited for a royal banquet than a battlefield. Inside, Archbishop Antonio, Archmage Durac, Prince Luxius, and several senior officers were already gathered around a sprawling war map.
"Those insolent demons," Duke Pierre scoffed as he crossed the tent and lowered himself into a throne-like seat at its center. "I was a fool to believe they could comprehend even basic manners."
A beastman slave stepped forward, poured wine into the duke's goblet, bowed deeply, and retreated without a sound.
"So they refused our offer," Archmage Durac said.
Prince Luxius folded his arms. "Then what is the plan?"
Duke Pierre exhaled slowly.
"Contact the wyvern corps," he said. "Have them prepare for immediate deployment. All units will focus on eliminating hostile forces surrounding the Great Demon Gate. The demons must not be allowed to retreat and seal it."
His eyes traced the map, fingers hovering over key positions.
"Additionally," he continued, "destroy any aerial transport on sight. If the demons attempt to airlift troops into our rear using their so-called Hell Dragonflies, intercept and erase them before they land."
"Yes, sir," an officer replied.
Pierre leaned back, swirling the wine in his goblet.
"Ground forces assemble immediately. Beastmen and mercenaries will form the vanguard." His gaze sharpened. "And before anyone raises the question—the Ravendawn army marches with them."
"What of the Demon Duke Leviathan?" Archbishop Antonio asked.
"Their diplomats claim he is absent," Pierre replied. "It may be deception. We proceed regardless. Archbishop, ensure your holy knights are ready."
Antonio placed a hand over his chest, faint light shimmering around his gauntlet. "My knights stand eternally ready to smite evil."
"Good." Pierre turned his attention to Luxius. "And you, Prince, will lead your troops forward. There will be no objections."
Prince Luxius stiffened, jaw tightening. "…Understood."
Pierre rose from his seat, his cape brushing against the carpet.
"Excellent. We launch the assault in three hours."
---
After the briefing, Prince Luxius returned to his own tent.
It was modest—practical canvas and plain furnishings—an unremarkable structure compared to the Duke of Vandoria's lavish pavilion. Before entering, he scanned the surroundings carefully, ensuring no Vandorian personnel were nearby.
"Meja," he said quietly to his guard, "make sure no one approaches my tent."
"Yes, Your Highness," the guard replied.
Inside, Luxius moved to a wardrobe chest and opened it. Beneath folded garments, he retrieved a satellite phone. He pressed the auto-dial button and waited.
When the call connected, he spoke in a low voice.
"This is Luxius. The attack will begin in three hours… And they intend to use us as the vanguard. exactly as the demon predicted."
---
Ravendawn, Raven Castle
Meeting Room
"…Understood, Your Highness."
The call ended.
Archmage Gregor lowered the satellite phone and released a long, tired sigh. He turned around to face King Luxtor—and Leviathan, who stood beside the throne.
King Luxtor had heard everything.
The news that his only son would be sent to the front lines—used as expendable vanguard—was written plainly across his face. His jaw was clenched, hands curled into fists, rage barely contained.
"Well, Your Majesty," Leviathan said pleasantly, "the time has come for your decision."
He smiled.
"Are you prepared to make a deal with the devils?"
Luxtor did not answer.
His expression hardened, anger simmering beneath the surface, heavy and dangerous.
---
FOB Doors
The forward operating base buzzed with controlled chaos.
Vehicles rolled out in steady streams. Units moved with purpose, voices sharp, orders clipped. From the opposite direction, a motorcade of Humvees entered the base, stopping cleanly in front of the command center.
Stan hopped out, adjusted his jacket, and strode inside with a confident grin.
"Glad I still made it in time," he said. "Hanz—what's on your playbook today?"
General Hanz and his officers snapped to attention, delivering crisp salutes.
"Nothing extravagant, sir," Hanz replied, gesturing toward the tactical display. "Since the enemy intends to overwhelm us with sheer numbers, we opted for a conventional approach."
The battlefield map lit up across the screen.
"We begin with the F-16 corps in phase one," One of the officer explained, pointing at the wyvern stronghold. "Three hundred wyverns were too many for direct engagement, so we planned to cripple their base in the first sortie and eliminate remaining forces in the second."
Stan nodded once.
"After air superiority is secured," the officer continued, "Apache units and Abrams battalions will advance for a synchronized ground-air assault. A flanking maneuver along the enemy's main line should fracture their formation before they can establish an organized defense."
"Good," Stan said. "Attach some Vulcan units to the armored divisions. Enemy avian fighters are likely to prioritize our armor if left unchecked."
"Yes, sir," Hanz confirmed. "And regarding the Ministry of Culture's directive to keep the Great Demon Gate intact—since it is one of the few structures we can officially classify as cultural heritage—we positioned our primary defensive line several miles ahead of it."
Stan exhaled, satisfied. The grin never left his face.
"Solid work," he said.
He leaned closer to the map.
"Now for my main question," Stan added. "Where do you need me?"
---
2 Miles North of the DMZ
Vandoria–Ravendawn Main Army
The Vandoria–Ravendawn coalition army buzzed with nervous preparation. Soldiers sharpened blades, tightened armor straps, and whispered prayers to the goddess with the kind of sincerity usually reserved for last meals.
"Just remember—stay behind me," said Fumi, a young human adventurer clad in green armor, a shield strapped proudly to his left arm. "My shield will protect us from the demon's muskets until we get close to their line."
"Yes, Master. I know you will always protect us," said Talia, a raccoon-type beastman girl. Once a slave, now a party member—at least on paper.
"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 S-class, you'll keep your promise and give Firo lots of meat, right?"
"Of course!" Fumi replied immediately. "And I'll also give you both a special 'meat' tonight, hehehe."
His grin twisted into something deeply heroic and profoundly perverted.
Fumi hopped onto a nearby rock and struck a dramatic pose, shield raised high as he faced the distant demon lines.
"So don't worry!" he proclaimed loudly. "This Fumi—known across the land as the Shield Champion—will protect you from the evil demons with his impenetrable magic shield!"
He held the pose. Then–
SPLAT
Fumi's head suddenly exploded.
It vanished in a red mist, leaving his body still standing on the rock—shield raised, chest out, heroic stance perfectly intact.
"KYAAAAAAAA!" Talia and Firo shrieked as warm blood sprayed across their faces.
"THE SHIELD CHAMPION IS DEAD?!" a nearby soldier screamed.
"SOMETHING KILLED HIM BEFORE HE COULD CAST HIS SHIELD!" another shouted.
Panic rippled through the formation as soldiers ducked instinctively, some staring at Fumi's headless corpse like it might finish the speech.
---
1.6 Kilometers South of the DMZ
Malvorath Mountain Range
"Got him," Kovalski murmured, eye still glued to the scope.
Through the lens, chaos spread neatly across the enemy line.
His spotter calmly took out a pencil and drew a red X over Fumi's portrait in their target-list booklet.
"This is Sierra One-Four," the spotter said into the comm. "Gentlemen, we've just bagged the Ace of Diamonds. That puts us twelve points ahead."
The channel immediately erupted.
"Oh, come on!"
"Fucking Kovalski!"
"Boooo!"
Kovalski and his spotter only chuckled, already scanning for the next name.
Since the Vandoria–Ravendawn coalition army had thoughtfully parked itself in an open field across the Malvorath Mountain Range, General Hanz had decided to deploy multiple sniper nests along the hills.
Priority targets—officers and so-called "dangerous individuals"—were provided courtesy of the Asmodeus Bureau.
With a clear line of sight and absolutely no cover, it was, functionally, a shooting game for Murican snipers. And the score was climbing.
---
45 Miles 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 reputation, nothing from the forest ever approached it. When three hundred wyverns gathered in one place, even the fiercest predators understood the concept of hierarchy and survival.
The station itself sprawled across multiple camps, each housing ten wyverns and their riders. Wyverns couldn't be clustered too closely—pack too many together and territorial fights would break out. A wyvern brawl was not something any army wanted to interrupt.
Each beast was the size of a two-story house.
Each beast handler was fully aware of that fact.
After receiving orders through his comm crystal, the station commander summoned all squad captains to his command tent. They gathered around a large battle map laid across the central table.
"Alright," the commander said, pointing decisively. "Squads one to ten—you're the vanguard. Eliminate enemy aerial units and clear a path for the second wave. Squads eleven to twenty-three, proceed directly to the Great Demon Gate and hold position until ground forces arrive."
He paused, allowing the captains to absorb the plan.
"As for squads twenty-four to thirty, you'll push deeper into ene—"
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
BOOOM
The ground lurched violently. Dust cascaded from the tent rafters as explosions rolled across the station.
"W-What was that!?" someone shouted.
The commander and captains burst out of the tent just in time to see four sleek metallic shapes roar overhead, ripping through the sky with a thunderous howl that made ears ring and bones vibrate.
Wyverns across the camps screeched and hissed, wings flaring instinctively. Whatever those things were, every wyvern felt it.
Predator.
"WHAT WAS THAT!? ENEMY WYVERNS!?" a captain yelled.
Despite the panic, the commander—veteran of countless campaigns—snapped back into command almost instantly.
"ALL OF YOU! BACK TO YOUR UNITS AND SCRAMBLE! WE'RE LEAVING NOW!"
Captains sprinted for their wyverns, vaulting into saddles as massive wings beat the air and kicked up clouds of dust. Just as the first beasts began lifting off, one captain froze and pointed upward.
"They're coming back!"