Carine Forest — Forward Battlements
The battlefield no longer resembled a battlefield.
It resembled a natural disaster.
One hundred and twenty thousand Exo-harnesses had thrown themselves into the fray.
Crimson Cardinals crashed into advancing creatures like living battering rams.
White Auroras surged through openings in the line beneath waves of golden light.
Royal Prateras advanced in disciplined formations, shields locked together as artillery thundered above them.
And behind all of them—
The Laosian fortifications roared.
Black cannons lined the battlements in layered rows.
Shell after shell screamed overhead before disappearing into distant masses of corruption.
Entire sections of land erupted into fire and stone.
Temporary towers rotated.
Runic barriers shifted.
Supply crews ran endlessly through trenches and reinforced pathways.
The battlefield had become an enormous machine.
And every part of it was moving.
At the very front—
Sous and Adrean tore through the enemy tide.
Penelope moved like crimson lightning.
White Tiger carved burning arcs through clustered masses of flesh and roots.
Entire creatures burst apart whenever the blade passed through them.
Nearby—
Adrean laughed.
Actually laughed.
His armor ripped through enemy lines with overwhelming momentum while shockwaves detonated with every swing.
Corrupted creatures shattered.
Roots exploded apart.
Nest structures collapsed.
To ordinary soldiers—
The two men looked invincible.
Far behind them—
Darian lowered his hammer.
"…I hate this."
Mirelle glanced sideways.
"You hate winning?"
"No."
His eyes remained fixed ahead.
"My house built its name on battlefields."
A pause.
"And I am standing here watching."
The two remained with their sixty honor guards near the rear formations.
Because unlike the great houses already present—
Their territories lay too far away.
No armies.
No banners.
No personal war formations.
Only the men they had brought themselves.
So now—
Instead of leading glorious charges—
They stood as reserves.
Plugging gaps.
Waiting for something to go wrong.
Darian clicked his tongue.
"I feel useless."
Mirelle folded her arms.
"You are guarding the rear."
"That matters."
"That is boring."
A distant explosion rolled across the battlefield.
Darian watched Sous split apart another wave.
"…Still."
A pause.
"This feels wrong."
Mirelle raised an eyebrow.
"What does?"
He gestured toward the battlefield.
"This."
Artillery.
Rotating support lines.
Supply movements.
Formation adjustments.
Everything shifted before problems appeared.
Creatures pushing too far met bombardment almost instantly.
Damaged units disappeared into recovery routes.
Fresh soldiers moved into place before gaps formed.
No confusion.
No panic.
No delays.
It felt—
Controlled.
Mirelle slowly looked toward the black battlements in the distance.
Toward the one person absent from the battlefield.
"…Logos."
Darian followed her gaze.
Atop the battlements—
Logos sat in a chair.
Watching.
Occasionally giving artillery orders.
Watching.
Twenty thousand Banes remained behind him.
Silent.
Still.
Waiting.
Not one had entered battle.
Not one.
Mirelle narrowed her eyes.
"…Darian."
"…What?"
She pointed toward the rear support lines.
Toward wounded soldiers being treated and damaged harnesses being repaired.
Several soldiers had stopped moving.
No—
Not stopped.
Frozen.
Darian frowned.
"What are they doing?"
The men stood perfectly still.
Cardinals.
Auroras.
Prateras.
At least a dozen.
Weapons hanging loosely.
Helmets tilted downward.
Not speaking.
Then—
One turned.
Very slowly.
Black roots crawled beneath exposed portions of armor.
Across wrists.
Across necks.
Across skin.
Darian's expression vanished.
"…Mirelle."
She was already moving.
"HORN!"
Her voice exploded across the rear lines.
"HORN NOW!"
A soldier immediately raised the warning horn.
Its sound thundered across the battlefield.
Several nearby formations turned in confusion.
Then—
One soldier raised his head.
His mouth opened.
Too wide.
Far too wide.
Black roots spilled from his throat.
"There it is."
Logos spoke quietly atop the battlements.
No surprise.
No alarm.
Only confirmation.
Because he had been waiting for it.
Below—
The battlefield had not realized it yet.
Sous still carved through the tide.
Adrean still shattered formations.
Artillery still screamed overhead.
Victory still looked inevitable.
Then—
The first soldier convulsed.
His body folded backward violently.
Armor groaned beneath the movement.
Then his spine snapped forward.
Black roots erupted beneath his skin.
The man screamed—
Only for a moment.
Because roots burst through his jaw immediately afterward.
The scream collapsed into wet choking.
Then another soldier fell.
Then another.
Then another.
A dozen became twenty.
Twenty became fifty.
Like poison spreading through blood.
Mirelle's horn continued sounding.
"HOLD FORMATION!"
"DO NOT APPROACH THE INFECTED!"
Darian was already moving.
His hammer came down.
The transformed Cardinal exploded apart.
Black roots sprayed across the ground—
Then immediately began writhing toward nearby soldiers.
"…MOVE!"
Several men jumped backward.
Not fast enough.
One root touched exposed skin.
Immediately—
It burrowed inward.
The soldier froze.
Everyone watched.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
Then—
His arm bent.
Wrong.
Cracking echoed beneath armor.
"…No."
The soldier looked down slowly.
Confused.
Then black veins spread beneath his skin.
Mirelle's blade flashed.
The arm struck the dirt.
The soldier collapsed screaming.
Silence.
No one moved.
Because she had not hesitated.
Not even for a heartbeat.
Mirelle looked toward the spreading roots.
"Do not let them touch you!"
Behind them—
Panic erupted.
Formations shifted.
Questions spread faster than orders.
"What happened?!"
"They were with us!"
"Saints preserve us—!"
Then—
Three short trumpet blasts sounded.
Pause.
Three more.
Pause.
Again.
From the battlements.
Part of the Laosian force moved.
Two thousand Banes.
Silent until now.
Heavy footsteps shook the earth.
Rows separated into combat formations instantly.
No hesitation.
No confusion.
No panic.
Bal stepped forward at the front.
Beleth towered above nearby soldiers.
"What are they doing?!" Darian shouted.
Then—
The Banes moved.
Fast.
Far too fast.
Back-mounted cannons erupted first.
Explosive rounds hammered the infected lines, pinning movement.
Then black armored figures became blurs.
Axes.
Mauls.
Blades.
The Banes tore into the infected with horrifying brutality.
Not fighting soldiers—
Exterminating threats.
Beleth itself moved at the center.
Its massive axe rose and fell.
One infected harness.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty-four.
Bodies and armor disappeared beneath overwhelming force.
Logos's amplified voice echoed across the battlefield.
"Proceed with second-stage containment."
Heavy barricades rolled forward.
Steel slammed into place.
Routes sealed.
Passages closed.
The battlefield split.
The infected.
And everyone else.
One Church knight pointed upward.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Logos looked down from the battlements.
Expression unchanged.
"The infected zone is being isolated."
"OUR MEN ARE STILL INSIDE!"
"Yes."
The answer came instantly.
Cold.
Simple.
The knight looked horrified.
"You cannot abandon them!"
Logos tilted his head slightly.
"They are already dead."
Then Logos raised his hand.
Three Banes stepped forward.
Each possessed massive cannon-arms.
The battlefield suddenly felt very quiet.
"Fire."
The cannon-arms discharged.
The recoil forced the Banes backward half a step.
The projectiles struck—
Burrowed—
Then detonated.
The ground split open.
Armor.
Bodies.
Roots.
Everything liquefied.
The earth itself folded apart beneath the blast, exposing hidden root networks buried beneath the battlefield.
Then—
Arson shells followed.
White fire rained downward.
The isolated sector disappeared beneath oceans of burning light.
And for the first time since the battle began—
Even Sous stopped moving.