A fresh stretch of empty land—three kilometers wide and one kilometer deep—opened up like a wound in the battlefield, carved cleanly by the combined force of magic and steel. The moment the infantry secured the position, the next phase began without hesitation. War, at this scale, allowed no pauses. It simply shifted from one motion into the next, like a machine that could not afford to stop.
The mages who had cast the previous volley were already on the move, advancing toward their new designated positions with mechanical precision. Around them, infantry units spread out across the newly claimed ground, dragging away the larger goblin corpses and breaking down anything that might obstruct movement. Cleanliness on a battlefield was no longer just a matter of discipline—it was survival. Even though humanity had gained resilience through mana and cultivation, no one wanted to test whether ancient plagues could still find a foothold among billions of soldiers packed into a war zone. The memory of civilizations undone by disease lingered too strongly, even here.
And so the corpses were moved.
Not burned—not entirely. There simply wasn't enough time or resources for that at this scale. Instead, the bodies were gathered, sorted, and sent along an ever-evolving logistical system that had grown almost as complex as the battlefield itself. What had once been crude dumping grounds had transformed into something closer to infrastructure. Elevated pathways stretched across the 50-km-wide former forest. the ravine nearby, a gaping scar in the earth that had become humanity's disposal pit. Platforms lifted corpses upward, where they were transferred onto crude rail systems—minecarts pushed by exhausted soldiers—before being tipped into the abyss below.
From above, the ravine had begun to change color. A faint red hue stained its depths, barely visible from the surface, hinting at the countless bodies that had been thrown down. It was a grim sight, but an efficient one. The system allowed troop movements to continue uninterrupted, with only narrow lifting points interrupting the army's otherwise fluid motion.
Meanwhile, behind the front lines, the cost of magic revealed itself.
The semi-mages—those who had formed the backbone of the casting circle—collapsed almost immediately after the spell was released. One by one, they fell where they sat, their bodies limp, their breathing shallow. It was not death, but something disturbingly close: a forced shutdown, a coma brought on by complete mana exhaustion. Their comrades moved quickly, lifting them onto stretchers and carrying them away to designated recovery zones.
Yet despite the toll, there was no regret on their faces.
If anything, there was satisfaction.
Each of them had received the system's notifications before blacking out—confirmation of kills, of points earned, of contribution made. For many, that was enough. In this war, survival and profit had become intertwined, and even unconsciousness could be seen as a worthwhile exchange.
There had been other ways to structure the magic circles, of course. Versions where a single mage bore the majority of the burden, channeling the power alone. But those had been quickly dismissed by the higher command. Skilled mages were far too valuable to risk, and the quality of the spell itself depended heavily on the caster's abilities. The magic missile produced by a circle reflected the strength and skill of its controller, meaning a weak mage would result in a weaker outcome.
And so the burden was spread.
Not equally, but efficiently.
There was no shortage of volunteers, either. Too many had chosen the path of magic for the wrong reasons—drawn in by its allure, its prestige, its imagined power. Now, those same individuals found themselves relegated to supporting roles, their bodies acting as conduits rather than weapons. It was a harsh reality, but one that the system enforced without mercy.
Kong Tu watched it all from his elevated platform as a team of soldiers beneath it slowly carried it forward. The moving command posts had become standard practice—keeping commanders close enough to the front to react quickly, yet elevated enough to maintain a clear overview. As his platform advanced, the battlefield unfolded before him in shifting layers of motion.
He saw the semi-mages being carried away.
He saw the endless chain of corpses moving toward the ravine.
He saw the infantry reorganizing, reinforcing, and preparing.
And he saw something else.
Momentum.
The goblins, once a seemingly endless tide, were beginning to fracture. In the distance, parts of the forest still stood, but their cohesion had broken. Reports filtered in of units being attacked from behind—evidence that the earlier wedge formations had done more than just create openings. They had severed connections, isolated groups, and turned what had once been a unified defense into scattered pockets of resistance.
Kong Tu exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts.
There had been a time, not long ago, when he had stood in entirely different environments—crime scenes instead of battlefields, investigating murders instead of orchestrating them. Back then, violence had been something to analyze, to contain, to understand. Now, it was something to produce.
He still remembered one particular incident, though he wished he didn't.
An early experiment with the magic circles. A group of non-mage volunteers, eager to prove themselves, had insisted on participating. The result had been… catastrophic. Their bodies had failed to handle the strain, rupturing under the pressure of forced mana flow. The memory of it—the sudden burst of blood, the fragments that followed—still haunted him.
Even now, he pushed the thought aside.
There was no room for hesitation.
"Report," he said calmly.
"They're ready, sir," his adjutant replied. "Next formation is in position."
Kong Tu nodded and raised his sword once more.
Below him, the ground began to glow faintly blue as the magic circle activated again. Mana gathered, condensing into a sphere of concentration before stretching outward to form a perfect arc toward the designated target zone. It was a remarkable tool—one that had taken countless iterations to perfect. By standardizing the output through the circle, they had eliminated much of the guesswork that plagued individual casting. Even weaker mages could now contribute to a precise, devastating strike.
The sword fell.
And once again, the sky answered.
The cycle repeated itself—casting, impact, advance, consolidation. Over and over, each iteration faster than the last. What had taken hours before now took minutes. What had once gained meters now gained kilometers.
By the time the sun began its strange descent—rising and setting at unnatural angles that still unsettled even the most seasoned soldiers—the results were undeniable. The forest, once a formidable barrier, had been effectively cut off. Reinforcements could no longer reach it, and its remaining defenders were being systematically eliminated.
The line moved forward.
And forward.
And forward.
Eventually, the Chinese legions began their rotation out, replaced by Indian units ready to continue the push. There was no celebration, no pause to acknowledge the achievement. The war demanded continuity above all else.
Far from the front lines, within the sprawling camp that stretched across the plains, a different kind of gathering took place.
The Sonneberg family sat around a modest campfire, the flickering flames casting soft shadows across their faces. Compared to the scale of the battlefield, it was an almost intimate scene—quiet, contained, human.
Karl cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.
"So," he began, his voice steady, "we've received new orders from Herman."
Arin leaned forward slightly, interest flickering in his eyes. Around him, the others listened in silence.
Karl continued, "Or rather… a lack of orders. According to him, we're not particularly relevant to the current phase. Scouts haven't spotted any forests within hundreds of kilometers, so our usual role doesn't apply."
A few expressions shifted—some disappointed, others thoughtful.
"But," Karl added, a hint of pride creeping into his tone, "I wasn't about to accept that. So I requested permission to operate independently—to choose a flank and support the advance from the side."
That got their attention.
"He approved," Karl said simply. "We'll be moving to the left flank. Mostly European legions there. And…" he gestured behind him, "I had some platforms prepared for us."
Arin blinked, curiosity piqued.
"Platforms?" he echoed.
Karl smiled faintly. "You'll see."
He stood, motioning for them to follow.