Chapter 188: The War Between the South and North 3

Searing flames engulfed them from all sides, accompanied by agonizing screams and the pungent stench of death as people burned alive – a scene aptly described as pandemonium.

Amidst the chaos, General Spinola desperately sought an escape route.

“Dammit! We must flee this place immediately, or we’re all dead! Officers, locate areas with weaker fires and facilitate our swift evacuation through them!”

“U…understood, General!”

The dense woodland hampered navigation, and the inferno rendered Spinola’s forces virtually uncontrollable.

Despite his seasoned leadership, even Spinola struggled to regain command over their critically compromised situation.

Disoriented soldiers blindly collided, inflicting further casualties upon themselves.

While relatively few perished directly from the flames, the overwhelming confusion proved equally lethal.

Noxious smoke gradually asphyxiated many, some already unconscious – exacerbating the widespread disarray.

Yet even amidst such dire straits, Spinola refused to surrender.

Having spent half his life on battlefields, he had confronted mortal peril innumerable times.

Thus, he strove to remain levelheaded, coolly addressing this crisis without panicking.

‘We cannot falter…no matter how dire, if we can locate an exit…’

Contemplating their grim plight, Spinola persisted until:

“General! I’ve found a spot – the western area has weaker fires. We may be able to escape through there!”

“Excellent! Then…”

Reinvigorated by his subordinate’s frantic report, a flicker of hope reignited within Spinola as he gathered his mana.

Then:

-“Follow me, all forces!”-

Spinola’s magically amplified voice thundered, momentarily drowning out the inferno’s roar.

The disoriented troops, roused by their commander’s booming orders, regained their senses and focused on the luminous pillar he had manifested.

Following that beacon through the hellish blaze, they hastened their escape – though many still perished, failing to notice or already consumed by the flames.

Yet they narrowly avoided total annihilation.

Finally emerging into relatively open farmlands, Spinola and his battered forces urgently regrouped while assessing their losses.

“How many casualties?”

“Including those scattered, approximately 5,000 it seems…”

“Kuh…”

Having instantly lost a quarter of his strength, the humiliation stung Spinola deeply.

Yet suppressing his fury, he addressed them with forced composure:

“The losses were unavoidable…regroup for now. We shall repay them a hundredfold for this disgrace.”

“Yes, General!”

As his officers directed the reorganization per his orders, Spinola inwardly reeled from the unanticipated devastation, mingling shock with irritation.

‘The casualties are grievous enough, but more crucially – how did they anticipate our movements? I was convinced we maintained absolute secrecy regarding this operation…’

General Tilly’s massive smokescreen and Spinola’s own precautions during their advance should have prevented any information leaks.

Yet the enemy seemed fully prepared, enacting perfect countermeasures as if privy to their plans.

‘Do they have someone among them capable of discerning our intentions?…Yet there are no renowned strategists of such caliber.’

Spinola was well aware of Prince-Elector Friedrich’s ineptitude – an impotent ruler controlled by his wife and subordinates, incapable of grasping strategic implications let alone penetrating Spinola’s meticulously concealed stratagem.

Moreover, while valorous, Duke Moritz of Lorraine lacked such extraordinary insight – smarter than Friedrich, yet still constrained.

Unable to identify this adversary’s unseen ‘mastermind,’ Spinola could only ponder their elusive identity.

‘Who could it be?…To read our intentions and orchestrate such an ambush. If the enemy possesses such an individual, this crisis extends beyond the ordinary. Perhaps even Generals Tilly and Wallenstein face peril…’

As his troops reorganized, Spinola contemplated this formidable foe potentially threatening the Imperium’s future.

Anticipating at least a day’s delay for consolidation, he momentarily set aside such concerns to survey their surroundings, now increasingly visible as dawn approached.

True to the ‘Lowlands’ nomenclature, Spinola beheld Lorraine’s distinctive reclaimed polders:

Dammed riverlands converted into fertile agricultural tracts by the industrious locals.

Their current encampment occupied one such reclaimed farmland – an ingenious feat, under normal circumstances.

Yet amidst war, such marvels eluded the pragmatic Spinola.

Then:

-Grrrruuurrr…-

“…Hmm?”

“What was that sound?”

A sudden, rumbling reverberation assailed their ears, momentarily bewildering Spinola and his troops.

“An enemy assault?”

“Uncertain…just an ominous sound with no apparent indications…”

Remaining tautly vigilant for a brief interval, their tension eventually dissipated when no further anomalies manifested.

‘Was that merely some odd noise…?’

‘We overreacted…though given our recent ordeal, some paranoia was understandable…’

Having narrowly averted catastrophe, their profound relief upon the perceived crisis passing was palpable.

However, they remained unaware that this false reassurance had squandered their final opportunity to respond appropriately.

-Gurrrrrrruuuurrr!-

“Wha…?”

The resonant rumbling intensified, more persistent and increasingly ferocious – filling the soldiers and commanders with bewilderment and dread, Spinola included.

‘What in the world could this be? Cavalry charging our way? If so, I must engage them directly and buy time…’

Preparing to confront potential adversaries, Spinola marshaled his mana while his troops tensely monitored the sound’s direction, bracing for combat.

Yet their next sight utterly defied comprehension:

“W…what is that? What’s going on?!”

“Wat…water? A flood! We’re being flooded!”

“No…the enemy must have breached the dam! Oh…ohhhh nooooo!!!”

An immense, overwhelming torrent surged toward them, leaving Spinola’s troops ashen with terror.