The War to End All Wars (8)

The Dark Lord’s forces advanced upon the kingdom’s amassed troops, encountering scant resistance.

“Those are banners unseen in ages.”

“Glasgow’s. They’ve unfurled the ones from decades past.”

“Well, Belfast or Glasgow – same wretched lot. Charge!”

“You heard that, lads! Onward!!”

Throughout their advance, they had seldom encountered significant peril.

The fiercest opposition had occurred during the initial outbreak, after which the disintegrating Belfast forces prompted a domino-like cascade of human retreats.

In such circumstances, advocating vigilance inevitably invited bewildered scorn – even from the Dark Lord himself.

Indeed, the unfolding battlefield eerily mirrored the previous conflict.

The sole potential variable would be the Dark Lord’s sudden assassination by a stealthy hero piercing him mid-slumber.

“Surely such contingencies have already been accounted for? An event you have witnessed – undoubtedly anticipated?”

“Who knows? Not my concern, in any case. It shall resolve itself, somehow.”

“We have far weightier matters to address. Such fretting proves utterly futile. Subduing a mere city pales compared to our frontline endeavors, does it not?”

None contemplated that scenario with due gravitas.

Had they not suffered from such negligence during the prior war? Not their prerogative – that fell to the Dark Citadel’s sentinels. What difference could their trepidations make when they actively trampled human lands in real-time?

At this juncture, one might have pondered: ‘Could the Dark Lord’s gradual advance mandate harbor ulterior motives?’

Yet those capable of such insights would not recklessly charge the vanguard.

Those few who had desperately sought to arrest this frenzy ultimately fell silent before the relentless triumphs.

For the ninja-hero hypothesis proved mere conjecture, while their conquests represented tangible accomplishments. The Dark Lord remained their sole remaining deterrent.

“News from my homeland suggests the Dark Lord now urges caution against Glasgow’s forces, at the very least.”

“Bah, report nominal compliance then.”

“Indeed, indeed. The Dark Lord seems excessively apprehensive, though understandably so given his unfamiliarity with humanity. We must prudently supplement his oversights.”

Having swiftly abandoned reformative efforts, the Dark Lord now casually taunted his subordinates – unsurprisingly disregarded.

While decades of wartime restraint had permitted replenishing their strengths, their bloodthirsty instincts could no longer be suppressed upon tasting victory.

“That… Reigun, was it? Seems the human weapon warranting caution bore a similar designation.”

“Other projectiles pose little threat unless striking the head or vitals, but that armament could pierce our bodies cleanly. The humans’ advancement could have proven calamitous.”

“Ah, I too procured a few for experimentation, but they required specialized batteries. Presumably their scarcity reflected their prized status.”

While lingering misgivings persisted, to the Demonic commanders’ eyes, the Belfast forces ahead constituted mere spoils of war.

“Oh?”

“What is it?”

“A human appears to be charging towards us.”

Yet when the reporting soldier gestured, an anomaly emerged – nothing visible in the indicated direction.

“Hm?”

“Now what ails you?”

“It vanished.”

“Bah, you must have erred initially. Compose yourself, for battle looms.”

“No, I genuinely witnessed movement. Carrying what you described as that Reigun weapon, no less.”

They dismissed it as inconsequential.

Now was the moment to reap the abundant victories littering the streets like fallen leaves.

---

No soldier disdains employing the latest armaments.

Simple logic: superior equipment enhances survival prospects.

And it looked formidable too. While this arguably constituted the primary incentive for most volunteers during railgun disbursements, their motivations remained fundamentally straightforward.

“Behold the railgun.”

-Zaang!-

“Oohh……”

“You are undoubtedly familiar with this recent offering from Ceres Martop. Even you ignoramuses must have heard of the magician Edan who spearheaded its development. And fortuitously, our unit is well-stocked with these. Desire one for yourselves?”

“Yes, sir!”

“How regrettable, then. These shall naturally be assigned to the finest combatants among you.”

Yet one oft-overlooked reality was that such elite soldiers would become the Demons’ topmost priorities for elimination.

Each round eclipsed ten standard projectiles in potency. Unleashing their full output escalated the costs astronomically.

And the predominant expense stemmed not from the ammunition itself, but the railguns’ inherent value.

Yet railguns proliferated and exported to Belfast due to their overwhelming advantages outweighing such drawbacks.

Extended range.

And the sheer firepower to penetrate even Demons impervious to crude projectiles.

While their maintenance demands precluded casual wielding, their performance peaks synergized formidably with commensurate skills.

Certainly, these paled compared to the genuine heroes’ allocations, but still warranted reverent acceptance from the rank and file.

“Cease firing! Evaluations conclude here – those summoned, step forward.”

After all, few losses proved as lamentable as inept troops mishandling or surrendering such priceless armaments.

Following marksmanship drills, log hauling, and pit traversal obstacle courses,

The overseeing officers meticulously scrutinized the compiled records to select the preeminent candidates for this esteemed responsibility.

“Private Ull, approach.”

“You have demonstrated exemplary prowess, thus meriting this armament’s custody. Take utmost care to avoid negligent damage or loss.”

And Freugne’s assiduously honed protégé Ull’s inclusion was unsurprising – a decision made weeks prior.

Upon the war’s commencement, he was tasked with either sniping Demons or, circumstances permitting, spearheading direct assaults as a hunter.

Conversely, Erinne’s officially assigned role within the unit was rear-echelon magical support.

A versatile jack-of-all-trades assisting with nursing and logistical duties during peacetime, she undoubtedly excelled in these capacities. Yet as a distinguished Cardiff School alumna, her credentials firmly established her as an exceptional talent.

The mere ‘mage’ designation rendered her an uncommon specimen even among the entire Belfast forces.

Hence, once combat commenced, conserving her abilities proved prudent.

-All personnel, wake up!-

-Combat is imminent. Assume your positions!-

-The enemy is not human. Beware mental manipulation – wear your issued psychic wards, or risk attacking allies if lax!-

Upon the barracks’ clamor jolting her awake, Erinne sprang into action.

Rousing slumbering comrades oblivious to gunfire or incoming artillery.

Guiding the disoriented freshmen who had brazenly vowed to spank the Demons.

Ensuring all requisite gear was donned and attire properly fastened, she finally secured the aluminum anti-indoctrination headpiece before exiting the vacant barracks.

Truthfully, none would rebuke her for fleeing.

Her aunt’s reputation alone would have facilitated impunity, while some likely preferred averting potential complications from her harm.

‘Yet this was my choice.’

A cursory glance revealed Ull’s absence, unsurprisingly.

True to his words, he had seemingly charged forth the instant combat commenced.

‘Then again, loitering seemed unlikely for him.’

In retrospect, he had been an enigmatic figure.

Despite lacking credentials, he somehow attained private rank, yet seasoned officers’ assessments depicted a battle-hardened veteran rather than a novice paratrooper.

“Here, take this. Handle it with utmost care.”

“Understood.”

Erinne accepted the railgun.

Naturally, this was a specialized magic-user variant distinct from standard infantry issues.

Nonetheless, it fell within magical support parameters, for her skills paled compared to Edan’s for conducting pure long-range magical barrages.

“…Enemies within engagement range!”

“All railgun-equipped troops, commence firing!”

Inhaling deeply before holding her breath, Erinne squeezed the trigger.

A resonant zaang – sharper than gunpowder detonations – signaled a Demon’s collapse, initiating combat.