Chapter 195: The War Between the South and North 10

She had always pursued power.

Power to obliterate all in her path.

Overwhelming might to reduce any obstruction to cinders.

And as a consequence…

She delved into the forbidden knowledge shunned even by witches – realms proscribed as taboo despite their lax attitudes toward conventional sorcery.

Now, she unleashed that force harbored within her very being – power to reduce all existence to smoldering ash.

The countless, insignificant mortals arrayed before her…

Frail, worthless insects deserving of utter annihilation.

The luminescent spheres whirling around her form launched themselves with unsettling sentience, bombarding those hapless victims.

Fist-sized motes of radiance – innocuous decorations at first glance, their ephemeral beauty belied their horrific purpose as they descended upon the soldiers.

Then:

“Kkhuhh!”

“Ggguuuaaaahhh!!!”

Agonized screams erupted from every quarter as the spheres’ true nature manifested horrifically.

What appeared mere flickers of harmless incandescence unleashed cataclysmic destruction upon the slightest contact with flesh.

Skin, muscle and bone liquefied – bodies melting and vaporizing like wax in a furnace’s unbearable heat.

Some soldiers shrieked in torment, watching their limbs disintegrate. Others perished howling, entrails evaporating excruciatingly.

The mercifully ‘fortunate’ simply expired instantly, their skulls seared away in flashes of searing oblivion.

Unfettered, the incandescent onslaught tore through Mansfeld’s formation – inflicting catastrophic casualties within moments.

Nor were mere rank-and-file the sole victims of this abhorrent display.

“This…this sorcery…how is this possible…?!”

“The…wards…my defenses prove utterly…useless—khahh!-ughh!”

Mystic wards capable of deflecting cannonballs at their zenith now disintegrated like rice paper before those luminous harbingers.

Conventional spells that might have mitigated such devastation proved hopelessly impotent against this preternatural assault.

In mere instants, the disciplined ranks arrayed across the bridge’s far bank disintegrated into screaming chaos under that lone mage’s remorseless onslaught.

The rearward forces froze, rooted in existential dread – unable to advance further into that hellish crucible.

“That…monster…”

“A mage of such towering might…? How can she wield such power alone…?”

Even the Imperium’s vaunted archmages like Generals Spinola and Tilly paled beside her overwhelming prowess.

Formidable as their sorceries were, clear limits constrained their destructive scope – suicidal bravado amidst the enemy ranks lay far beyond their capabilities.

No mage, no matter their potency, possessed truly inexhaustible mystical reserves or immunity to battle fatigue.

Against fellow arcanists, such reckless solo charges invited devastating reprisals – compelling elite mages to operate with bodyguards and support troops.

Yet this sorceress demonstrated no such limitations, exhibiting neither exhaustion nor vulnerability as she effortlessly overwhelmed every assault while slaughtering with impunity.

Witnessing her terrifying, remorseless onslaught, the soldiers’ panicked minds could only conclude:

Advancing further equaled instantaneous death amidst that charnel abattoir.

Thus paralyzed by primal terror, Mansfeld’s mercenaries found themselves utterly unable to proceed.

However, they remained oblivious that the true threat did not emanate from the wanton destruction before them – but lurked unseen amidst the shadows behind.

“Commence the operation.”

“Understood!”

At Wallenstein’s curt order, his subordinate nodded before launching a signal flare skyward.

Then:

“All batteries – FIRE!”

-KWAKWAKWANGGG!!!-

The next instant, a torrent of cannon fire erupted from the concealed emplacements, raining devastation directly upon the mercenary forces stalled across the bridge.

-KWAKWAKWANGGG!!!-

“AAARRRGGHH!”

“The enemy! An ambush!”

“They were lying in wait…! Kkhuhh-ghakk!”

The merciless barrage tore into the petrified, trapped mercenaries – their momentary bewilderment leaving them unable to discern, let alone respond, to this unanticipated assault.

Had they occupied open terrain permitting deployment and counter-battery fire, perhaps they could have mounted some defense against the incoming trajectories.

But here, constrained to the narrow bridge span with their rearguard still funneling across, any attempt at reorganizing into a cohesive firing line proved futile before the relentless bombardment.

Amidst that inescapable firestorm, their frantic efforts could only yield piecemeal slaughter without coordinated resistance.

At the heart of that doomed formation stood their commander, Mansfeld himself – the inescapable truth dawning upon him amidst the chaos.

“Dammit! What in damnation is happening here?!”

Initially, the bridge had seemed virtually undefended – a tranquil setting staffed by a mere token garrison.

Combined with its commander being the reputedly inexperienced Wallenstein, Mansfeld had dismissed any substantive threat.

Only now did he grasp the reality:

This entire crossing constituted an elaborate deathtrap meticulously prepared to cripple his forces along the Dessau Bridge spanning the Elbe.

Reeling from this revelation amidst the escalating pandemonium, Mansfeld received Christian’s frantic appeals:

“We…cannot linger here! Retreat is our only recourse!”

“Retreat?! We’ve scarcely joined battle – how can we simply withdraw?”

“We have no choice! Remaining here invites annihilation! Behold – that fiend still rampages unchecked while the enemy’s bombardment shows no signs of abating!”

“Kkhh…!”

Unable to refute Christian’s dire assessment, Mansfeld inwardly acknowledged their predicament’s futility.

That monstrous sorceress wielding those incandescent lances outmatched his abilities to confront directly.

The relentless enemy barrage continued reaping a horrific toll amidst his trapped forces.

Any further resistance would only compound the needless sacrifice without hope of reprieve.

Yet despite pragmatic acceptance of their reality, the words could not leave his lips.

Too much depended upon this final gambit – his future prospects hinged entirely upon victory here.

Retreat now, and over two-thirds of his forces would inevitably perish – leaving him bereft of any meaningful power base to rebuild from this ruin.

His ultimate ambitions would crumble into ashes alongside this doomed campaign…

“Dammit…if this is how it must be…”

“Com…Commander…?”

Grimacing with impotent fury, Mansfeld drew his blade – his dire expression sowing trepidation within Christian.