Steel and Mana

Even before dawn had come, Polo was sitting in his pilot's chair, observing the enemy lines through the spotters' shared sight. Just like the howitzers, his mech's magic could attune itself to their marking, and he could see what they saw. The enemy of his home. People who came to destroy Avalon… They had to be eradicated, all of them.

When the thousand-strong army finally began moving, waking from their slumber, his attention was drawn to the mages on their side. The Rook immediately signaled him when magic fluctuations appeared, and he could sense that the formation they used for the camp was finally dispelled. Although he was no mage, through the union with his machine, he was sure they used a shield-like spell to protect themselves. It caused a similar tingling sensation as his own version. As for whether they cast it or generated it by some kind of item, he didn't know. Not that it mattered; after they all died, they could go and look through their carcasses.

Using one of the hills on their side to hide the Rook, remaining still on one knee, the enemy never had a chance to realize they were walking into the red zone. Anyone entering that part of the battlefield was as good as dead. Even if they tried to run, they couldn't do it anymore. It was too late for that.

"Let them keep moving." Echoed Pion's voice in everyone's helmets, accompanied by the constant drumming of the falling rain.

"Backline has been marked." Crackled the voice of the spotters through the radio line, standing in the baskets of their balloons.

"Affirmative. Coordinates received." Answered the captain of the artillery squad.

"Wait for my signal." Pion commanded, as their side was patiently waiting for the perfect moment. "Enemy mages are moving... Rook, it is your turn!"

"Copy." Polo answered with a short, simple recognition of his order as his mind's eye was locked onto the two mages coming to the front of the army. "Sovereign's blessing be upon us…" He whispered, ignoring the feeling of being soaked as the cold droplets were dousing his mech from above.

He couldn't hide his nervousness, but his trust in the machine and inventions of his Sovereign made it possible to overcome it with confidence. The moment the mages stopped, clearly preparing their attacks, Polo activated the jamming spell prepared on the Rook's left gauntlet. It was an incredible feeling because it was like a slight, electric shock running up along his spine, out of his index finger as he watched one of the formations becoming visible to him. He couldn't help but think that this had to be what mages felt and saw when using magic. Seeing the enemy's spell disappear, canceled out by his own hand… It was an ecstatic experience, especially because he wasn't a mage!

Still, there was no time to be complacent, and he went to flex the fingers on the right hand of the Rook, holding onto the handle of the tower shield, turning the still-active protection spell to its maximum. Witnessing the second wizard's fireball materialize and fly toward their encampment was frightening yet marvelous for him, but for his comrades? They had already faced far worse in the Pass. Nobody even flinched on Polo's side when it hit and revealed their shield, splattering like a snowball thrown against a wall.

"Artillery, fire!" Pion roared, and his command was answered with a thunderous roar from their backline, in tandem with bright lightning bolts running across the dark sky above them.

A moment later, their enemy's commanding position, the archers, and their feeble arrows were blasted apart as fiery spells and death rained down on them. Every impact tore apart dozens of bodies, and the muddied earth was flung into the air before the second volley arrived, causing absolute mayhem. In just a brief moment, the air was filled with the scent of earth, rain, and blood. Nobody knew where the enemy was attacking from as they couldn't see the howitzers at all. They could only hear the unnatural thunder and see the arcing fireballs streak through the sky, leaving a sizzling and whistling trail as they burned away the rainfall, bombarding their backs.

"Polo, you lead the attack! Soldiers, don't let anyone escape!"

"OORAH!" Was a unified answer while Polo was already climbing up to his hill, willing the cannons on his back to flip forward, getting seated on his mech's massive shoulders.

"Targets' locked." He whispered, seeing two magical reticles appear where he was focusing his view. Just by a thought, his cannons came to life, letting loose two fiery spells that obliterated hundreds of soldiers simultaneously. While the Dragonfire Cannons needed their overwhelming force to hurt monsters, against humans, they were clearly an overkill.

Just the appearance of the Rook, looking like a hunched, demonic knight, an armored monster that could spew death, was enough to completely shatter the morale of the attacking army. Yet, it was just the beginning. Its sound, as the hydraulics and gears whirled to life, making it move, would have haunted the enemy for years to come. Luckily for them, their lives came to an end before that could happen…

While his cannons switched targets, turning on his shoulders to opposing directions, shelling the enemy formation's sidelines this time, the black-armored elite of Avalon was rushing forward, roaring like angry lions. This time, they were the thunder of this bloody storm. Their speed was above what should be possible, especially in the muddied ground. Every step they took was followed by loud, squelching noises, yet nothing could slow them down. They were wielding bone-made weapons, looking like a black sea of berserk barbarians as they rushed their enemy without fear. They looked like beasts, or as many saw them in the chaos of that battlefield, they were death-incarnate. They were the Goddess Ariana's specters, a flood of black death.

With Pion in front, they rushed through the burning flames, appearing as if they had emerged from hell itself. They slammed into the enemy's shattered, panicking front line, jumping through the burning magical flames that were resisting the heavy rain, creating a veil of white fog over the battlefield. When their armored, hulking bodies smashed into a regular warrior, they could hear their bones crack, their flesh tear, and some even had their heads torn off by force behind the impact. It was only then that the attacks of their weapons finally arrived.

As they swung their swords, axes, and halberds, each wielding a weapon they were most familiar with, they sliced through armor and horses just the same. One frightened, crying soldier tried to raise his old, round wooden shield against Pion's overhead swing, but the Major's blade cut through it like it was made of paper, continuing without stopping and slicing the man into two from head to crotch.

"Get the mages!" He shouted into his helmet's radio, only receiving a simple 'copy' as an answer, but that was enough. He knew his men; he knew what they were capable of, and while they were carrying out his orders, he led his own company straight forward.

His goal was simple: cut through them, secure their backline, and ensure that nobody escaped. No enemies of Avalon should leave once they decide to attack… Not now, not in the future… never.

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"What…?!" Otto cried out all of a sudden, grabbing his head and knocking over his breakfast. Luckily, he was alone, and others couldn't see how heavily he was gasping for air, looking stunned and as if someone just landed a blow on his jaw.

It was a mental strike, hitting him like a bull. As he tried to stand up, he faltered again and fell over, coughing up a bit of blood; his vision doubled for a moment. Of course, he knew why… He had a mental connection to the mages he sent away. They were to constantly transmit their thoughts, informing him of the battle and what they were seeing. They had already confirmed to Otto that the enemy had no mages present, but they could feel that a great amount of CC was indeed present on the enemy's side. Both his disciples concluded that the enemy's fortification had to have some kind of magical reinforcement; they just didn't know what type of reinforcement they implemented yet.

Through a lesser version of the same type of communication spell he had with his Emperor, Otto received constant updates, received their thoughts, and gave orders to probe their defenses. It should have been simple: breaking through their crude fortification and pushing forward. Without a mage, even if they implemented a shield's spell, they wouldn't be able to hold out for long. What Otto was curious about was what kind of shield they had, so he ordered the mages to fire at it. In his mind, they were about to plunder CC, which was always wonderful because even if the shield stopped magic, it wouldn't stop flesh and steel, so the army could march in and massacre them.

Otto expected them to reach at least Lothlia or, with ample maneuvers, cut straight into the Frontier and see this Avalon for himself. Yet, instead, he just received a backlash straight through his connection, signaling that one of the mages was destroyed. Not only killed but his magic was influenced, making it echo so strongly that it hurt his mind, cutting the whole connection between them. With a hurry and a slight panic, he quickly broke the continuous spell with the second mage, wiping the blood from his mouth and nose, afraid that his mind would be injured by whatever was happening on their side.

"They have mages… That can hide from detection! And they have one with anti-magic spells! Empress Mirian… You traitorous bitch! Haaahh... Ishillian is an Ishillian alright. No matter! I will crush it. Next time, it will be me casting the spells; let me see if you can withstand that!"

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Polo was overlooking the battlefield, choosing his targets well, avoiding hitting his comrades. The howitzers had already gone silent, and he was about to stop firing, too, when a sense of great danger came weighing down on him. There was little to no time to think, only to trust his mech and its powers. It had to be correct if he sensed something while merging with the Rook, so Polo let his instincts take control, activating the trojan spell on his gauntlet.

His quick decision saved Pion and probably all of his comrades. As the mage, the same one whose spell was first jammed, got run through by the blade of an Avalonian soldier, his body began shimmering as the magic in him swelled. The warrior who killed him quickly realized what was happening, pushing him to the ground and trying to lay on top of him to shield his brothers, no matter how futile it may be. It was at that moment the Rook's trojan spell activated once again, making the Ishillian mage fail a second spell, even in his death.

"Don't kill the mages! They explode!" Polo shouted, gasping for air as he felt the Rook taking a toll on his mind and energies to cancel the explosion out, but he didn't care. He was already searching the chaotic battlefield for the second wizard.

There didn't need to be a confirmation as the moment the warriors heard his words, those who found the hooded mage, instead of killing him, simply crippled the man. The greatest weakness of a mage was being caught off-guard. Being in the midst of a battle… There was no time to cast spells and the artifacts on him; all the defensive ones were already used up, shielding him from multiple blows and explosions.

There was no time to utter any incantation or focus on summoning a formation, not when his raised left hand was hacked off from the elbow by a hacksaw-looking blade. Right as the blade passed through his flesh, his chest was caved in as the massive soldier shoulder-rammed the fragile-looking man. The pain of losing an arm didn't even reach his brain, and he was already in the air, knocking him out.

What he didn't know, not until he later woke up in custody with a collar on his neck, was that he was the sole survivor of the battle. Everyone else from the thousand-strong army died on that day, unable to step even one foot into the territory of Goldengrove.