Chapter 462: The Alliance
In the orc kingdoms, near the regions now occupied by the Utopia, several forces from across the continent had already arrived. They gathered tens of kilometers from their target, massing quietly in the shadow of an unknown threat.
Those who had dispatched troops were, for the most part, kingdoms previously harmed by the Utopia's emergence: victims of the same calamity that befell Aleisterre. The attackers had been beings from within their borders or from neighboring realms, creatures whose minds had been twisted by an unknown principle.
And though the Alliance had agreed to take action against the Utopia, the age of pan-continental unity had long passed. This was no longer the era of the Abyssal War, when every race had stood as one. Even now, the Alliance comprised only half the kingdoms on the continent.
Some were members in name only. Several chose to preserve their own independence, waiting and watching. After all, as things stood, the Utopia had not yet wrought continent-shaking damage.
What truly roused the Alliance was not the destruction that had already been dealt, but rather their scholars' warnings. After observing the strange environment surrounding the Utopia, they had run countless calculations and deductions. Their conclusion was chilling: if the technology to create that half-void, half-material space had been fully mastered, then large-scale expansion was not only possible but even inevitable.
The Utopia's growth, beginning at the heart of the Bloodfang Empire and spreading outward, proved that conclusion true. What once existed only within that empire had now seeped into its neighboring regions.
The Alliance had not intended to launch a major offensive so quickly, but the Utopia's silence forced their hand.
The Utopia had contacted no kingdom, returned no envoys, and established no diplomatic channels. Even those who declared unilaterally that they wished to cooperate received nothing in return.
It was like a mute alchemical golem, exchanging no information with the outside world as it single-mindedly pursued its unknown objectives.
The only scraps of intelligence came from the Church of Nightfall and from the crazed mutterings of deranged attackers who spoke cryptically of a utopia.
It was precisely this uncertainty that unsettled the Alliance. After long deliberation, they chose to strike. This first offensive would probe the enemy's strength—and, perhaps, force communication. Whether it ended in negotiations or in surrender, anything was preferable to facing a threat that hid behind the shell of the unknown.
By a certain hillside near the Utopia's lands, a gray-robed magician used wizardry to survey the distant city blurred by every form of detection. Ordinary magic and material-based probes revealed only distortion. Only through wizardry could one glimpse a vague outline of what was present.
"What do you think their so-called utopia actually is?" he murmured. "Even the gods never claim that their realms are perfect. What gives these people the confidence to declare that they have created a flawless paradise?"
"Who knows?" his companion replied, closing a thick sheaf of notes filled with data. Both were scholars sent from Skyborne City, one of the core organizations represented in the Alliance. "We haven't yet mastered an environment like this. The void is a wild beast. We don't tame it, we merely make use of it. But if they've somehow learned to control it, then perhaps their utopia isn't entirely impossible."
For this opening salvo, Skyborne City had provided a large supply of alchemical apparatus and scholars for auxiliary support. If the fighting were to reach a critical threshold, the city itself would descend onto the battlefield.
"I suppose so. Our masters did mention that scholars tend to lose their empathy the more they learned, the more they resolved themselves to achieve a given goal. If the scholars of this Utopia really did succeed at making the impossible real..."
The wizard shrugged. As a scholar, he could at least understand their mentality a little: if the theory held and the calculations worked out, then the result naturally followed.
"Well, stop trying to empathize with them," his companion said. "The void environmental data is crucial. Record it and send it back to the Academy for analysis. Once the army begins its advance, we'll need to join them."
"Alright."
He transmitted the information through Skyborne City's long-range arcane network, then headed toward the squad he'd been assigned to.
Although this expeditionary force was far from the Alliance's full might, the combined strength of multiple kingdoms made the vanguard impressively formidable.
"Prepare yourselves. The command corps will provide only broad strategic direction. Individual units will be led by their own commanders. We march in thirty minutes."
Magic carried the directive across the entire staging ground. Since the forces barely knew one another, coordinated maneuvers were unlikely. Each kingdom's troops would fight according to their own strengths and formations.
Such was the nature of large-scale war: one could no longer command with the fine detail possible within a single nation. Broad assignments and simple battlefield adjustments were all that central command could manage.
Units from dozens of kingdoms continued their preparations. Alchemical engines brought from home and machinery supplied by Skyborne City would play major roles in the coming battle.
Aleisterre and the Church of Nightfall Church had also joined the campaign. Their numbers were small, but every soldier was an elite. The weakest among them were grand knights, an extraordinary rarity among the assembled armies.
"Do not rush into combat," Gilbert instructed his team. "You're the strongest among us. Stay in human form unless absolutely necessary. Only reveal your true power if the situation turns dire."
The members he addressed looked unremarkable, but were anything but. They were dragons from the Isle of Dragons, mostly reds, with several blacks and bronzes among them. Their destructive potential was unmatched.
"Of course."
The dragons nodded as one in their human guises. Unless they were forced to do so, they would not reveal their draconic forms, an order given by the white dragon chieftain Miselyx.
"Are our instruments ready? I don't want needless casualties. Each of you is a vital part of what we're building. Throwing away lives benefits no one."
Gilbert, one of the old Nightblades, stood as commander of their contingent. Years of experience had let him take a solid step along the path of the grand knight.
"All preparations complete," came the reply.
Gilbert nodded and waited quietly for the command corps to issue the order to advance. He roused his fighting spirit, letting it ripple through his muscles in a precise rhythm, readying his body to unleash his full power at a moment's notice.
"Move out!"
The order from central command rang across the ranks and sounded the first horn of battle. At once, every formation began its advance toward the stronghold of the Utopia.
Knights took point and flanked both sides, shielding the magicians and wizards sheltered within their lines. Waves of empowering spells surged from the casters in each unit, strengthening not only their own formation but all those adjacent as well.
Magical shields rose first within each contingent, then, through the silent understanding of the magicians, merged into one seamless barrier. It formed a solid wall of force that enveloped the vanguard units.
Air currents coiled around the army, lending them speed and momentum. The road ahead—uneven, pitted, and cracked—was flattened and reinforced long before the troops reached it, compressed by earth-based spells until the path was smooth as polished stone. Nothing would hinder the advance of the Alliance.
At the ten-kilometer mark, one specialized detachment halted at once. They made camp on the ground that had been flattened by the army's crushing march. Alchemical machinery was unloaded and unfolded. Alloyed plates clicked into place with sharp metallic knocks, power chambers coming alive with a low hum as components locked together.
One after another, magitech artillery towers rose from the earth. These were among the siege devices provided by Skyborne City and were capable of delivering devastating fire across extreme distances. Under the control of trained gunners, the cannons would carry out precision bombardments according to the directives of central command.
"Attention. Enemy defensive forces sighted ahead. Prepare for engagement. Priority: break their formation."
The command traveled swiftly across the battlefield. Countless Alchemical Eyes, wizardry constructs, and scrying orbs drifted above, before, and around the advancing host, monitoring every shift on the field. The individual units focused solely on the foes before them; central command provided the overarching strategy.
At roughly seven kilometers from the target, the defenders of the Utopia came into view: orc troops with crimson skin. Judging from their gear, they were all orc warriors, the most common class among orcs.
"First wave sighted. They're already in berserk mode. No need for a frontal clash!"
Many berserkers had gathered; clearly, the orcs from every occupied kingdom had been concentrated here. They were fewer in number than the alliance army, but berserk orcs possessed absurd killing power in direct combat. A head-on assault would be the worst option.
The vanguard halted. Each unit's commander reached the same conclusion: against mindless berserkers, attrition through provocation was the optimal method.
Mana surged. Rifts to the elemental planes snapped open, and a flood of elemental creatures spilled into the land before the army, swarming toward the berserker ranks. These creatures were not contracted allies, but rather neutral beings forcibly seized from their home planes, no doubt still bewildered by the sudden summoning.
But berserk orcs could not tell friend from foe. Not turning on their own allies was already a blessing. Against these unfamiliar elementals, they would surely unleash reckless, indiscriminate slaughter. The two sides clashing would delay the defenders and consume their strength.
"Wait, something's wrong. Even though they're berserk, it seems like they can still think for themselves. Be careful!"
An urgent message cut through every channel. The situation was no longer unfolding as planned. On the battlefield, the "berserk" orcs did not charge the elementals. Instead, they fell into orderly ranks and swiftly erected a massive mana shield encircling their position.
Then, chanting in unison, they released a strange spell. The void rippled for a heartbeat as the power of a nearby node was drawn forth, warping the material world and amplifying the spell's reach and intensity.
And the spell the orcs cast was... Control Elementals. These orcs hadn't lost their minds at all. Instead of fighting the summoned creatures, they were capturing them en masse.
Overcome by the spell's influence, the bewildered elementals abruptly turned and charged back toward the alliance army. Many of the magma elementals pulsed with unstable energy and were moments from detonation. If they exploded within the Alliance's ranks, the resulting destruction would be catastrophic.
Then, all of a sudden, alchemical shells plummeted from the sky, detonating across the field before the vanguard. Shockwaves and violent mana turbulence ignited every magma elemental, triggering a chain of explosions that wiped out the surrounding clusters as well. The artillery line positioned behind the main army had saved the front ranks from disaster.
But now, with growing dread, the Alliance's forces had come to realize one thing: their enemies were berserk orcs who had nonetheless retained their ability to think. They were warriors who somehow wielded spells. And the battlefield, still shrouded in mist, seemed to hide more impossibilities yet to come.
