The Dawn of War
The massive two-legged walking turtle-like monster named Diritas opened its jaws wide, lunging straight toward the Habsburg Empire’s towering walls.
ROARRR!
A torrent of plasma flames erupted from its maw, scorching the air with unimaginable heat. The hellish barrage slammed directly into the walls, ready to shatter them into rubble if it connected.
“Prismatic Barrier!”
“Triple Shield!”
“Shield!”
“Wind Barrier!”
Countless mages from every circle chanted in frantic unison, weaving a web of protective spells that blazed with light and power. They fought desperately to turn back the avalanche of plasma.
But Diritas’s plasma flames were simply too overwhelming. No combination of defensive magic could hope to fully repel them.
“Ugh!”
“Aaargh!”
Even the eight-circle archmages who had once unleashed eight-circle spells now felt their combined might strain to a breaking point. Despite pooling every ounce of mana and magic, the backlash hurled dozens of them backward in a shower of broken shields and scorched robes.
Diritas advanced slowly, its footsteps shaking the ground, while the fallen mages screamed in agony. Its glowing eyes locked onto the desperate defenders, and a low, rumbling growl built in its throat.
“Stop it!”
“Block the beast!”
“Fire! Fire!”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Mana cannons along the walls erupted in perfect synchronization, unleashing blasts of fire and wind that slammed into Diritas’s body. The explosions left nothing but scorched patches and small craters. Yet the monster barely flinched.
Diritas was no ordinary creature. Its outer shell was its only real defense; the rest of its anatomy was surprisingly soft. The soldiers had nicknamed it Water Armor as a joke, a term that still made them laugh in grim amusement. The empire had even copied that weakness, granting the beast a few shallow scars across its hide. They were minor wounds, but they were visible. And no one yet realized the truth: Diritas could actually absorb flames.
Its shell hid the secret well enough. The air around it shimmered faintly whenever fire struck, but the bruises and blisters looked painful, not fatal. To the untrained eye, it was simply charred and broken.
Diritas reached the base of the wall. From beneath its elbow it pulled a thick, spike-tipped claw that resembled a greatsword fused to its arm. The moment it swung, the blade of raw power sheared through the stone as if it were paper.
“AAAAH!”
“Fall back!”
Soldiers on the battlements fled in panic, screaming as the colossal monster loomed over them. Diritas reared back, ready to unleash another plasma barrage.
The true horror of its plasma fire lay in its nature. Unlike a simple ray spell, it detonated on impact, spreading devastation across a wide radius rather than punching through and exploding afterward.
The empire had already lost countless soldiers to monsters like this, their suffering passed down through the mages who had survived. Now the walls trembled under the weight of impending doom.
Then, from the clear blue sky above, a gentle song drifted down.
From the heavens descended a group of breathtakingly beautiful figures—men and women with perfect, angelic faces, their bodies clad in flowing white garments that shimmered like fresh snow. They were no ordinary soldiers. Each pair of wings, pure and white, beat slowly as they glided toward the battlefield.
The Habsburg soldiers on the walls stared in stunned silence.
“Angels…”
“They’re angels…”
“We’re saved. Now…”
For a moment the despair shattered. The soldiers who had been ready to die felt hope surge through them like sunlight after endless night. The mere presence of these radiant beings filled the air with something sacred and overwhelming.
They carried swords and spears, but every single one of them gripped a weapon. They had come for war.
ROARRRR!
Diritas’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the angels. With a thunderous bellow it roared its defiance, as if daring the heavenly visitors to try and stop it.
“You wretched monsters born from the Demon King’s malice!”
“I shall purify you here!”
“I shall slay the servants of the Demon King!”
The angels hovered in perfect formation, their voices solemn as they spoke the ancient chant. They looked every inch the heroes of myth and legend.
But the moment the first plasma flame erupted, tragedy struck.
“Kyah!”
“Aaaah!”
One by one the angels plummeted, their pristine forms igniting into flames before they could even scream. Over a hundred of them were caught directly or blinded by the blast, their wings charred and broken as they fell.
“I… I forgot to cast the shield spell…”
A single fallen angel, wings smoking, whispered the words in broken despair. The soldiers on the walls stared in stunned silence, their minds reeling.
“What the hell… idiots…”
One of the mages muttered, voice thick with disbelief. When the angels first appeared, most had felt awe. But seeing them brag and posture only to die to a single well-aimed blast left only cold rage and a bitter sense of wasted potential.
They had been so focused on their own power they never realized cooperation could have turned the tide.
Diritas had been strong enough that a coordinated shield might have held. But the angels had wasted precious seconds showing off, and now half of them lay burning on the ground.
Still, the angels could not abandon the humans. These beings had known only peace. Among themselves they lived in harmony, free from the petty wars that plagued mortals. Even their military drills were mere games—no real death was ever intended. Humans, by contrast, had bled through endless conflict.
Ten years ago the demons had come. The Dark Legion led by the Demon King had torn through the world, and every human alive now carried the scars of that war. Yet the angels had lived in perfect isolation, untouched by bloodshed. Their only experience with true conflict had been the long, uneasy standoff with the Demon World.
Most of the angels present were of the lowest rank—Level 9 Angels. Even the rare Archangels (Level 8) were outnumbered by the masses of basic angels who had never tasted real combat.
They had come here without battle experience, and it was about to cost them everything.
ROARRRR!
But help was finally coming.
Unlike the others, this angel carried four pure white wings—two more than any ordinary warrior. It belonged to the Sixth Rank, a Mid-Level Angel under the command of Power.
“Retreat the wounded to the rear for healing! Prepare for battle, all of you!”
The Mid-Level Angel’s voice rang out like a trumpet. The Lower Angels responded instantly, raising their weapons and channeling their holy power into blazing auras that clung to the blades like living fire.
“Oh!”
“So many Sword Experts!”
Even the lowest-ranked angels were far stronger than ordinary knights. They wielded holy power itself, their very presence anathema to darkness. And this Mid-Level Angel was no ordinary fighter—it could manifest holy blades, the equal of any Sword Master.
“All units! Attack!”
The command fell like a hammer. Hundreds of angels descended in a whirlwind of steel and holy light, slamming into Diritas from every angle. They stabbed and slashed, carving deep wounds into its thick hide while the monster thrashed in agony.
To escape the swarm, Diritas plunged its limbs into its own shell, venting gas, and began to spin rapidly through the air. But the angels had anticipated this. They pressed inside the protective layers, dying without hesitation as they drove their blades deep into the monster’s vital organs.
“Die, you evil monster!”
The Mid-Level Angel’s sword finally pierced Diritas’s skull. The creature’s eyes dimmed instantly. Then—
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion that followed was cataclysmic. Thousands of Lower Angels and the Mid-Level Angel who had sacrificed everything vanished in a fireball, leaving nothing but ash and silence.
The Habsburg soldiers on the walls stood frozen, staring at the carnage. The monster was dead. Yet watching thousands of angels burn for one creature, they could not decide whether to cheer or weep.
“Huff… calm down! Protect the fallen!”
Quickly regaining their composure, the commanders ordered the surviving undead forces that still lingered in the ruins to be driven back. The soldiers had barely recovered from the initial blast.
Only thirty angels remained. They had been forced to retreat and treat their wounds during the first plasma strike, leaving them dazed and confused when they realized they were the only survivors. But they quickly focused on their duty, blessing every soldier’s weapon with holy power.
Arrows now flew with divine energy, and the mana cannons struck harder than ever. The undead armies that had been pushing the defenders back began to crumble.
“It’s working! It’s actually working!”
“Our attacks are connecting!”
“Thank you, Holy Angels!”
The soldiers cheered, gratitude pouring from their hearts. The thirty remaining angels understood the truth in that moment: fighting alongside the humans, even if the odds were against them, was far more efficient than charging blindly.
—
“The damage is significant.”
“Though losses are heavy… we anticipated this much.”
Ji-ho spoke quietly, his voice carrying a trace of regret. The deaths of the angels meant little to him, but the loss of their elite ranks was a bitter price. Yet the blood they had spilled would forge something far stronger in the future.
There was no better way to turn a ragtag army into elite forces than through the crucible of war.
“Still… you seem to have borrowed quite a few traits from Gamera. You must have loved those monster movies, Demon King.”
Griffith tried to lighten the heavy mood with a dry joke, but no one laughed. Ji-ho simply turned away, hand resting on the sword at his waist—the very blade that had once belonged to the Great Archangel Michael.