One Week has passed in Ghana's Wall and the Ethuilen Elves soon cracked the whip into work establishing cohesion with the Imperial Remnants.

Archmage Sellyine kindly fed the Messaging Birds with crushed nuts as she enchanted Invisibility and Abjuration Spells onto their bodies. They will need all of the energy and protection for the coming trials ahead. Ethuilen Elven Rangers were unparalleled Scouts alongside being Skirmishers, guarding the fringes of the Alfel-Nora or be the tip of the spear when assigned to special Royal Assignments as decreed by their King. But outside of their famed resilience and the truthful strikes of their Composite Bows, what made them set apart amongst their peers is their integration of Magic to enhance their overall team cohesion. Elven Rangers can cloak themselves invisible to set up a masterful ambush or coordinate their allies with arcane Messaging spells to further push the dagger into the heart of their adversaries. He could also count on the light-footed Dale-Dashers, long-limbed and skittish beasts, yet deceptively agile if not of mythical awe. Their fabled title is brought by the beasts' fable-sung ability to leap and cover great distances at blink-like speeds as almost if they are lighter than the soothing winds that were their natural habitat. Such speedy steeds were given to the nimble Gladehearth Knights that favored all things fast and true.

Prince Valorion came up with the most radical of paradigm shifts. His plan is to use more finesse-footed of his soldiers to close enough distance to attack then contract away to avoid reprisals. For this, he will need the lethal grace of the Ethuilen Rangers and Gladehearth Light Cavalry with assistance with his battlemages to succeed for this trial. He will divide his enemies into detail, striking piece by piece of his army quickly and as efficiently as possible. He will bludgeon the Invader's ability to fully bear the full strength of their otherworldly powers until only the very core of the enemy is left for his Human allies to be able to fight off. With this strategy, Valorion hopes he can buy his Sleagian counterparts the time they need to regroup their forces. The more- heavier armored warriors will have to make themselves at home at Ghana's Wall Fortress in the meantime.

Basing on the disastrous first-hand accounts of the Human's current stratagem in contrast to the results of their actions painted these Otherworldly Invaders as Heralds of Fire, able to summon fire from the sky, cast killing blows from ranger upon unsuspecting Slaegian Empire. Mass charges and drawn-out battles of attrition will only condemn more deaths against these invaders. Such losses doused any enthusiasm the once mighty Imperial Legions of the Empire had when they had started this war. That and their hunger pangs as the income of Refugee's from Kalmte poured into Ghana's Wall for the Bastion's sanctuary thus stretching their supplies to the fringes of famished-borne strife.

"These are the finest men I can offer for you milord." Marshall Huguet presented a troupe of capable lads and veterans to the Elven Rangers.

These men, a mixed assortment of Legionary Auxiliaries, Gold-ranked Adventurers and Volunteer Citizens will be the lamp in the dark for the Elven Rangers. At least three of them will be attached to each squad of Ethuilen Rangers who will guide them through the Northern Frontier. Having spent most if not all of their lives in this harsh land, the Rangers should be able with their assistance evade most of the natural dangers Northern Ysanigrad has to offer for them, not including the Invaders themselves.

"Indeed they are fine soldiers." Valorion saluted as he put at ease the coalition forces at his presence. "You have your orders to scout and perform ambushes against the Demonic Invaders south of here. May the Goddess Ghana protect you all and may Widall make your blades strike true."

The Rangers and their Human attache's bowed down as they embarked outside of the Fortresses' southern gate.

Valorion sighed, having toiled himself intensely these past few days establishing his nation's presence proper in Ysanigrad. So many responsibilities and tasks he had to organize the Fortress ready for battle and he could almost collapse. In his mind, he prayed for the success of his men, yet still, her feared that it may be simply not good enough. It was a new enemy after all, not unlike the many studies of his darker kin of the Black Tree Pact, Tavai Corsairs, or Daosne Barbarians as he was the first of his kind to ever encounter such a daunting foe. The Demons of Alboen were purely storybooks in origins. However, unlike the legends, they were very much real. Returned these Demons were much stronger, much cunning, much implacable than in the past. To such a point, that they are capable of resisting Holy Magic. Yet Valorion remained confident that the more powerful Holy Magicks of the Elves can fare better than where the Empire's had failed. For all of this preparation, there was all of his acumen and intuition as a General shall be put to the test. The cards of stratagems he put into play could shift the balance back in the Light's favor. But even more so, he had always wondered, what became of his dear younger sister, Aliathra?

"Ser Huguet?" a cloaked woman pushed herself before their path. She knelt down honorably as the Elven Prince and the Legionary Marshall gave pause. "The Begging Hermit seeks a sip from the Winemaker." She spoke fruitily. It was a Spy Code, that the Roguish Organization known as the Crows speak unique to them to identify themselves to higher echelon clients, the client being Ser Huguet as he had passed mention to Valorion several days ago.

"Tolios had blessed you with a safe journey Mita?" Huguet affirmed the woman's presence before turning to the Elf. "Prince Valorion, this is the fabled Crow Master herself, Mita." Huguet introduced the Master Rogue to him.

"I have come to bring both exciting and grim news." Mita bowed.

"Take off your cloak, have some hot food Crow Master." Huguet gave of the hospitality that was the sanctious last bastion of the Empire to the Crow.

"I… must humbly decline for I bring you urgent tidings, that and I have in my possession, an artifact of power that once belonged to the Invaders." The Crow pulled back, not wanting to bare herself upon her Masters so publicly.

"You have a Demonic Artifact?!" Prince Valorion exclaimed.

Just the two words of 'Demonic' and 'Artifact' was enough to cause the hounds and nearby guards patrolling the

"You should be all at ease, for the Artifact I possess is inert. But worthy of study." Mita reassured everyone present. "Milord, if you may, can you show me to the Fortress's Arcaneum so I may hand over my artifact to the Scholars? I can explain all I have discovered from my travels amongst the desolated lands of our former home." she proposed.

"Are we really going to have one of their own cursed items taint this sacred bastion?" Valorion argued.

"We need to know our enemy milord! How they keep defeating us no matter what we throw at them." Huguet countered the Elf. "The Crows are the best spies in my country and are bound by contract to my liege, Emperor Uldin. I have every reason to trust them, especially their leader." He nodded to the Crow Master.

"You there! I want you to to Summon forth Sellyine to come to the Arcaneum at once." Valorion ordered one of his bodyguards.

Proceeding in due haste the three masters jogged forth to the Arcaneum where remnants of the Imperial College and a plethora of Arcane Materials saved from the fallen College of Magi or of the local archive were kept. Huguet gathered the attention of all learned people to his beck and call as they gathered over a large study desk situated in the middle of the table of the latest discovery on their race to find a way to defeat the Demon's before it is too late.

The Crow Master rummaged through her belongings hidden under her thick black cloak and brought forth to the table a small package wrapped in linen. She unfurled the parcel carefully less she upsets the artifact in question as the Scholars held their breath.

"Behold, the Weapon that the Demons used to destroy us all." She revealed Samantha's Pistol that she had managed to whisk away from the Share-Holder that very week before.

"A weapon? You have managed to loot one of their Metal Wands?" Huguet pointed.

"It is not a wand. But in fact, like my Dwarfen Handbow to be exact." Mita corrected him. "Load it with some bolts, point at wherever you want to kill, and then shoot it out."

"Like the Cipazlish Crossbows the Sting-Eye's shoot out from?" Findrum raised.

Mita nodded, confirming his guess.

"As in, this weapon of theirs that has been slaughtering our men isn't of Magic? Some kind of Crossbow? Preposterous!" Faithleann, the Chosen One exclaimed disbelievingly.

"No, the Rogue is right." Archmage Sellyine entered the room. She promptly approached the table and began to examine the alien device with just her two eyes alone. In all of her long decades of service, she can attest with absolute certainty that the device shown to her is non-magical in nature.

"Does any of you have any Breastplate Armor I can demonstrate to you?" the Crow Master asked. "I know how to use it."

One of the guards unbuckled his armor from his torso and gave it to Mita, she immediately then placed the Breastplate aside on an empty space within the room and cleared everyone and everything away from its vicinity.

"Behold! The Invader's Power!" she held Samantha's pistol in one hand, remembering the triggering mechanism's similarities to her Dwarfen Handbow. With a simple squeeze, she released the trigger. Firing three times towards the dummy Breastplate. Each shot pierced the Armor leaving a hot piping entry and exit cavity in their wakes. It was as if the steel was made from the softest of butter.

A loud bang echoed inside the room, its reverberation echoing through the cracks of the aged fortress. Some of the Scholars and even Faithleann, Findrum, and Huguet himself covered their ears as the sting on their heads slowly subsided from its singular oratory shout.

"That… that was definitely one of the weapons the Demons used to kill many of us!" Faithleann easily affirmed. He could never forget the roar that thunderous wand sang out. "Such Unholy Power!"

"Not power, not of magicks, as I said… this 'Metal Wands', this 'Thunder Wands' or whatever we or they call it… was made by hands alone. But of great… if… not… exceptional craftsmanship. Just like my Handbow or the Cipazlish Crossbow. Metal Crafting! That not even the Artisans of the Keelan's can compare." Mita explained, her mouth throttling with every revelation she shared to her peers. "Such weapons, of smoke and thunder, weapons that need kill without skill, without Magicks, without honor."

"And these 'Wands' are equipped by All of the invaders?" Valorion turned to Huguet. "That it was simply just… made? Put together like some kind of cog work… contraption?" he asked.

"These 'Guns' as the Invaders call of their weapons are just as created like it, if not more powerful than what I brought before you." Mita could only hesitantly nod. "With all of these Weapons, such 'Dishonorable' tools of war brought them victory against us. And, to share my wisdom in all of my Years as the Crow Master, 'For in Victory wipes away all Dishonor.'."

None could believe such apocalyptic divination. Weapons that can destroy so much, with so little.

"Nowhere is the part, at least for me I would quip with something witty in all of this. Just as little Street Urchin's like me would know." Mita snickered. "Believe me, or don't, but this 'Wand' here… this tiny little piece of metal that shot through that Breastplate as it wasn't even there? It is their weakest of their many weapons."

"How did you even managed to steal one of their weapons Crow Master?" Huguet asked.

"I was lucky, to say the best I can speak off milord. When I had faced off against none other than the Share-Holder herself, who was the former wielder of this Wand!" Mita announced.

"Divine Fire and Waters!" Faithleann gasped. "This weapon was once wielded by the Corrupted One?"

"Yet how does that explain the other greater feats the Invaders used to decimate us?" Valorion asked. "My fleet was bombarded by Javelins of Light by them before I reached here."

"But just another of their weapons. But I can say, and may Aralaya cut out my tongue, that these 'Javelins' you speak of, they come from the Steel Cloud. It thunders great flocks of Dragons from its mouth. Or should I call it by what the Demon's Tongue call of it. A 'War Ship'." Mita attested, dread flocking into her heart.

"That 'Cloud' that heralded to us back at the Capital… was a War Ship? A FLYING War Ship!?" Huguet exclaimed. Sweat and eyes leaving outwards from their natural states.

"You surely do not Jest do you Mita? I know you for years. Yet if that was truly War Ship, why didn't it destroy us right then and there? We had all the time to prepare ourselves for it onslaught, yet it waited for us until we are at our strongest. That doesn't make any sense to me and the Marshall, less we are missing something important." Petur raised his hand. Doubt besieging his war-weary mind.

"Whether you believe still of their Magicks or not. Or Alboen's return or someone else, this scourge is unlike anything that any of us had fought before." Mita nodded. "But that is where you still overlook one crucial thing. That is who flocks to their banner rather than ours." Mita said.

"Who? That traitor Prince Clovich?" Huguet asked.

"Not just him, but the people of Tyr Rian, the Terrace Dwarves, Ladui Silverdane, the Daosne. Even your sister Valorion, Princess Aliathra." The Crow Master testified. "People you, that we have all wronged for many decades."

"Preposterous!" Valorion protested. "All we have done is what is best for Our People. Her education, her upbringing her raisings. How dare you insult the Lareththor name in front of me! To think she would, cast it all aside for a Pact with those Demons?! Why dare raise such accusations of… of… inadequacy against the likes of us Paragons?" he rebutted Mita.

"I asked those same questions to Samantha when I confronted her. Although I failed to capture the Share-Holder, only able to steal away this possession of hers." Mita pointed to the Gun on the Table. "She told me of so many things when we fought."

"You speak what you know of the Invaders well Crow Master." Faithleann clapped his hands. "I expected no less from a Master of Roguery… or someone who turned Corrupted themself!" Faithleann accused Mita.

"Silence you brat! If I was Corrupted, why would I go still journey back here and tell you all of this?" Mita defended her actions. She could not be cornered just as this, if they even lay a malcontented finger on her, then it shall be her head spiked above the gurneys for all of those that remain to see. She was better than this, she has to be. Nothing like her Sire, Iris. She was readying her legs to bolt at the first sign she could be in danger.

"For once, I have to something I am in concert with Ser Garmhaic over. What you speak is too inconceivable to be true. Especially about what you said of my beloved sister! We have treated her well for all her life so she cannot side with the demons like that! I am starting to suspect that you are trying to mislead us." Valorion stated.

"Silence!" Huguet ordered. "What you two speak of is unspoken for about the Crow Master. She would never come back here if she was corrupted."

Both Faithleann and Valorion lowered their visages. Knowing that they had little footing to stand on by such a wild accusation. Mita in erstwhile sighed quietly beneath her ragged cloak in relief for such a close call.

"Crow Master, perhaps your travels have tired you greatly. It must have taken its toll on you hasting yourself to us with this vital knowledge about our enemy. You have sacrificed so much. You stared into the abyss and yet you came back stronger. Not unlike poor old Karliah, Little Hill and Haringpoint. Take heart that compared to everyone else here in this room. You are the most irreplaceable member of this circle. You are dismissed. Go enjoy yourself with a warm meal and a warm bed courtesy of the Fortresses' Caretakers. You have earned it."

Mita bowed and made her leave. Sighing in relief that she managed to hide her dark secret, and that some of her colleagues still trust her. She must not endanger them, however, even after claiming her ration of warm vegetable soup and bread from the Fortess' Mess Hall. Discreetly taking her meal to her bed, or at least she just as equally discreetly moved her resting place in a more shadowy area to hide from other prying eyes.

"It's warm food… yes… please…" Mita's stomach growled as she placed the nourishments onto her lips...

Only to regurgitate them out of it. Her body now rejects the trappings of handmade food that she used to indulge. No longer, to her abject horror can she enjoy the warmth of a stovetop pot.

Only Blood can ever fill her now ravenous stomach.

[-]

"What of the Demons now Marshall? We still need to find means to defeat them." Valorion asked. "Are you sure maybe there is no such enchantments or magics within this Artifact your Master Rogue had obtained for us?" his eyes gazed back to his Archmage Lieutenant for a second reexamination.

Yet even, still, the counsel of the Archmage Sellyine sealed the questions into law. The Demon's Weapons are not of Magical nature but yet they may as well by its sheer manufactured esotericity of it all.

A cacophony of chatter erupted from those gathered. Many were stunned into disbelief of the Crow Master's findings. Some shed doubt, but others slowly, if sadly came to the acceptance that what Mita spoke is truth. Many fell into despair, realizing that the Demons have managed to find a way to resist Holy Magic by using exceptional craftmanship instead of magicks plucked from the omnipresent Aetherium. Others such as Huguet pondered what they could do with this somber discovery.

But Valorion resonated differently.

He laughed, if not cackled just as loudly as those three gunshots that rocked the walls of the Fortress' Arcaneum, much to the confusion and dismay of his colleagues. Even Sellyine was left appalled, only capable of furrowing her brow, not daring to raise a questioning voice to her master.

"What is the meaning of this Prince Valorion?" Huguet asked him.

"Now is not the time for Ale-and-Song!" Findrum reprimanded.

"If the Demons 'made' these weapons of theirs with no need of magicks. That means then we can break it!" He explained. A great haughty guffaw escaped his throat. "Especially as you said, the Demons do not honor the glory of melee combat, the filthy clods. If they only wish to fight us 'Dishonorably' then 'Dishonorably' then we must face them."

"How do you propose we can face them?" Huguet asked.

"Listen closely. This is something the Rangers learned when fighting our blackened Kin back at Alfel Nora…" the Elven Prince readied to say his plan.

[-]

The lands of Bevroren were a grim place. Filled with foggy lands, muddied pathways and graveyards upon graveyards of Palsas littering the northernmost frontier of the crumbling Slaegian Empire. The seasons of the North were different compared to the facile-weathered South. At the present, the land is in a state of upheaval from serene taiga producing Warm Season to the maelstromic wasteland of the Cold Season. In between such changes to the equilibrium of climates, the worst of the Autumnal Drwg Mynd displayed its fullest power. The land became a quagmire for those of heavy foot and even of lighter weights scramble to stand upright. Forests reduced to uprooted piles of lumber and swarms of Gatse Flies bred hedonistically at their hovels.

Valorion's Elven Rangers, even when they could easily push through these practically swampy lands still had to contend with their feet getting dirtied by all of this seasonal attrition. Thankfully, the Elven Prince's Intuition resolved this problem by having his mages stabilize the quagmire paths with a few cantrips of fire, baking the land to a hard enough state to allow a thinly organized caravan to push through the quagmire through themselves through the taiga land. Having rendezvous with the Town Mayors of the Yellow Marshes and Imogen's Rock to secure the supplies Ghana's Walls needed. Additionally, the situation on the ground, although dire was much clearer for Valorion's eyes than any table map could ever truly speak of.

"Stay downwind and move slowly." An Elven Ranger ordered his compatriots.

Descending into a stealthy crouch, the Elves readied their staves and bows, not daring to glow the magical runes embedded on their enchanted weaponry less they give themselves away by their enchanted bow.

"If we move slowly enough… we could be able to str---" the Elf's head ruptured into a fountain of blood as a volcanic wound exited his chest.

"Over there!" one of the Demons cried out. He was spotted atop a muddy hill with a challenging view of the approaching Rangers. Their omnipresent sight managing to spot their attackers. He began to fire his Metal Wand towards them as he and several of his small warband descended upon the muddy hill. Sailing down the treacherous decline as balletic as the Elven Rangers themselves, albeit slower.

"They have found us!" cried one of the other Rangers. Despite the setback, he could not allow his comrade's death to be in vain. He gathered his courage and regrasped the initiative. "Evade their sight!" Magic enraptured his hand as he cast a spell on himself. The rest of his companions following his lead.

Even with their powerful weapons, magic or not. They still require sight to be able to strike them truly. Mirror Image was the spell they cast as their bodies refracted brilliantly in kaleidoscopic light. Illusory doubles that mimicked the Elven Ranger's bodies both in body, sound, and action. They have lost the advantage, but not the skirmish, the Elves now tasting battle with the dreaded Demons of Alboen sprung their hearts into a vigorous burst.

The Mirror Image that cast acted as a pseudo-armor for the Rangers. Figments oftentimes managing to sacrifice its prismatic existence for the life of a Ranger who evasively returned fire with their Enchanted Bows back at their attackers.

"Konas behold this shot." The Ranger gave his adage, a small prayer to He Who is Able, Konas the God of Athelticsm. The Elf locked his gaze upon one of the Demonic Warrior who lay fire upon his fellow brothers and sisters. The Arcane Forester held his breath, emerged from his Illusory double, and let loose his bow.

A True Strike was achieved. Right between the Demon's throat, the Elven Arrow pierced the beast. He collapsed, dropping his Metal Stave that now lay now inert into the muddied Taiga ground.

"They got Parker!" one of the Demons yelled out as the monster turned to see his brethren perish.

"The Invaders can bleed! If they can bleed, they can be killed!" the Ranger cheered. He reloaded his Arrow and began to open fire.

"Fall back! Fall back!" a Demon in a panicking voice cried forth as his legs turned around along with dozen pairs more.

"Neneth's Sacred Land is angered by you! For you are not welcome to tread on it!" an Elven Mage pursued the retreating Invaders. Casting his magicks, the ground began to slowly liquefy the harsh terrain into treacherous life.

The mud became porous, creating pits and grasping mires. Such conjurations by the Mages began to violently cling to the fleeing Demons' legs, halting their retreat and leaving them defenseless by the rain of Elven Arrows from the Ethuilen Rangers. Once again, they struck them down true as almost like practice targets.

Prince Valorion's hypothesis was beginning to prove right. A Foe drunk in the victory of thousands of dead Humans would likely be arrogant and begin to grow itself overconfident. Surprise, although not as perfect as hope was able to re-obtain the initiative away from the Demonic Hordes who are now forced to go into the defensive.

"Sally forth!" the Elven Prince ordered the Dale-Dasher Cavalry for pursuit. With the superior maneuverability of his Elven Rangers and his Cavalry, they are able to close the distance and angle themselves into a pincer attack above the rolling Taiga Hills of Bevroren, using said hills as both concealing screens and advantageous skirmishing positions.

The Light Cavalry easily flew across the muddy land with lethal grace. Using their Composite Bows and Sabres, their hooves thundered to crush all that is Unholy on their warpath.

"Rally here! To me!" One of the Demons cried out to his routing kin.

Their Adversary drew their line on the sand now, by one brave if not worthy foe of Prince Valorion's attention. The Outsider rallied his fellow warriors along the bannered-beasts of metal that the Azure-Ringed flag that the Invaders brought forth in their blasphemous conquest. Valorion could not allow this to pass. He could not afford his enemies to recover from flurry and draw the battle out. His tactics required swift and decisive breakthrough rather than an elongated clash of which his Dale-Dashers and Rangers would not fare well again. He needed to dislodge this foe before he could regather his composure. He was already caught flat-footed now, time to push him down.

"Fire on the Cavalry!" the Commanding Demon ordered. "Blast'em!"

Large skeletal beasts burst its deadly breath upon his soldiers supported by the rallying soldiers. Wherever the gaze of its head turned, Curses of Exacting Wounds burst forth from Valorion's Troops. For once, Valorion cursed himself slightly, he could have chosen to strike better at Night than midday whilst the Malynaris shone above them all. Several of their Demon Mages began to cast pyromantic spells, slinging their arms great blasts of smoke that erupted the soil whenever the Rangers decided to cling themselves too closely together or hugged whatever hovel they hide upon. Now Valorion's Dale-Dashers are forced to pull back to the cover of the Hills less they become butchered by the Invader's Evil magicks. Any lesser equipped commander would have falter, but there were still a few cards that the Elven Prince has he can still play.

"We gallop around them, behind these Hills for cover. Cut down and lasso any of the stragglers. Give no quarter." Sweat, the thrill of battle poured out of his bronze helmet as he told his Retainers.

"What of us?" A Ranger asked his Lord.

"We must break them off from their position. Be swift on your feet and may your arrows fly true. Use any means you can to disrupt the Demon's Line of Fire. Illusions, Fire, Cover, their weapons are like Crossbows, avoid their gaze!" The Prince ordered.

The Ranger nodded and hurled himself back into the fray.

The strong point that the Invaders dug their heels onto was formidable at first glance. But at seventeen of their Warriors, there were several exiguous gaps in their lines of defense that the Elves could slip the noose into their foe and tighten it. Dodging from piles of muddied pits, collapsed tree's and just the sheer luck one of the Demon's Weapons striking one of their Illusory Images were the Rangers able t come closer for the killing blow.

"We have to silence their Staves!" A Ranger gritted his sensitive teeth, he could barely keep his hands steady whilst grasping his short sword.

"I have an idea. Keep their weapons away while I cast my Spell." A Mage volunteered.

His fellow brothers-in-arms obliged, scrambling to their feet they nocked their arrows towards the Enemies whose attentions were gazed upon the ones who posed the most imminent of danger, of Lethal intent. Little did they realise that the true danger was of much more, subtler of applications.

"Despair ye unclean Serpents of mine, may your glistening skin be liketh unbind!" The Mage spoke word for word of the Illusion Spell, Phantasmal Putrefaction.

The Demons began to feel a convicting taint creep into their bodies. It took a moment for the Invaders to realize, upon a passive check to their bodies did they gasped.

"A-A-Ah… They are using Chems!" one Demon danced above his comrades from his braced position. To his eyes, he saw his body decay rapidly in maggot-filled boils. "Masks!"

"I-I am on fire! Get it off of me!" another cried as he took off his shirt, feeling the rapacious kisses of fire coiling onto him. His body began to cauterize into flaking crisps as he dropped onto his back and rolled away the flames.

All over the enemy's position, the Soldiers saw their bodies suddenly become rotting flesh rending them asunder inside out. But despite their painful tears dripping down their eyes, it was all fantasy, a ruse, a trick, an Illusion Spell just as devastating to receive as the real bubonic hex of its likeness. To some of the more wizened, it looked like their comrades are being attacked by an invisible foe as they don't seem to be physically damaged by whatever they are describing what is happening to them.

"Get a hold of yourself! Stay with me!" one of the Demon emerged from his cover to aid his 'dying' comrade.

The Mental Implantation had worked as intended. With the enemy again left unbalanced from their 'injuries', the Elven Rangers closed for the coup de grace.

"Hold the line! HOLD!" the Demon Leader steadfastly yelled.

The battle had devolved into a Melee, as the Elves and Demons fought hand in hand combat. Drawing their ashen blades and wands to defend their persons in brutal close quarters. Though valiant the Demons fought to Valorion's respect, they were simply outnumbered twenty-to-one. Ferociously as they fought with their swords and axes, they simply couldn't contest with the Elven's superior swordsmanship. Several of the Invaders, seeing that they have no way out, decided to honorably take as many of them to Tivna's Garden as they could. Casting the last of their Pyromancy, they self-detonated themselves, taking several of the Elves as they could to Tivna's Garden.

"We need some of them alive!" One of the Elves reminded his comrades. Knocking down one of his foes with his matchless skill in Swordfighting.

With the Battle Lost, the Demon Leader retreated to his Metal Beasts, hiding behind them as he cast his spells to a desperate call for aid. "We are under attack! Call for rein—"

Yet lo and behold, now emerging from the Hills now that the deathly gaze of their weapons had broken was Prince Valorion. In one fell stroke of his saber, the blade decapitated him. The Demon's Metal Beast tried to unleash its breath but the Gladehearth Knights, with their superior agility rained arrows onto the beast's head, ending its frightening terror with a pin cushioned monster.

"They bleed!" Valorion raised his sword triumphantly. "They can be fought! They can be beaten!"

Now was the day, now was the hour that the Alliance of the Light fought back. And in all of his honesty, that felt too easy.

[-]

"Report! Report! Bronco-Three?!" Major Holyfield cried out on the screen of his holo-projector that connected to the NETT Warrior Comms system.

He was for a moment ago having a friendly Sitrep if not casual chat to the 222nd Force Recon Platoon of the 88th 'Wolfhound' Mountain Brigade Lieutenant McCarney. He and his Platoon were the northernmost team of Rangers, some of the finest infantry in all of the UFEAF to be stationed as the eyes of the rest of Operation Northern Sweep. They were a hardy, self-sufficient bunch of Scout Rangers who were the veterans of Major Holyfield's star-decorated career as the Federation's Spear.

"Sir! Lieutenant McCarney… j-just flatlined!" One of the Communication Officer grimly broke out the disturbing news.

"Flatline? As in K.I.A.? Killed?!" Sweat for the first time in this campaign fell down his ebony skin. Yet, the cold glow of his Officer spoke the truth.

"Sir, we are getting multiple alarms all over Point November from all the Recon Platoons. The Natives have enveloped their position. We lost contact with several in Point Kilo, Mike, Oscar and Romeo. They are cut off." Another Communication officer reported.

"Patch me into the H.Q. of 88th. Stat!" Holyfield ordered. He could not believe that the Natives could be able to catch him so flat-footed now. He had them all on the run to their Fortress for the past few weeks, his Rangers being the tip of the dagger. An assault such as this, was something completely different to what his men are known to fight off with.

The Holo-Projector transitioned, as the Comm Officer uplinked the Aurora's communications with the 88th Mountain Brigade's Headquarters Platoon.

"This is 88th HQ! I-I… they got Captain Barredo! The… My men are dead, dying or getting captured! I … I have been exposed!" cried out a voice filled with sickly panic from Holo-Projector.

"Exposed? What do you mean you are exposed? The Kalmte Plague?" Holyfield questioned.

"Not the Zombie Virus! Elves! Ethuilen Elves! Thousands of'em, are casting some kind of Sickness Plague Magic on my men! It's a god damn light showdown here! I think they got me! We need Support now!" the contact answered.

"Support." Holyfield shifted his brain. He needed to turn this setback around quickly. "Get me some Fliers to Napalm their positions now!" the Major demanded

"Major, if you have forgotten, All Air Assets have been grounded for Routine Maintenance due to acute stress of Flight Sorties for the last few weeks. Additionally, all Artillery Companies are in a state of re-armament and/or maintenance. They cannot be fully deployed to their full strength fast enough due to the difficult terrain brought forth by the Slaegian Drwg Mynd." ISAC's AI Visual Hologram appeared before Major Holyfield inside his Command Center. "Additionally, Orbital Bombardment is also unfeasible. The fighting has intensified to such a degree that we risk friendly fire."

"Then get me Stryder Group! They can deal with Magic right? I want a relief force to get them all out of there before they get Overrun." Holyfield pulled back to his second tier of options.

"Negative Major, Stryder group and other such 'Tolkien' Companies are tied off in dealing with the and instability of the civilian riots at the East right now. They will not make it in time." ISAC stated.

The Major cursed himself for his hastiness, his Marines had already begun to overextend themselves these past few days, insisting on keeping the demanding deadlines he had a reputation of meeting. Whilst his colleague Colonel Polonsky contained the plague and post-invasion partisanship behind him with Stryder and similarly structured mixed squads of UFEAF and Native Personnel appropriately codenamed 'Tolkien' Companies. His overly enthused whip-cracking of his soldiers to meet those ambitious deadlines has caused him to spread his force far too thin and at a dire time where their support was caught between their routine maintenance of Air, Armor, and Artillery. He had thought the Enemy was going to consolidate their position in Ghana's Wall and in his wishful haste, he wanted to already have his Ullr SPG's be pounding the Fortress by the week's end. But alas, this unexpected offensive by the Natives has thrown his schedule down the drain.

"Then who do we have?!" Holyfield yelled. "Tell them to get off of their camps and counterattack."

"We have Reserve Elements from the 53rd Engineering, 119th Airborne, and the 3rd Laniyea Rifle Battalion. They were assisting with the Rear Echelon's in paving the way for Roads for our Heavier Assets sir. We can send them in now." ISAC answered.

"I remember them… 3rd Rifles. Prince Clovich wanted to have at least some of his forces actively fighting whilst held back at Haringpoint." The Communication Officer nodded. "Compared to the other of his forces, these guys were the most combat effective, especially back at Tifrait, Neuogonia to be exact. Held the line to cover the retreat."

Holyfield paused for a moment; it wasn't the best of Counter-Reactionary Forces he could muster due to the limitations of the rough terrain on his land. But they were mobile, and he couldn't afford to have 88th Mountain Brigade get wiped out or worse captured by those Savages.

"Patch me into their Commanding Officers. All three of them!"

[-]

"Jus' o'here dis…" Beynon helped up the rest of his squad over an arduous journey through the mud and cud of the Drwg Mynd soil.

He along with the reinforcements from the allied 53rd Engineering and 119th Airborne were given the onerous assignment of marching through the mire-plenty land of Bevroren to break out what remains of the 88th Mountain Brigade. 3rd Laniyea were the only actively participating Native Forces during Operation Northern Sweep upon personal request by their Lord, Prince Clovich to have their combat retraining be done near the front lines rather than peel off to the much milder climate of the Southern Heartlands. Not that the Laniyea Sargeant had anything to complain about, he had learned several new tricks both on the field and at training the more he got used to his 'Hamgenach' Gear. Today is great day to prove his worth again.

"Gelyn!" one of his men hurled himself into cover. A torrent of enchanted arrows flowed through his men's direction pinning them to some nearby rocks.

"Dere'arrer are gonna hit'us." One of his men sweated nervously. The squad was being sniped from afar by the famed Ethuilen Archers, their aim as true as was their illustrious reputation of unparalleled marksman. Disciplined was held check by Sergeant Beynon's heroic presence that would have otherwise panicked lesser men.

"Mirror, Achubbwyd." Beynon ordered one of his men, the Squad's Combat Life-Saver to pass him his mirror.

Passing along the silvery shard to him, Beynon peeked over the pocket size mirror around his corner.

"Five'o'em, by the trees." Beynon whispered.

"What-t'wo we'do?" his men asked.

"Walmpijp, yer-- Walmpijp Ladislao." He told his squad's resident Grenadier at the ready. His BF-77 Standard Issued Rifle was attached with a piece of special equipment below its under barrel. Called a 'Grenade Launcher' that shoots specially designed bullets that explodes anything whilst firing from an arch. It is fondly nicknamed in the Tyr Rianni's native tongue as the 'Walmpijp or 'Smoking Pipe'.

"How far ar'dey?" Ladislao prepared his Rifle.

"Eh… seventy garregs from'ere." Beynon re-examined his mirror at the best of his estimation.

Licking his index and middle finger, the Grenadier checked the wind speed and direction and accounted his training with the Walmpijp to the right angle of 70 garregs or roughly 106 meters.

"Ready lads?" The sergeant told his men.

The 3rd Battalion nodded. They were ready to fight the Elves. To fight and die for their dreams, aspirations and families once again. They may be a formidable foe, but they are much more resolute in their passions. That Beynon can attest to.

"Un, dau, tri… Goda!" Beynon yelled.

Ladislao fired his Walmpijp, the Arch of the Grenade's trail zooming across the distance towards the Elven Ranger's firing position, immediately disintegrating them in a hail of fragmented metal and ashen mud.

Valiantly, the Laniyea charged like a Lancing Spear deep into the death grip of the Ethuilen Elves.

"3rd Battalion… uh… Tarw-Five… this is Spearhead." Major Holyfield's voice echoed on Beynon's Radioman's Shoulder. An attaché of Junior Officers from the UFEAF alongside an additional rifleman who help advise and observe each Laniyea Ymosiad Squad's actions. "88th Brigade H.Q.'s are being pinned down a klick from your position North of you. Their communications to me just cut off. You have to double time now or they will be in danger of getting wiped out! Hurry!" he ordered.

"D-Darlhao! Yes!" Beynon gave his affirmative, checking his BF-77's ammunition before trudging his men forward.

Quickening their pace, the Laniyea Soldiers raced up the next two hills over. Their ears hearing the clashing of battle the closer they progressed through the one klick they had to cover.

"Tawr-Five? I see you over there! Managed to get through all that mud now. Got my 'Big Bess' here ready to shoot anything down." Hailed an Arabian Land Cruiser that managed to sift its way through the Drwg Mynd. Its horn was mounted with its Remote-Control Verdun Chain Gun crowned proudly like a silver nimbus atop of its head.

It was 'Big Bess' and Tawr-Five that had reached 88th Mountain Brigade's H.Q. Platoon that grey afternoon. Or what was left of them.

"Shit, were glad to see you." A relieved Corporal Piedmont greeted Beynon's Tawr-Five.

The Camp was set atop a small hill overlooking a panoramic view across all directions. It was little wonder such an assault nearly overwhelmed them, the doctrine of the 88th Rangers being to build any of their H.Q. for camouflaging stealth rather than defense. There were several palisades however littered across the hill that were designed to house observation decks that were doubly used by the 88th Mountain Brigade as strong points for the Camp's makeshift defense when the Elves attacked.

"Hows'sis… I … Status!" Beynon asked him. Still, struggling with the linguistic intimacies of the reformed Tyr Rianni Laniyea.

"Laniyea right? Clovich's boys?" The Ranger sighed, it wasn't the most ideal of reinforcements but he was a lost ship now in a storm and could not turn down any form of aid right now, not like this. "S-Seven men standing, we have wounded in this tent." Piedmont guided the Laniyea soldiers to the red-crossed labeled tent.

There were piles of wounded and dead scattered amongst the sickbed, some still barely holding their weapons or were being forcibly strapped into their beds as they violently shook their bodies. Strangely, those men were not seemingly looked like they were harmed in any conventional way as Beynon and his squad's Achubbwyd observed.

"They are all over my skin!" Cried the Mountain Brigade Ranger as he fluttered his hands across his body. His skin-baring many self-inflicted scars of scratches as he tried desperately to remove his invisible affliction.

"Where is it?" Beynon's Achubbwyd asked of him. A Herbalist by heritage, conscripted into the Laniyea by Prince Clovich's orders he had a respectable knack for all kinds of wounds and maladies. But alas, his skills in medicines were checked to be wanting today.

"Wait… I-I know wha'sis happenin' to-ya." Beynon stepped forward in his place. He had recognized what is truly happening to this poor man.

"You do? Please, get these damn scabs off of me!" the Ranger's eyes rayed with hope that relief was about to come.

"Aralaya calm Thidar's tempa' an'mine for'sis." Beynon cracked his knuckles and with a quick punch to the jaw of the Ranger. Knocking the man out cold.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Corporal Piedmont rushed to Sergeant Beynon, restraining him with a lock on his arms.

"Some of yer' men has'een struck by Magicks! Eh… Something Edmurl had taught me, when I was with da Bewaren Guards. If some Gwarch's, Witches would cast Illusion Spells to make us see things… not-real." He explained with exasperated breath. "Clovich's Wizard tell'us, either we cast Dispel from a Ddewin or just knock the poor lad out and he'll wake up ol'fine."

"Are you saying I just need to punch them out cold to get them to stop?" Piedmont's eyes widened in disbelief. "All just a bunch of Illusions they are suffering from? Son of a bitch." He let go of Beynon to absorb those words.

"You live in'er world filled with Magicks do'yer?" the Laniyea Sergeant returned his question back him. "Zeyn'no."

"I can't believe this shit. I better hope Holyfield forgives us for this." Piedmont reluctantly submitted. The Native was superior into the regards of magicks in Gliesia, even if he is not a Mage himself. "Where the fuck is that Elf Woman when you need her." He grumbled.

"Tawr-Five! We…" a static filled transmission erupted from Beynon's Radio. "Mul--- Foot Mo--- Converging. Support is---- Hold!"

"Ze Magicks! It's making ze Radio… angry." Beynon commented. He cursed himself, interpreting the broken wordings of the disrupted transmission as a sign of harrowing trials to come.

A loud horn echoed ominously from outside of the tent.

"They are coming." Piedmont steeled his nerves. "Those giant kangaroos! They probably gonna try and wrangle my men again. We must defend the Tent until more reinforcements arrive." The Corporal told him.

"The C-Clay-heart Knights! One of the finest riders of the Ethuilen Homeland."

"C-Can we even beat them wachtmeester?" Asked one of his Soldiers.

"We'mus fight'em! Protect er'friends! Day helped us, we'mus help'em back." Beynon raised his rifle at the ready as he led his men outside to the palisades surrounding the H.Q. Camp.

"I'll guard your left flank, keep an eye on the right!" Big Bess radioed Beynon.

A thunderous roar of hooves shakes the ground as the loud war horns of the Ethuilen Gladehearth Knights encircled the ruined Campsite. They readied their Lances and their Bows for the final blow to the 88th Mountain Brigade once and for all. The gleaming of their forest-colored armor spelled a green inferno across all of the hearts of the Laniyea.

"Hatega Bayonnes!" Beynon rallied his men. Fixing his knife atop of his Rifle to transform it into a spear. The rest of his men following suit, their Halberd Rifles transforming into polearms in one methodic movement.

"Choose yer targets." Beynon raised his hands, readying for the right moment for the Gladehearth Knights to come close to them, just as they were about to fire their Arrows. "Aim… Feu!" he yelled.

"Get'some!" Big Bess roared as he revved up his Chain Gun towards the Dale-Dashers in his side of the battlements.

The Crack of Rifle fire sped across the battlefield, its lightning struck snakebite piercing the Gladehearth Knights emerald breastplates. Their timely attack prevented the Arrow Barrage from being actualized as the Dale-Dashers startled their swift paws from the loud noises of the Halberd Rifles.

"We cauw'em!" a Laniyean Reifflwr smiled ecstatically.

Another war horn rallied the bewildered Elves, rallying them from their initial failure. They pulled back a safe distance away from the line of sight of Beynon's Rifle.

"Are they retreating?" Piedmont asked.

Beynon peered over with his Binoculars to observe the pulling Cavalrymen, only to see them suddenly turn around as a wave of dozens upon dozens of Elven Rangers and their allied Slaegian Auxiliaries emerging from the hills north of the camp.

"Cachu!" he cursed. "De'y comin' for a'nau attack!" Beynon eyes widened.

"Hold the line for three more minutes! We can just see you now!" Major Holyfield blared over the Radio.

"I am on my last mag!" the Ranger gritted. "Use Grenades! Grenades!" Piedmont cried as he burst fired his MAR-A5 Rifle.

The Elves began to climb up over the Palisades, on the warpath to fully overwhelm the Camp once and for all. But Beynon stood firm. He unpacked the little ball of explosives from his pockets, his fellow countrymen calling them Castle Breakers or Kastelbreker of how they can dismantle fortified formations so thoroughly. Remembering how to use the deceptively destructive device properly. Unpinning the ring-shaped trigger from his hand and readying to toss his grenade over the palisade. Sweat furrowed beneath him as he allowed the Grenades fuse to cook for a few seconds of which allowed the Elves to continue to gain more ground up the hill.

"Now!" Beynon yelled.

Their grenades flew, like little stone rocks slinging below to the enemy below. The Elves and their Slaegian Allies easily dodge the meager attempt of fighting back, smirking at the thought that the Kastelbrekers at first glance was just a last-ditch attempt to defend themselves, slinging stones to pelt their advance. They readied themselves for another triumph against the Demonic Presence in Bervroren…

Only for said 'stones' to explode upon the ground they climb. Kneecapping the assault to a fraction of its strength as the Elves and Slaegians fell down the hill in muddied masses.

Several of the Gladehearth Knights managed to break through the craters of imploded mud however, their weapons now in melee range.

"Here eat this!" A Ranger threw his Flashbang Grenade onto the ground, stunning several of the Cavalrymen, to buy an opening for Beynon to attack.

Much more experienced in close quarters than their Federation Counterparts, the Tyr Rianni brawled under equal grounds against the Elves. Using their inherited disciplines, legacies when they were Bewaren Men-at-Arms for Prince Clovich against the Hordes of the East. Using tightened formations, the 3rd Battalion of the Laniyea Reifflwrs fell upon, divided and ultimately conquered the Gladehearth Knights, eliminating their greatest strength, Speed.

"Haa---!!!" Cried Piedmont's voice as he was suddenly grappled by a Lasso from a rapacious Gladehearth Knight. Anchoring himself over a fallen log, Piedmonts legs held on for dear life. He did to not wish to be dragged away to an unknown fate of whatever the Natives do with their prisoners of war.

Quick on his feet, the Laniyea Sergeant, leaped towards the Dale-Dasher and presented his bayonet onto the beast, piercing its throat upon the knife's edge, with a crack of a single shot of his Rifle for good measure. The Knight fell down to the ground, and just as she was about to raise her sabre.

"Men! Formation! Cut'em down!" Beynon roared as he ordered his men to emerge from the Palisades and engage the Glade Hearth Cavalry in Melee combat.

"Tawr-Five this is Spearhead!" Beynon's Radio sparked to life once again. "Reinforcements have arrive! Magic Disruption is being lowered for now. Do we have any Survivors from the H.Q.?" Holyfield interrogated.

"This is Corporal Piedmont of the 88th Mountain Brigade. We have… seven men standing, twenty-three wounded, twelve K.I.A., and nine unaccounted for. Over." The Ranger grabbed the Radio and replied.

"My God…" Holyfield was set back to a loss of words how to respond.

"You'nee leave outta'here now Peeyad-mauwn. Go get yer' men oua'here." Beynon prodded the Ranger.

"Interrogative. What is the status of the rest of the Brigade?" the Corporal asked.

"A Shit show I can tell you. I am not going to have to add you in a bag too son!" Holyfield answered. His voice sounding more of a order than a response.

"Sergeant! They have a Dragon!" cried one of Reifflwr.

"How the hell did that thing get past us!? I... I didn't see any big birds on my Radar!" Big Bess roared on the radio as the Dragon began to harry the retreating 88th Brigade between them and salvation. Drawing the fire of the Reinforcing UFEAF Soldiers weapons towards it, allowing the remains of the Gladehearth Cavalry to try and circle around them.

"We'mus keep it busy! Split'off, Ladislao, Kymer, Sakhel, wih'me. We'mus hol'it off'fer everyone. Get the wounded ou'here." Beynon ordered.

"But Meester?" protested his underling. But Beynon pressed him to obey his orders.

With his three most faithful of companions, the Reifflwrs confronted the Dragon. Its azure hue announcing itself to be a fearsome Lightning Dragon. Cracking thunder in a display of luminous superiority. The Dragon let out a terrifying roar as Beynon that can shatter the hearts of men of lesser courage. Gladehearth Knights, mounted on their brave steeds descended upon them to protect their Draconic Companion.

"Knock out ze'Day-Dashers!" Beynon ordered.

Private Ladislao, Private Kymer and Corporal Sakhel aimed their Halberds towards the Steeds. Rifle fire crackled the air just as the Storm Dragon roared in for the attack.

"Quick on'yer feet! Lightning Bolts!" cried Ladislao as he barely twitched mere inches away from the Lightning Dragon's spontaneous attacks. They were living embodiments of the angered waters made manifested into a personified Typhoon of fury.

The Reifflwrs by the skin of their own grit, divine protection or just having the dice roll favorably did they fought. Cutting down the Gladhearth Knights with their Guns and Bayonets until all that was left was the Dragon itself.

"Getz'it to draw'er breath! Expose its belly." Beynon yelled from cover. He needed an opening, knowing from Old Lore that Dragons and their Venom-tongued cousins the Wyverns live and breathe Mana around them, they can raise their bodies to perform a devastating Elemental Breath attack of their respective affinity.

His three companions opened fire strafing at the opposite side of him to drag the Dragon's attention away. Bravery was in their hearts, yet just as Bravery was in those of the Elves who fought against them, Bravery alone was no shield against the Dragon's electrifying magicks. One of its Bolts striking Private Kymer dead with a clean shot at his center mass, his heart stopping instantaneously as he collapsed to the ground.

With the battle against this little insectoid menace pelting him with their teensy tiny metal shards, the Dragon raised its body upwards, ready to wipe the rest of these nuisances with its Breath. Just as Beynon wanted it to do.

"Meester! Now!" Ladislao shouted

"Die beast!" Beynon roared as he charged towards the Dragon's exposed belly, its softer if silken-like skin now east for his Halberd's Bullets to pierce through. It was also where the oh so sensitive vital organs the Dragon held dear that would surely incapacitate or force it to retreat.

But as his Bayonet touched the skin of the Dragon, to Beynon's astonishment, he didn't feel any mass nor ballast of impact. Instead, he phased through the Dragon's Belly for it wasn't the Beast's blood that he drew, but of an Elven Mage. The life on its bright blue eyes faded just as his magic disintegrated.

The 'Dragon' had been a clever Illusion by the Elven Mage to draw the fire of the UFEAF's Fire away from the Gladehearth Cavalry. For added, authenticity, the mage had also mimicked the wild magicks a Storm Dragon by casting madly Lightning Bolts from out of its illusory body. The Lightning attacks a last ditched effort to protect itself from the brave Laniyea Reifflwrs. Such jolts of wild electricity would have been produced if it needed to defend itself from say a wild bayonet charge. An insane card to play not many of even the bravest of adventurers dare to attempt to do against such a tyrannical beast. Especially if one had studied Dragon Behaviors and the mixed attempts of those hunters to fight them. The 'Dragon' in this case, was a phantom terror. Conjured for the sole purpose to shatter those of weaker wills behind the mask of the most regal of magical creatures.

As Beynon pulled out his Bayonet from out of the Mage's body, his radio echoed once again.

"Tawr-Five, you got fifty-plus foot mobiles converging on your position. You are in danger of getting over run!" Big Bess called over.

Stepping back up on his feet, Beynon turned tail alongside the rest of his surviving men, Ladislao, carrying over Kymer's body.

"Forget ze'body! Gett'is tags an'run!" Beynon ordered.

Dropping Kymer's lifeless corpse to the ground, Ladislao grabbed the Name Tags hung around his neck and bolted off with the rest of his Squad.

Dodging magic and Arrow Fire, the Laniyea squad reached for the safety of the line of Land Cruiser's and Arabian Armored Personnel Carriers. Landing at the first open hatch of the Arabian mechanical steed they found, Beynon and his men huddled themselves amongst the wounded and battle-toiled soldiers who were forcibly crammed inside the beast's belly well above its intended capacity.

"Dropping Smoke!" the APC's commander yelled out as he closed the Hatch of his vehicle. The Smoke Dispensers, attached next to the mounted Verdun Chain Gun of his Arabian dispatched clusters of shielding smoke to mask their escape. As they galloped south to safety with the survivors of the 88th Brigade and their cracked assembly of mixed-mash rescuers in tow.

"This is Spearhead! Report! I repeat, Report! I comms are coming back online now properly. Give me a Sitrep now." Major Holyfield radioed ominously on the APC's Radio as they sped off, under the cover of the encapsulating fog away from the predatory grasps of the Elven Rangers at last.

[-]

"I will need more than just more money sir!" Doctor Mahelona answered. "Just housing the Sacred Heart in my Lab underground here is already holding up all of my available resources as we speak. I am going to need more people, more equipment. Hell! I may even need a Second Lab!" he argued his case to Major Holyfield.

The Reports on the Battle of Bervroren were worrying to the UFEAF. Magic, once thought to be an asset with remarkable applications as shown in Project Hecate, but of no peer to their current Technologies has drawn their ire to a major nuisance. With the near route of the 88th Mountain Brigade and the deployment of newer forms of Magics being cast against them, the twin Commanders of the Gliesian Pacification Campaign paid along with their grievances towards the bewildered UFEAF. In addition to their dual-presence is Prince Clovich and Agent De Sardet.

De Sardet was rather bored of such a meeting, lazily leaning back to sneak a few chatting pics of his incessantly worried husband about how he was doing working abroad with a few reassuring words that he was doing fine at work and appreciated the Muffin's that came from his Care Package. Prince Clovich however, was ecstatic to hear of the bravery of his men being commended by Major Holyfield during the battle but shared the same concerns the Commander had over the Elves.

"Then so be it." Thomas Sight nodded. "A second Laboratory to accelerate the development of all 'Gautama' Class Developments."

Being online with the big wigs back home on Earth about the situation in Gliesia. News of captured UFEAF Personnel as testified by the Survivors of the Battle unnerved the likes of Prime Minister Bousquet and the High Command Commission. So far, such a disaster has not been public knowledge just yet as the situation developed.

"I don't care what it takes. I can only keep it quiet for so long before the likes the rest of the Castellum hears of this." Said Michel Bonnet the Third, Minister of Defense and the First Vice-Ranked Chairman of the High Command Commission, Prime Minister Bousquet's number two when it comes to all affairs of Military in nature. "This must not happen again."

Luckily, they were able to track their distress signals having been transported northwards from the region towards Ghana's Wall. This news however was much to the disgruntled frustration of both Major Holyfield and Colonel Polonsky.

"I… Uh…" Mahelona choked at the suddenness of influx of disposable resources. "I will need… at least three months to accommodate… it all then Minister." The Chief Scientist bowed.

"You have 30 Days. And no more." Michel Bonnet added. "You are dismissed." He let go of the Chief as everyone else in the Meeting stood up to take their leave.

"I only dismissed Dr. Mahelona." Michel voice raised slightly. His authoritative prescence chilled all of the attendants to the bone. "We still have one final business to take care of. Regarding our… lacking a much more fanciful term: 'Magic' Problem."

"Minister, just have my men kill off every Mage that isn't already in our custody already. No quarter." Holyfield slammed his clenched fist onto the table.

"I understand you want heads now after what they did to the 88th, But we have to play this smart. It is with certain to say we have underestimated the depth of cunning of the natives tenaciously are now fighting." Polonsky counseled. The enemy was effectively backed into corner. Such a precarious position had made them only be more unpredictable and sly with their means to attack them now that their so-called 'Crusade' has turned to its Darkest Hour.

"The Colonel is right Major. We have underestimated the Natives. And in our arrogance the 88th paid dearly. At the same time, We will need to accelerate our studies of magic and… quite radically so, we must not close ourselves to the avenue of recruiting mages into our ranks. We can't just rely on Stryder Group or the 'Tolkien' Companies such as hers to solve all of our magic-related problems. Can we now?" De Sardet raised his case "The good Doctor Mahelona will need all of the information we need about such secrets this… this Magic possess. And I do believe we have the resources and means to conduct it." De Sardet proposed.

"Explain?" Clovich asked.

"Well, we have the Magi College's surviving Library at our disposal along with the collaboration with magical experts such as Iris, Aliathra, Karliah and King Martaine. Us tapping into what we can get with the Vampires will help Dr. Mahelona accelerate in our understanding of Element-120 once they get settled in with Clovich's Ammelioration. Furthermore, my connections with the Tavai Smugglers has tapped into leads into the local criminal underground of Ysanigrad, beyond the borders of just the Empire, Oui. We can easily set up a network of informants and 'specialists' across the Continent. Again, all under the table mind you, non?" De Sardet said.

"Are you saying my Amelioration will now share table with the likes of those thieves and rogues? I mean the Vampires we can at least… somewhat placate their… eh… Tastes. But you want me to invite those Villains into here?" Clovich stood up, alarmed by such a scandalous proposal to his otherwise gleaming-cleaned reformation movement.

"Again, unofficially. Via middlemen, all mostly under my strings. I have some experience making friends after all. You don't have to worry. All you need to do is go act all squeaky clean and all while I deal with shady side of things." De Sardet defended himself.

"They delivered with the Mana Crystals after all we needed them, Clovich. That and they spotted the Elven Fleet Movements for us too when our Sattelies were down for maintenance." Governor White reminded the Prince. "They are so far, proving themselves to be alright on my book."

"Are we at an understanding Prince Charming?" the Intelligence Agent sweetly questioned.

"This better stays out of my cloak." The Prince replied. "I warn you, if they even sully my name with their dealings in any way then I will have my Guards hack off their heads and hang them next to Devicco." Blood, vile and foul, bellowed out of his tongue as Clovich drew his line in the sand.

De Sardet shrugged. "Fair enough." He couldn't weasel his way through that.

"Moving onto the next few more subjects before we go…" the Minister of Defense moved along the conversation. "Consolidation of our power. Whether we like it or not, the Federations Soldiers, at least mostly from Major Holyfield will not be here forever. You, Prince Clovich will have to start expanding the Laniyea sooner if not now that you are already having your existing rosters going through training."

"Oh, a little birdie hanging by the grapevines did I remember that Lutheor Mirrien and those Orcish Mercenaries you hired? Let us say I may have also tapped into a few… under the table sort of affairs with them too." De Sardet smiled coyly.

"Orcish Mercs?" Thomas Sight asked.

"I… I am expanding my Laniyea to replace my losses from the last battles with tramorwyr, non-Slaegians. Terrace Dwarven Refugees and Orcish Mercenaries from the Aitesae Desert." Clovich explained. "You managed to talk with them too I haven't even seen you being anywhere near them. Not with the way you always dress." The Prince enviously eyed the Intelligence Agent's gawdy choice fashionwear of primarily summery colors.

"I have my ways Prince Clovich. You should thank to whatever Gods you pray to that I am on your Side." De Sardet nonchalantly swayed his head. "But I can say for now, I am beginning to start tapping into some really interesting finds. All dark, deep and untapped!" he excitedly tantalized everyone in the room.

"That explains the sudden spike of Manpower on the last recruitment census. But why the population Census in Tyr Rian hasn't changed." Thomas puckered his lips. He was curious of all anomalies and now such a question has been answered. "Can you trust the Orcs however? Your people did say you fought them every now and then." He pressed the Prince.

"The Aitesae Dessert is much more… vast in its complexities than just warring raiders and City-states Ser Sight. Ser De Sardet seem's to already getting himself deep with its many intrigues." Clovich nodded. "They will prove themselves to you be very capable. I assure you."

"You are the expert on them. I would love to see this." Polonsky smiled.

"Speaking about Soldiers…" Holyfield raised. "We still have a stronghold to take out. That has… MY men trapped inside it by now." He reminded everyone.

"With those Elves in play with their fey tricks and all. We need to start thinking like them. I can take a quick trip to the College of Magi next time I go there." De Sardet answered. "In the meantime, while me and Doctor Mahelona gets those 'Gautama' stuff we will need to get our best men we have on Magic forward. Hate to say it, but we have to throw Samantha and Stryder Group into the fire once again."

De Sardet did had to mentally write himself a note about King Martainne however, half the Science Staff are already threatening to throw him to the nearest shower if he doesn't literally clean up his entire Lich Act. Reliance on perfumes to cover his undead scent is just the Gliesian equivalent of masking bad body odor with choking amounts of deodorant.

"A big and magic-booky fire. With smokes, mirrors and sparkles and shit." Holyfield huffed as he drank a cup of water to cool his head that raced with his disquietedness. "What next, I am getting my men Hypnotized to kill each other now?" Such a vast amount of possibilities of what Magic could do to his men grayed many wrinkles upon the Major's veteran nerves.

"Captain Rose is good soldier. Holyfield, if you had seen her before you would arrive you would have turned her into a SEAL the moment you set your eyes on her" Polonsky reassured him. "We just need to keep monitoring her development."