86 - Volume 7 - Chapter Pr

At this point, they can only be considered heroes. 

—FREDERICA ROSENFORT, 

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE BATTLEFIELD 

PROLOGUE 

MIST OF THE BATTLEFIELD 

The people called it the wyrm’s roost. 

The sacred peak, Mount Wyrmnest, stood at the lofty center of its mountain range. This crag’s precipitous cliffs were terrifyingly steep, challenging the heavens with their jagged peaks. It divided the continent into north and south, making it a strategic point in terms of trade routes. 

The mountaintops, with their jointed-pillar shapes and snowy crowns, seemed to pierce the sky. Aside from the people who lived in this harsh terrain, ibex, eagles, and lynx also made their homes in these mountains. 

Those perilous cliffs were the essence of the country. An impregnable, transcendent, natural fortress. 

“Hawkeye Seven to all pillboxes. Second wave approaching.” 

Scouting intel from the lookout bases located along the mountain range was transmitted electronically to the defensive formation. 

“Enemy composition confirmed. Those hunks of scrap metal never learn. More Grauwolf. Lure them into the trap and crush them from the flank.” 

“Roger that.” 

A steel-gray countercurrent avalanched toward them. The Legion advanced from the foot of the mountain, which was firmly under their control, to the peaks, which they had been denied access to. A large force of Grauwolf members scrambled up the cliffs, the sharp tips of their legs stabbing into the rock, using any and every foothold they could manage. 

The Tank types, Löwe, had no hope of traversing such steep terrain, to say nothing of the Heavy Tank type, Dinosauria. Löwe were made for fighting on level terrain and were greatly limited when it came to firing at vertical angles. It’s for this reason that the armor at the top of their turrets was thinner. As a rule of thumb, armored weapons generally had a hard time traversing high altitudes. 

So the battlefield was dominated by the lightweight, high-mobility Dragoon-type Legion units—the Grauwolf. 

The first obstacle they had to brave was the steepness of the slopes themselves, also dotted with dragon’s teeth. After having the speed they usually prided themselves on impeded by the difficult climb and iron fences, they were met with minefields—which were meticulously reset by combat engineers after each battle. These explosives scattered lethal rounds of buckshot at all who were unfortunate enough to trigger them. 

And the moment the Grauwolf were forced to halt their advance, they were mowed down by relentless machine-gun and autocannon fire from the pillboxes stationed around the area. The shots tore through their light armor and into their internal mechanisms, creating induced explosions in the rocket launchers they carried on their backs. 

But these autonomous weapons knew no fear and advanced in spite of the difficult road ahead. They continue their climb, paying no heed to the rain of fire and steel pelting them from above. They stepped over the remains of their allies, sometimes even crushing them underfoot as they charged their enemy. 

True to the cold efficiency that the Legion had overwhelmed humankind with to date, the Grauwolf were a menace. To complement an agility and mobility that exceeded that of any human, or any Feldreß on the side of humankind, they were armed with high-frequency blades capable of tearing through a tank’s frontal armor and a six-tube anti-tank multiple missile launcher on their backs. 

But to the Legion, the Grauwolf were no different from the Scout-type Ameise or the self-propelled mines. They were essentially foot soldiers—rank-and-file units that were perfectly replaceable. In other words, no matter how many of them were destroyed, it was by no means a blow to the Legion. 

“Dammit…” 

The pillboxes in the front row had finally taken a hit. The surviving mechanized infantry escaped the Grauwolf’s clutches, carrying their autocannons and heavy machine guns in hand. The term mechanized infantry once referred to soldiers driving in motor vehicles, but in this land, they were quite literally mechanized soldiers. 

In order to increase maneuverability, they wore fortified exoskeletons that were linked directly to their nervous systems. This mountainous country’s population was small, and being a soldier was considered the most important profession. As such, all soldiers were equipped with this special armor. 

The Alliance of Wald, a militaristic country located along the peaks of the southern region of the continent. They upheld individual independence as their national policy and saw their citizens as the sword that defended the nation. Where the very peaks that made up its territory also served as its fortress. 

“Third battalion to Hawkeye Seven! Temporarily abandoning third position and falling back!” 

“Roger that, third battalion. You can leave the rest—” 

“—to us.” 

A shadow descended over the battlefield. It crossed the southern areas of Mount Wyrmnest, soaring above the mechanized infantry and protecting them as it went. Feldreß emblazoned with the Alliance’s GOAT CREST L landed one after another. They had four bestial legs and stabilizers resembling long tails. 

The part that resembled an animal’s back carried this unit’s main armament, and from the tip of its shoulders extended fanglike wire anchors. They were as wolves blending into the forest’s cover. Their armor was painted in a brown camouflage pattern, and they had a pair of optical sensors that shone yellow like the eyes of a beast. 

But the units’ most prominent features were the metallic skeletal appendages that extended from sides of their large cockpit blocks, reminiscent of a griffin’s wings. 

“The Mk. 6 Stollenwurm, I see. You made it, armored unit.” 

“Of course, comrade. Rally your forces… We’re going to turn this around.” 

The next moment, the Stollenwurm rammed the advancing wave of Grauwolf members. Moving in a nearly perfect vertical angle—in what was effectively a free fall—they descended on the Legion. Using any foothold they could, they leaped down like mountain lions. If their four legs weren’t enough, they would fold their bodies and use their auxiliary legs to grab onto the cliff face, and before long, they intersected with the enemy. 

Cannons roared. Any Grauwolf caught in point-blank autocannon fire or buckshots dispersed. Stollenwurm were optimized for melee combat—which was the norm in this mountainous terrain—and were armed with adaptable, swiftly rotating short-barrel turrets. 

Even the agile Grauwolf were at the mercy of gravity and couldn’t maintain the lethal speed they usually possessed during a climb. They were also a lightly armored unit to begin with. And so they were blown away, internal mechanisms and all, by the Stollenwurm, like pieces of silk slashed by a sharp blade. 

One Stollenwurm with the Personal Mark of a musket rifle stood head and shoulders above the rest. Much like their infantry, the Alliance cherished its limited number of Feldreß Operators, and so they equipped them with sufficient armor. And in order to increase the unit’s mobility, the Stollenwurm was furnished with gliding wings. The units would soar by riding the winds blowing through the bases located near the mountain peaks. This unique tactic allowed them to reach the surface and the front lines of battle faster than would have ever been possible on foot. 

All they did was glide, and the wings themselves had no means of propulsion. Because they were only meant for rapid descent, they were useless in combat. As such, the wings would be spread out and deployed when necessary and folded up otherwise. 

Typically, they would catch a gust of wind that would curb their fall and then change course, moving with the wind and reflecting the grace and freedom of a swooping eagle. But this unit was different. The moment the wind blew, it would move with startling accuracy, as if it could see the air currents. 

A transmission came in from a pillbox far above them. It had been recovered from the enemy. HQ promptly ordered a retreat. The Alliance couldn’t allow itself to chase its enemies too far and lose precious Feldreß and operatives in the process. 

“Anna Maria, acknowledged. All units, cease hostilities and return to base.” 

Replying to both transmissions, the Operator of the Stollenwurm with the musket rifle mark let out a small sigh. As always, operations were half-baked, anticlimactic, and left much to be desired. Feldreß cockpits were typically cramped no matter the country or model, but the Stollenwurm’s was exceptionally tight. It had no optical screens, instead transmitting information directly into the Operator’s corneas through the head-mounted display installed over the fortified exoskeleton. 

Most of the cockpit was taken up by the armored skeleton and the fixed parts that doubled as dampeners. In order to ease the burden on the Operator and ensure their safety because of the extreme acceleration of the free fall and the impact of the landing, all Alliance Operators were equipped with armored fortified exoskeletons when operating Feldreß. 

One of the Operator’s consort units caught up to the unit with the Personal Mark and sent them a transmission. 

“As impressive as ever, Captain.” 

“Anyone can pull this off with enough experience, Master Sergeant.” 

“This heroic princess of ours says some pretty tough things, eh?” Another subordinate cut into their exchange, and voices of laughter filled the transmission. 

“So we’ll be transferred after this operation, right…? And our next destination is in the Federacy. With those…” 

“Yeah.” 

They were the ones cast aside by their homeland and denied their names and human rights. But even still, they fought through a battlefield of certain death. They had then proceeded to encroach upon the Legion’s territories and destroy their trump card, the Morpho. After that, they annihilated two Legion production bases located in the Republic’s north and in the depths of the United Kingdom’s Dragon Fang Mountain. 

Lastly, they captured the queen. They were a group of true elites. The Federacy’s mightiest blades—combat-crazed berserkers who were given shelter for the time being. They were raised on the battlefield, tempered by the fires of conflict and whetted by the ravages of war. They were monsters for whom death was a way of life. 

…Just like me. 

“The Eighty-Sixth Strike Package. A unit made of the fearsome Eighty-Six.”