Red Skulls Mercenary Camp – Southern Plains of Northreach. 02:00 AM.
The world slept under a blanket of pitch-black darkness. The moon was obscured by thick clouds, leaving the vast border plains in total obscurity. A gentle night wind blew, carrying the scent of dust and dry grass.
In the midst of that darkness, thousands of small campfires flickered in the distance. The Red Skulls mercenary camp stretched out like a city of tents. Sounds of drunken laughter, coarse singing, and the clinking of beer bottles drifted faintly through the air. They were celebrating a victory they hadn't even earned yet, certain that by tomorrow morning, their cannons would crumble Iron Hearth Castle in the blink of an eye.
The guards stationed at the outer posts were dozing off. They weren't alert. Why should they be? Their enemy was merely a poor noble with peasants armed with pitchforks. No knight would dare attack the elite forces of the Iron Empire in open terrain.
They were dead wrong.
About a kilometer from the outer lines of the enemy camp, a massive shadow was creeping closer.
Strangely, an object as large as a house moved in absolute silence.
"The enemy's Magic Detection System has been neutralized," Elara reported, her nose bleeding slightly from the strain on her mana. "I've scrambled their guardian crystal frequencies. On their radar, this giant tank only registers as... a passing rabbit."
Riven smirked inside the cockpit. "Good work, Mage. Now, let's wake them up."
The TITAN MK-1 (Iron Duke) glided over the knee-high grass.
Its mana-steam engine was completely shut down. Its heavy iron treads did not grind the earth harshly.
On the left and right flanks of the tank, Elara and four of Northreach's best wind mages walked with tense faces. Their hands were raised toward the Titan, cold sweat dripping from their temples. They were using Partial Levitation Magic—not to make the tank fly (which was impossible), but to reduce its weight by 90% and dampen the sound of the treads against the ground.
Behind the tank, dozens of Iron Mercs pushed the steel hull manually. Their breath was held tight. A single cough, a single metallic clink, could blow their position.
Inside the pitch-black and cramped cockpit of the Titan...
Sir Riven sat in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the cold control levers. He could see nothing outside but darkness.
"Distance to target?" Riven whispered via the internal radio.
In the Gunner Seat, Sir Rianor was looking at a faint green sonar radar screen—technology looted from the Underground City.
"500 meters," Rianor whispered. "We're entering the Kill Zone. Elara is at her limit. Prepare to ignite the engine."
Apost the rocky hills surrounding the valley, five motionless shadows lay prone.
Ghost Squad.
Borch peered through a primitive Night Vision sight (utilizing light-gathering crystals). He saw the enemy cannon operators playing cards beside their Howitzers.
"Target locked," Borch reported via radio. "Five primary operators. Three field officers. Awaiting the signal."
Back to the Titan.
Rianor turned the capacitor dial in front of him. The power indicator needle moved upward in silence.
"Rumi, Searchlight status?" Rianor asked.
"Capacitor full, Brother. The Xenon bulb is ready to detonate some retinas," Rumina's voice came from the Engineer Seat in the back.
Riven took a deep breath. His heart hammered in his chest. This was insane. They brought only one tank and five snipers to face five thousand soldiers. But in modern warfare, numbers didn't always win.
"Alright," Riven whispered. "Let's wake them up."
"Three... Two... One..."
"SWITCH ON THE SUN!" Rianor bellowed.
Rianor slammed the large red button on the control panel.
CLICK.
HUUUUMMMMM...
In the middle of the pitch-black night, a "Star" was suddenly born atop the Titan's Turret.
FLASH!
A beam of pure white light exploded from the massive Xenon Searchlight. The light was so bright, so intense, and so focused that it sliced through the night like a god's sword.
The light struck directly into the center of the enemy camp.
Thousands of tents that were previously dark were instantly illuminated as if it were broad daylight.
"ARGHH!"
"WHAT IS THAT?!"
"MY EYES! I'M BLIND!"
Thousands of mercenaries who were sleeping or drunk instantly woke up with hysterical screams. Those unfortunate enough to look directly at the light fell over, clutching their eyes from temporary Flashblindness. Total chaos ensued in seconds. Cavalry horses neighed in panic, snapping their harnesses and trampling their own masters.
"GHOST SQUAD! FIRE AT WILL!" Riven commanded.
Atop the hill, Borch and his team pressed their electronic triggers.
ZIIING! ZIIING! ZIIING! ZIIING!
There was no sound of explosion. Only the sharp hiss of the air being split.
The next second, the heads of the enemy cannon operators exploded one by one like rotten watermelons.
SPLAT.
Operator 1 fell headless.
SPLAT.
Operator 2, just as he tried to run, had a hole the size of a fist punched through his chest.
They died without ever knowing where the bullets came from. No muzzle flash. Only invisible death coming from the darkness.
"ENGINE ON!" Riven roared.
He turned the ignition key.
VRRROOOOM!
The Titan's Mana Engine roared to life. The sound was thunderous, rivaling the panicked screams of the enemy. Black smoke spewed from the dual exhausts.
"CRUSH THEM!"
Riven floored the gas pedal.
The Titan MK-1, now back at its full 30-ton weight, surged forward. Its iron treads chewed through the earth.
CRUSH!
The Titan slammed into the enemy camp's wooden barricades, smashing them into sawdust.
It didn't stop. The tank kept moving, flattening tents, logistics wagons, and piles of enemy weapons.
The enemy forces tried to fight back.
"FIRE! FIRE AT THAT THING!" an officer of the Red Skulls screamed.
DOR! DOR! DOR!
Hundreds of Muskets barked. Lead bullets rained down on the Titan's hull.
TING! TING! PLAK!
The bullets bounced helplessly off the new Adamantite armor. Like throwing peas at a steel wall. Riven, inside the cockpit, only laughed madly.
"It tickles, Boss! It tickles!"
Rianor rotated the cannon Turret. He aimed for the enemy ammunition dump—piles of gunpowder barrels in the center of the camp.
"A real shame," Rianor murmured coldly. "You brought gunpowder to a laser party."
Rianor pulled the Main Railgun trigger.
KA-BOOM!
It wasn't a fire explosion, but a sonic boom as the 5 kg solid iron projectile was launched at hypersonic speeds.
The shell struck the pile of gunpowder barrels.
BOOOOOOOM!
A massive explosion occurred. A giant fireball billowed into the night sky. The enemy armory—their supplies meant to lay siege to the castle—vanished in a split second. The shockwave hurled dozens of tents and soldiers into the air.
The chaos intensified. The enemy soldiers no longer thought of fighting back. They thought this was a divine punishment.
"RUN! IT'S A MONSTER!"
"THE SUN HAS FALLEN! RUN!"
In the middle of the flames and blinding light, the Titan MK-1 stood firm as the new king of the battlefield. Its searchlight continued to sweep the area, searching for the next target, while the Ghost Squad continued to harvest the lives of officers trying to rally the lines.
That night, the legend of the "One-Eyed Iron Ghost" was born on the continent of Aethelgard.
But in the middle of the chaos, one figure did not run.
From a burning command tent, Colonel Varg emerged. His face was partially scorched, his hat gone. But his eyes burned with pure hatred.
He ran toward a large machine behind his tent, covered by a tarpaulin.
An ancient steam machine he had brought from the Iron Empire.
War Golem (Type: Juggernaut).
"You think you're the only ones with iron toys?" Varg growled as he climbed into the four-meter-tall primitive steam robot.
HISS... CLANK...
The Golem stood up, hot steam spewing from its back. Attached to its right hand was a massive circular saw.
Varg pointed his Golem toward Riven's Titan.
"COME HERE, YOU NORTHERN RAT! LET'S CLASH STEEL!"