Night descended slowly over the western frontier.

The battlefield between the southern coalition and the trenches of Elarion had finally fallen silent beneath the freezing mountain winds.

But silence did not bring peace.

Because now—

The cries of the wounded could be heard clearly across the snow-covered valleys.

The dead lay everywhere.

Bodies covered the battlefield from the southern lines all the way to the razor wire fields before the trenches.

Broken shields lay half buried beneath snow. Spears protruded from frozen corpses. Blood stained entire sections of the valley dark red beneath the pale moonlight.

Some soldiers had died instantly.

Others had not been so fortunate.

Wounded men crawled weakly through the snow calling for water, medics, or their comrades while freezing winds swept across the battlefield mercilessly.

One coalition soldier dragged himself slowly across the frozen ground with one arm while the other ended at a shredded stump wrapped in blood-soaked cloth.

A medic finally reached him after several minutes only to stop silently after seeing the wound.

The man would not survive the night.

Farther west, another recovery team discovered an entire infantry formation collapsed together where concentrated rifle volleys had torn through multiple rows at once.

Many bodies still carried expressions of disbelief.

As though the soldiers never truly understood what had killed them before collapsing.

Lantern-bearing recovery teams moved continuously across the battlefield searching for survivors among the dead.

The work quickly became horrifying.

One young medic vomited after rolling over a body whose chest had been almost completely destroyed by rifle fire.

Another soldier froze silently beside a cluster of corpses tangled together near the razor wire.

Several men had died trying to cut through the steel barriers while rifle fire tore them apart from the trenches above.

Some still hung frozen against the wire itself.

Hours passed.

The wounded continued dying slowly beneath the falling snow.

And with every passing hour—

The true scale of the disaster became clearer.

Back inside the southern coalition command camp, the atmosphere had transformed completely.

Yesterday the nobles laughed openly while mocking trenches and rifles.

Tonight—

The command tent felt like a funeral hall.

No laughter remained. No arrogance. No mockery.Only tension.

Officers gathered around long tables covered with casualty reports and battlefield maps while servants moved quietly between them carrying heated wine and fresh lantern oil.

Several commanders still wore blood-stained armor from personally supervising the retreat.

One exhausted battlefield officer finally entered the tent carrying updated casualty records.

The room fell silent immediately.

The officer hesitated briefly before speaking.

"Current confirmed casualties exceed five thousand.

Absolute silence.

Several nobles stared at him blankly,one noble dropped his glass staining his clothes but none paid attention to him.

One younger commander spoke first.

"...Impossible."

The officer lowered his head slightly.

"Many formations suffered catastrophic losses."

Another noble slammed his fist violently against the table.

"Five thousand men... from rifle fire?"

No one answered.

Because everyone there had witnessed it personally and these numbers were mocking them of their stupidity.

A battlefield mage studying the reports slowly removed his gloves while speaking quietly.

"The firing discipline..." "The reload speed..." "The overlapping kill zones..."

He stopped briefly before finally muttering:

"They butchered the assault."

That single word darkened the tent further.

Butchered.

Not defeated. Not repelled.

Butchered.

Several commanders immediately began arguing afterward.

"The infantry advanced too tightly!"

"The officers rushed the assault!"

"The shield walls collapsed too early!"

One furious cavalry commander snarled openly:

"They’re still only riflemen!"

Kassian Valcriox finally spoke from the far side of the table.

"And yet five thousand men are dead."

The tent fell silent again.

Because no argument could answer that neither could it bring them back

Kassian stood beside the battlefield map quietly studying the trench systems marked across the valleys.

Now he understood far more clearly what Lucien had created.

The trenches were not defensive desperation.

They were killing grounds carefully designed to funnel enemy formations into concentrated fire.

And the rifles—

Gods...

The rifles alone had shattered an entire assault.

And Lucien might still be keeping other trump cards.

That realization unsettled him deeply.

Because if rifles alone caused this much destruction—

Then what horrors still remained hidden?

One older commander finally broke the silence.

"Light infantry assaults will not work again."

Several nobles nodded reluctantly.

The battlefield had proven that brutally enough.

Another heavily armored knight commander stepped forward afterward.

"Then we advance differently."

The room turned toward him.

The commander pointed toward the battlefield map spread across the table.

"Heavy infantry."

Understanding spread immediately afterward.

Large reinforced steel shields. Thicker armor. Disciplined slow formations.

Walking walls of steel.

The knight commander continued calmly:

"We advance under overlapping shield coverage." "Large tower shields in the front." "Heavily armored infantry behind them." "Mana reinforcement detachments supporting from the rear."

Another noble frowned slightly.

"That slows the attack."

"Yes."

The commander nodded.

"But it protects the men."

A battlefield mage nearby added thoughtfully:

"If the rifles cannot penetrate effectively, the infantry reaches trench lines."

And once close combat began—

The balance shifted heavily toward the coalition.

Everyone understood that.

Gradually the mood inside the command tent began stabilizing again.

Not confidence.

But determination.

The coalition had suffered terribly today.

Yet they still possessed overwhelming numbers.

One noble finally muttered coldly:

"No weapon is unstoppable."

Agreement spread slowly afterward.

Only Kassian remained unconvinced.

Because Lucien never seemed surprised.

Everything about Elarion felt prepared beforehand. This war just didn’t feel right anymore.

As though Lucien had already predicted every coalition response before the war even began.

Outside the southern camps, preparations for the next assault began immediately.

Blacksmiths worked deep into the night beside massive forge fires repairing armor and reinforcing shield plating.

Supply crews unloaded enormous steel tower shields from heavy wagons while officers reorganized infantry formations around the new assault strategy.

The shields themselves looked intimidating:

5inch thick steel fronts with reinforced wooden interiors andheavy iron edging.

Designed specifically to survive concentrated rifle fire.

Mana reinforcement mages moved between heavy infantry units carving glowing defensive sigils across armor plates and shield surfaces.

The next assault would not be reckless.

Far across the battlefield, the trenches of Elarion remained active throughout the night.

Riflemen rotated shifts while engineers repaired damaged trench sectors beneath lantern light.

Communication tunnels remained crowded.

Despite the day’s violence—

The defensive network continued functioning smoothly.

Inside the central underground command bunker, Lucien calmly reviewed updated reports beside Malen and Cedric.

"Confirmed enemy casualties exceed five thousand." "Coalition morale heavily disrupted." "Enemy heavy infantry reorganizing for tomorrow."

Cedric exhaled slowly.

"They adapted faster than expected."

"Yes."

Lucien’s gaze remained fixed on the battlefield map.

"They learned from the first assault."

Malen folded his arms nearby.

"They’ll use steel shield formations."

"Yes."

Lucien pointed toward the western valleys.

"Slow advance." "Layered shield coverage." "Heavier armor."

One younger officer looked uncertain.

"Will rifle fire still stop them?"

Lucien answered honestly.

"Yes." "But slower."

That answer unsettled several officers.

Because it meant tomorrow’s battle would become far harder.

Silence lingered briefly inside the bunker afterward.

Then Lucien finally looked toward the artillery deployment sectors.

"Tomorrow the artillery charges."

Several officers immediately focused on him.

The artillery commanders especially.

Lucien’s finger moved across multiple assault approach routes marked on the map.

"The enemy believes our artillery is inaccurate." "They believe reload speed is poor." "They believe our guns lack coordination."

A faint coldness entered his voice.

"Tomorrow we correct that misunderstanding."

One artillery officer stepped forward carefully.

"My lord... full bombardment authorization?"

"Yes."

The room sharpened immediately.

Because everyone present understood what that meant.

Until now— Lucien had intentionally restrained the artillery.

Tomorrow that restraint ended.

Another artillery commander asked quietly:

"What ammunition type?"

Lucien answered without hesitation.

"Explosive shells."

The bunker fell silent for several seconds afterward.

Because unlike standard solid shells—

The explosive rounds were terrifying.

Each shell contained packed blasting powder and fragmentation charges designed specifically to detonate upon impact.

During testing, entire stone walls had shattered beneath them.

Infantry formations fared even worse.

Cedric slowly grinned afterward.

"So tomorrow the real artillery begins."

"Yes."

Lucien studied the battlefield calmly.

"The heavy infantry will advance in tighter protected formations." "They will rely on shields and armor."

His gaze hardened slightly.

"Which makes them ideal artillery targets."

Understanding spread quickly across the bunker afterward.

Tightly packed heavy infantry formations moved slower. Maneuvered poorly. Clustered close together.

Perfect targets.

Orders spread rapidly through the artillery tunnels afterward.

For the first time since the war began:

explosive shells were distributed fully,

firing tables recalibrated,

coordinated bombardment patterns prepared.

Artillery crews immediately understood the significance.

One veteran gunner quietly muttered while examining the new shells stacked beside his cannon:

"Gods help the bastards tomorrow."

Nearby soldiers said nothing.

Because they had seen the testing grounds before.

And none of them wished to stand where those shells landed.

Outside above the trenches, snow continued falling softly across the battlefield.

Moonlight illuminated thousands of frozen corpses scattered across the valleys between the armies.

The first assault had ended.

But now—

Both sides finally understood something important.

The real battle had not even started yet.