Chapter 65: Plague Cleansing Operation
Year 0003, IV-VII Month: The Imperium
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Destroying Evil
The battle had commenced with devastating efficiency as the transformed dark forces found themselves being systematically slaughtered by the Imperial Army. Caught within an intricately woven trap of a human net of webs that stretched across several kilometers, there was no hope of escape. Even as the monstrous creatures desperately clawed and tore at the enemies that stood as magical barriers before them, their efforts proved futile against the superior Imperial strategy.
High above the battlefield, the keen eyes of the Ravencrows maintained constant surveillance, their mana crystals crackling with real-time intelligence updates to the forces below. Every movement of the enemy was tracked, every potential escape route monitored. These seasoned scouts understood the tactics of their vermintous foes—given any opportunity, the survivors would flee to report the Imperial presence to their dark masters in the east.
General Maximilian was acutely aware of this danger. The element of surprise was their greatest advantage, and he could not afford to let the enemy discover the true scope of Imperial forces operating in the region. Not yet.
"You bastards die!" Commander Candor bellowed, his voice carrying across the battlefield as he carved through the shapeshifters that attempted to overwhelm his position. The veteran warrior moved with practiced precision, his blade finding weakness after weakness in the enemy ranks. But this grizzled commander was no ordinary soldier—he was forged in the crucible of countless battles, tempered by the Imperial Army's rigorous training regimen that had no equal among the armies of the known world.
The Imperial forces were indeed a different breed of warriors, masters of combat from the lowliest foot soldier to the highest-ranking officers. Their disciplined formations held firm as chaos erupted around them, each man and woman covering his brothers' and sisters' flanks while delivering devastating counterstrikes without breaking rank. Years of intensive drilling and battlefield experience had created soldiers who moved as one mind, one purpose, one unstoppable force.
Among these elite warriors was Sergeant James McTown, a newly commissioned officer fresh from basic training but already marked as exceptional. Leading his platoon from the rear guard, he protected Commander Candor from potential threats while ensuring no enemy could break through their encirclement. Despite his youth, McTown had graduated at the top of his class, earning recognition as the next potential ace among the Imperial officer corps.
Now, on his first real battlefield, that promise was being fulfilled. With fierce determination blazing in his eyes, he led his squad in a methodical slaughter of the enemies before them. Individual strength mattered little when faced with superior numbers, superior tactics, and superior discipline. The dark forces found themselves completely surrounded, their every escape route blocked by steel and determination.
The battle raged with unrelenting intensity, and the Imperial Army proved their superiority against foes that should have been their betters. Not a single Imperial limb was lost, a fact that stunned the enemy forces who had expected to face desperate, poorly-equipped frontier troops instead of the Empire's finest.
Recognizing the hopelessness of their situation, the commander of the dark forces ordered a tactical retreat. Even if most of his forces would perish, at least some survivors might escape to deliver crucial intelligence to the higher echelons of their dark hierarchy.
But this desperate commander had failed to account for one crucial factor: every movement of his forces was being monitored in real-time by the specialized surveillance network of the Ravencrows. They were trapped within a web of intelligence and steel, a masterpiece of military strategy orchestrated by the brilliant mind of General Maximilian, commander of the 1st Imperial Expeditionary Force.
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Humanitarian Aid Amidst the Raging Battle
Meanwhile, several kilometers behind the front lines, a different kind of operation was unfolding. The refugees who had fled the battlefield from people who they once thought as friends and families, but were actually shape shifters and operatives of the darkness, were now being carefully processed by Imperial support personnel. Medical teams moved efficiently through the crowd, providing first aid to the wounded and sick, while quartermasters distributed precious food supplies to the starving masses.
From their position of relative safety, the refugees watched in amazement as Imperial soldiers battled the very enemies they had desperately fled from—and made it look effortless. The same forces that had driven them from their homes in terror were being systematically destroyed by these disciplined warriors.
Initially, many refugees had been confused and frightened by the Empire's harsh initial reception. Now they understood it had all been an elaborate deception, designed to flush out the enemy infiltrators who had undoubtedly embedded themselves among the genuine refugees.
An elderly woman, her face weathered by hardship and loss, approached one of the younger Imperial soldiers. "You look just like my child," she said softly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "How unfortunate that he lost his life during our escape from those monsters." The soldier could only listen in respectful silence, feeling the weight of her pain. Her words served to invigorate his resolve, strengthening his determination to drive these vermin from the Continent of Arkanus once and for all.
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The End is Near
Both Solmane and Ravencrow soldiers fought side by side with the familiarity born of countless shared battles. They were not merely rivals competing for glory, but comrades-in-arms who understood each other's strengths and weaknesses intimately. This perfect coordination was now on full display as they systematically eliminated the remaining enemies.
At the center of the battle, Field Commander Candor found himself locked in single combat with the leader of the Dark Forces Scout Regiment—an elite unit that had been sent to infiltrate deeper into the Central East territories. The creature was individually powerful, its dark magic and physical prowess formidable. But Commander Candor Suri was no ordinary opponent, bringing to bear a lifetime of wisdom and combat experience that allowed him to match the beast blow for blow.
"You pestilent vermin should never have returned to this continent!" he snarled at the grotesque behemoth before him. Each slash of his enchanted blade carved deeper wounds into the monster's hide, making it increasingly desperate and loud. Its screeching screams reverberated across the battlefield—but these were not mere sounds of pain. The creature was communicating with its remaining comrades, warning them of the impending doom and urging them to escape.
The surviving dark forces had indeed sensed their inevitable defeat and were attempting to flee. But Commander Suri would permit no such escape. "Let us end this vermin!" he roared, unleashing a tremendous wave of mana that set the very air ablaze.
The House of Solmane was renowned for more than their masterful engineering—they were also known as Lions, warriors whose elemental affinity with fire matched their courageous hearts. Even in the face of certain death, they never wavered or retreated, meeting every challenge head-on with unwavering determination.
The aged warrior's body became wreathed in flames as he prepared his ultimate technique. His sword, forged from elemental steel and enhanced to withstand the incredible temperatures generated by Solmane fire techniques, began to glow white-hot. With a brilliant flash of light, he dashed forward and delivered a single, devastating slash. The blade burned through the creature's tough exterior, boiling its blood and cooking its flesh from within.
The spectacle was magnificent to behold. Even Duke Grian, witnessing the battle from his observation post using his personal raven, couldn't help but whistle in admiration as he watched the confrontation unfold from beginning to its decisive end.
The battle was won. They had succeeded in eliminating this advance force of the enemy—a significant victory that would be the first of many in the months and years to come as they worked to cleanse the eastern continent of Arkanus from the plague and corruption that had infected its institutions and people.
Perhaps, in the foreseeable future, they would launch their own counter-invasion into the dark continent where these vermin originated, eliminating the Great Evil and its Dark Forces once and for all.
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A Resounding Victory!
The combined might of both Imperial Expeditionary Armies had tasted their first victory against their ancient foes, and the taste was sweet indeed.
The methodical roll call to account for casualties began immediately. Squad leaders called out the names of their subordinates and reported their head counts to their commanders. When the tally was complete, they reformed into a single cohesive unit. Those soldiers who had seen direct combat were ordered to return to town to rest and tend their wounds, while fresh troops who had remained in reserve were tasked with sweeping the battlefield for anything of value or intelligence.
The Ravencrow special operatives who had maintained overwatch throughout the battle were replaced by a fresh rotation, ensuring continuous surveillance of the area.
Meanwhile, the senior commanders—accompanied by Earl Serverus—visited the refugee encampment to address the pressing question of what to do with these displaced people. They could not burden the current population of Freeks Hold, who were already overwhelmed by the influx of Imperial soldiers, while supporting thousands of additional mouths to feed.
A solution would need to be found quickly, one that would benefit all parties involved.
Earl Serverus, however, had already begun formulating a plan. They could not provide for these people indefinitely, but neither could they simply abandon them. His proposal was ambitious: grant the refugees permission to establish a new settlement in the outer territories of his domain. This new town would eventually be incorporated into Freeks Hold proper, transforming it into a major city while the original settlement would be converted into a permanent military installation—the future Impregnable Fortress of Freeks Hold, a bastion that would serve as the staging ground for Imperial campaigns against the Great Evil in the east.
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Clean Up and Meeting With the Refugees
While the battlefield cleanup continued, Duke Maximilian, Duke Grian, Commander Elmsvale of the Magic Division, and Earl Serverus convened with the refugee leadership. They gathered the chiefs, elders, and other leaders to discuss the future of their people in Freeks Hold territory.
The discussions were lengthy and complex, covering everything from land rights and resource allocation to integration with existing Imperial administrative structures. Both sides negotiated in good faith, seeking terms that would provide security, stability, harmony and opportunity for the refugees while not overburdening their hosts.
Eventually, they reached an agreement that satisfied all parties. Formal documents were drafted and signed, outlining the responsibilities and rights of each side. With the seals of both Imperial Dukes affixed to the agreement, the pact was made binding. Earl Serverus's reputation for keeping his word made the refugees confident that the terms would be honored.
Each group returned to their respective people to discuss the agreement and begin preparations for its implementation. An economic undertaking of unprecedented scale would unfold in the coming months as the refugees began construction of what would become the Eastern Market City of Freeks Hold. The initial costs would be enormous, requiring substantial Imperial investment in infrastructure, supplies, and support services. But this was the true meaning of humanitarian aid—helping people rise from the ashes of destruction to build new lives and new hope.
And so ended the first battle in the East—not just a military victory, but the beginning of something greater.