Alidor raised an eyebrow toward the opposing ‘commander’. ‘Is this guy ntally disabled?’
By all rights, it made no sense for the Ragnors to simply attack like this. The first and foremost reason is that Alidor had already taken control of the tower, aning that the area of effect boosts and debuffs were both in effect already.
This Gate focused in on environntal changes. This particular tower gave Alidor the advantage of gravity. Since it was a celestial gate, accounting for the power of the experts that would enter, the gravity was ten thousand tis more than normal. Trying to fly in such a space would only result in…
It was then that the charging Ragnors realized their commander’s mistake. The plumted to the ground, their qi completely unable to sustain their flight. It was similar to Dyon when he first entered his constitution’s world, except in this case, their bodies were nowhere near as strong as his, nor were they ant to withstand such a drastic spike in their weight.
Bjorn watched on with an ugly expression on his face. He knew that his warriors understood their ‘Commander’s’ temperant. After an order was given, even if it wasn’t going well, they didn’t dare to turn back. They could only continue to trudge forward, pulling their own bodies along.
Alidor smirked. He sent a series of commands through their communication channels, mixing in verbal commands so as not to allow the enemy to understand their supre communication abilities. If the Ragnors assud that their thods of communication were as limited as their own, it would lead to more mistakes down the line.
A rain of long ranged attacks pumled them down. Arcs of fire, ice and arrows filled the skies, blotting out the high hanging sun.
Bjorn’s jaw clenched. He knew he had to go, but the enemy’s actions were making him uncomfortable.
By logic, if they knew their enemies couldn’t fly effectively, shouldn’t they be taking advantage of this? Why was that dandy holding a woman’s umbrella the only one in the sky?
The more he thought about it, the more logic told him that the opposing commander was also an idiot. But, his instincts scread sothing different.
Their army was too organized, the way they launched attacks was too smooth, even the commands the dandy called out were short, concise, and riddled with code.
This was either the greatest theater play of all ti, or the opposition was an excellently trained militia the likes of which Commander Ragnor couldn’t hope to asure up to.
It was then he saw just how correct his instincts were.
When the armies clashed, it was as though the Ragnors were being swallowed whole.
Seemingly sturdy lines of defense collapsed on the Mortal Alliance side, leading to a fervent charges in response by the Ragnors who believed they had gained the upper hand, only for them the be swallowed whole and cut off from their own backline.
The Mortal Alliance army could only be described as an amoeba eating its food. It ebbed and flowed with ease, biting off portions of the Ragnor army and conquering them piece by piece.
All the while, ‘Commander’ Ragnor was throwing a fit.
He tossed his amber haired beauty aside, not caring for even a mont that she lost consciousness banging her head against the floor. He stood and scread at the top of his lungs, admonishing his warriors for being useless, but that only made the situation worse.
For the Thralls of the army, they knew that today would likely be their last day. They had little more status than a slave to begin with, just what would that commander do to them when they returned? If they returned at all? Would they too beco like the amber haired woman?
At the very least, they should die on the battlefield, right?…
They rembered mories of their childhood, when their parents would tell them tales of Valhalla. If they died a warrior’s death, they’d be able to go there, right? The mighty Gods of their past, their ancestors of old, they wouldn’t forsake them like the Ragnors had, right?
Maybe that was all so of them needed. A faint hope, a light at the end of the tunnel. Their lives were holding on by the thinnest of strings imaginable.
It was then that a shocking thing began to occur across the battlefield. Tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of Thrall began to seemingly give away their lives.
So ‘accidentally’ let their weapons fall, others pushed forward valiantly, leaving the front line of their army so far behind that the fell under a sea of piercing weapons, and so simply stared off into space, light smiles on their faces as their lives were ended one after another.
Bjorn was absolutely appalled by what he was witnessing. This wasn’t the first ti such a thing had happened on a Ragnor battlefield, but it had been so long since the last.
‘The last ti this happened… The Dukes and Duchesses…’
The invasion of the Dukes and Duchesses, those young geniuses that handed the Ragnors the greatest humiliation they had suffered throughout the whole of their history. It was against a battle against them that the Thralls responded in this way…
They were tired of giving up their lives, tired of being commanded to do what their superiors didn’t dare to do.
The ironic part? After the Dukes and Duchesses returned to their lands, the Thralls were punished once more, as though their Emperor God Clan was blaming them for their own failures.
The current Emperor… Emperor Odin the Sixth… He was rotting their Empire from the inside out.
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