May 20, 1639 – Ragna Capital, Gra Valkas EmpireThe towering spires of Ragna, the imperial capital of Gra Valkas, loomed under a sky thick with iron-gray clouds. At the heart of the city, within the fortress-like walls of the Imperial High Command, the scent of oil, steel, and freshly printed reports filled the air. A war machine that never rested, its gears turned ceaselessly—preparing, conquering, dominating.
In the central war room, a polished wooden table stretched across the chamber, illuminated by the dim glow of overhead chandeliers. Maps of the world y unfurled across its surface, detailing every known ndmass, every enemy, and every future conquest.
The room was silent, save for the occasional shuffle of boots and the crackle of a radio transmission. The officers standing at attention around the table bore the insignia of the most powerful military force in the known world—the Gra Valkan Imperial High Command.
Then, a sharp voice broke the silence.
“Urgent transmission from the Eastern Conquest Fleet.”
All eyes turned toward Communications Officer Cianos, who stood stiffly beside the long-range radio system. His uniform, immacutely pressed, bore the golden eagle insignia of the imperial navy.
“The GVS Barbarossa has encountered an unknown archipego while pursuing a rebel transport ship. Kommodore Augustin Krieger reports that the target vessel has been eliminated but crashed onto one of the rger isnds. Preliminary aerial reconnaissance suggests a chain of isnds spanning thousands of kilometers, with unknown resources and no known political affiliations.”
A low murmur spread across the room. The term "unknown archipego" was enough to grab the attention of every officer present. In a world where Gra Valkas had already asserted its dominance over weaker nations, discovering new, uncimed territory was like blood in the water to a school of sharks.
At the head of the table, Xand Pastall, Director-General of the Military Headquarters, leaned forward. His sharp eyes, shadowed beneath his peaked cap, locked onto Cianos.
“No political affiliations? No known rulers?” His voice was quiet but carried weight.
“None, sir.”
Silence followed, before Caesar Rond, the Supreme Commander of the Navy, let out a cold chuckle. “And here I thought we’d have to put in more effort to expand our empire. If what you’re telling us is correct, then we may have just stumbled upon our next colony.”
Minister of Foreign Affairs Mopaul frowned, adjusting his gloves. “We cannot be so hasty. This region could belong to another nation—one we have not yet encountered. There is still much we don’t know about this world.”
Rond scoffed. “And why should we care? We hold the strongest fleet, the most disciplined army, and the industrial capacity to outmatch any nation on this pnet. If these isnds are uncimed, we should act before someone else does.”
“Gentlemen,” Guinea Marix, Senator and Head of the Hawks Parliamentary Faction, interjected, his voice calm but ced with arrogance. “Let’s not waste time with idealistic nonsense. If this archipego is truly uninhabited or poorly defended, it should be seized immediately. We cannot allow weak nations to cim resources that belong in the hands of the Gra Valkan Empire.”
Mopaul’s lips thinned. “We know nothing of this nd’s dangers. It could be home to hostile forces, or worse, a hidden power we are unaware of. We must investigate first, then conquer.”
The table erupted into a storm of arguments.
General Mirkenses, Commander-in-Chief of the Navy Special Forces, smmed his fist against the table. “You sound like cowards! We did not rise to power by hesitating. If we find a threat, we eradicate it. That is the way of the empire.”
Mopaul shot back, “And if we encounter a power equal to or greater than our own? We still know so little about this world.”
Rond sneered. “Ridiculous. The so-called ‘great nations’ of Mu and Leifor fell to us without a fight. If there is a nation stronger than us, we would have already heard of them. Until then, we will act as if we are the strongest—because we are.”
At the far end of the table, Cielia Oudwin, Director of the Eastern Retions Department, raised a hand. Unlike the military officers, her approach was far more calcuted.
“We must ask ourselves, what is the most valuable course of action? Rushing in and ciming these isnds might bring short-term gains, but knowledge is power. If we take the time to gather intelligence, we can control this region without unnecessary risks.”
“Spoken like a bureaucrat,” Rond said dismissively.
Cielia’s gaze remained sharp. “Spoken like someone who understands long-term dominance.”
Pastall sighed, rubbing his temples. “Enough. We need facts before we can decide anything. What is the Barbarossa’s status?”
Cianos straightened. “The GVS Barbarossa, an Atstar-css battleship, and its escorts—two Gra Valkan destroyers—are maintaining a blockade around the crash site. Ground forces will conduct a sweep operation once reinforcements arrive.”
Mirkenses turned toward Rond. “The fleet is already in position. If we deploy a division now, we can establish control before any other nation even realizes these isnds exist.”
Mopaul interrupted, “And what if these nds hold more than just uncimed territory? What if the rebellion was fleeing there for a reason? We do not even know the true nature of this world—only that Mu and the surrounding nations are the ones we have conquered.”
The war room fell silent for a moment. That was the one lingering mystery that no amount of military superiority could ignore.
How much of this world was still unknown?
Pastall exhaled. “This discussion is pointless unless we act on it. Here is what we will do. The Eastern Conquest Fleet will remain in position and conduct reconnaissance over the archipego. The 2nd Army Division will be pced on standby for a potential occupation. The Imperial Intelligence Bureau will begin a formal investigation into possible unknown powers in this world.”
We will not move blindly, nor will we let another nation cim what is rightfully ours.”
Mirkenses smirked. “That sounds more like the empire I know.”
Mopaul remained unconvinced but nodded begrudgingly. “As long as we don’t overextend ourselves.”
Rond grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. Once we confirm that this nd is ripe for the taking, we will bleed it dry.”
Pastall rose from his seat. “Then it’s decided. We watch, we learn, and when the time is right—we take. This meeting is adjourned.”
The officers stood, some satisfied, others wary. The officers of the Gra Valkan High Command were divided—not on whether the newly discovered archipego should be seized, but on how quickly and aggressively they should act.
“Let’s be clear,” General Mirkenses said, his sharp gaze sweeping across the table. “The empire does not tolerate hesitation. We will send a fleet to secure the archipego before any foreign power even catches wind of it.”
Foreign Minister Mopaul exhaled, his fingers tapping impatiently against the polished wood. “We cannot act recklessly. I remind you all that we have already overextended ourselves in Leifor. If we send a full occupation force blindly, we could end up entangled in another prolonged campaign before we even understand the situation.”
Caesar Rond, the Supreme Commander of the Navy, scoffed. “And what exactly do you expect to find? This is not some hidden superpower lurking in the shadows. The only forces we have encountered in this world so far are either weak or centuries behind us in military development. Our warships dominate every battlefield, and our armies march unchallenged. Are you truly suggesting that a collection of scattered isnds could pose any real threat to the might of the Gra Valkan Empire?”
Mopaul’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Xand Pastall, the Director-General of the Military Headquarters, raised a hand to silence them both. “Enough. We will not waste time with petty arguments when a decision must be made.”
A rge map of the newly discovered archipego was pinned to the wall behind him, hastily sketched based on the preliminary reports from the GVS Barbarossa. It was incomplete, its coastlines undefined, and the interior an utter mystery. But that didn’t matter.
To the men in this room, mystery meant opportunity.
Pastall turned to Cielia Oudwin, the Director of the Eastern Retions Department. “You have been oddly quiet. What is your assessment?”
Cielia leaned forward, folding her hands. “The logical course of action is clear. If we deploy a fleet with a strong nding force, we can establish a presence without committing too many resources upfront. That will give us time to investigate the archipego properly before making long-term strategic decisions.”
Senator Guinea Marix smirked. “So you do have some ambition after all.”
Cielia’s expression remained unreadable. “Ambition without information is recklessness. If we are to annex this region efficiently, we must first understand it.”
Pastall nodded. “Agreed. The Eastern Conquest Fleet will maintain its blockade for now, but we will organize a proper expeditionary force within the next few weeks. This force will include Two Atstar-css battleships for dominance at sea. Four heavy cruisers to ensure fire support. Six destroyers for escort and patrol operations. A nding force consisting of one division of Imperial Marines. One nding ship and two logistics ships to establish a proper base of operations.”
“This should be sufficient to enforce our cim, neutralize any minor resistance, and prepare the isnds for full integration into the empire.”
Mirkenses grinned. “Now that is a proper pn.”
Mopaul, still cautious, sighed. “At the very least, this will allow us to confirm whether these nds are as uncimed as we assume. And if they are not…”
Rond’s smirk widened. “Then we’ll do what the empire does best.”
Pastall gave him a knowing look before turning to the rest of the officers. “We will convene again once the fleet is fully assembled. The Gra Valkan Empire does not wait for opportunities—we take them. Meeting adjourned.”
The room filled with the rustling of uniforms as officers and officials rose to leave. Some murmured to their aides, already making preparations. Others exchanged knowing gnces—they could all feel it.
A new conquest was on the horizon.
And soon, the Gra Valkan banner would rise over the unknown archipego.
May 21, 1639 – Aboard the Grade Atstar-Css Battleship GVS BarbarossaThe sea y still, its surface a mirror of the dimming sky. Ahead, the jungle-shrouded isnd loomed in silence, betraying no sign of life. But inside the steel belly of the GVS Barbarossa, the officers of the Gra Valkan Imperial Navy (GVIN) were far from idle.
In the dimly lit combat information center, cigarette smoke curled through the stale air, mingling with the quiet hum of machinery. Shadows stretched over a strategic map spread across a steel table, where men in crisp naval uniforms stood in tense deliberation.
At the head of the table, Kommodore Augustin Krieger surveyed the map with the cold scrutiny of a predator. A gloved hand tapped against the isnd’s outline, his voice calm but razor-edged.
“So,” he murmured, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. “They survived.”
His second-in-command, Kapit?n Hugo Brandt, scoffed. “For now.”
Through the reinforced porthole, the shattered remains of the RMS Eglīte sat stranded against the coastline, its wreckage a ghostly silhouette in the twilight. The fools had believed they could outrun the Empire—only to sail straight into their graves.
“They scattered like rats,” Brandt sneered. “Typical Yulkonian filth. Always running.”
Krieger said nothing. His piercing gaze remained locked on the map, fingers drumming lightly against its surface. Something about this pce gnawed at him.
“This archipego...” he mused. “We know nothing about it.”
The room fell silent. That fact alone was unsettling.
The Conshal Archipego—a blind spot in the Empire’s naval intelligence, a swath of uncharted jungle forgotten by history. No records, no settlements of note. Nothing but an empty void on their maps.
Korvettenkapit?n Erich Falkenrath crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “We came here to exterminate rebels,” he said. “But I think we’ve found something more valuable.”
Krieger inhaled deeply, his mind already working ahead.
“If this nd is truly untouched...” He turned to Brandt, a gleam in his eye. “Inform Headquarters. Tell them we may have found a new foothold for the Empire.”
Brandt smirked. “Another colony?”
“Perhaps.” Krieger’s voice darkened. “But first, we finish what we came here to do.”
He straightened, sweeping his gaze across the gathered officers.
“The Yulkonian vermin are on borrowed time. We burn them out, kill the rest, and capture at least one. Headquarters will want a prisoner for interrogation.”
Falkenrath’s lips curled slightly. “And if we find something unexpected?”
Krieger crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, embers dying beneath his fingertips.
“Then we cim it in the name of the Empire.”
The Barbarossa’s communications officer finished reying the transmission to Ragna, and the combat information center fell into a focused silence. The response from High Command was predictable—they approved all necessary force to eliminate the rebels and secure the crash site.
A decision had been made.
Krieger turned to Korvettenkapit?n Erich Falkenrath, who remained as impassive as ever, his gloved hands resting on the table. “We’ll deploy a nding force immediately. One ptoon of Imperial Marines should be enough to handle this.”
Falkenrath nodded. “They won’t be prepared for what’s coming.”
Brandt let out a cold chuckle. “I want those Yulkonian rats begging for their lives before they die.”
Krieger’s expression remained unreadable. “No unnecessary deys. The jungle favors the weak. We strike fast, we strike hard, and we leave no survivors.”
He turned toward the operations officer, Korvettenkapit?n Hans Koenig, and gestured to the shoreline marked on the map. “Deploy the ptoon. We take them at dawn.”
Koenig saluted. “It will be done.”
Outside, the Gra Valkan fleet stirred. Landing craft were prepped, soldiers armed, and the Empire’s war machine rolled into motion once more.
May 21, 1639 – Off the Coast of the Conshal ArchipegoThe rhythmic roar of diesel engines filled the dawn air as a Gra Valkan infantry nding ship cut through the calm waters toward the jungle-covered shoreline. The sky was a dull gray, the morning sun struggling to pierce the thick cloud cover. Behind the lead vessel, a convoy of armored nding craft followed in perfect formation, their hulls slicing through the waves with mechanical precision.
Aboard the lead transport, rows of Imperial Marines stood shoulder to shoulder, their bck-gray uniforms immacute despite the salty sea air. Their faces were expressionless, cold, hardened by the doctrine of order and discipline drilled into them since enlistment.
Standing at the bow of the nding ship, Oberleutnant Kus Reinhardt narrowed his eyes at the distant coastline. The wreckage of the RMS Eglīte was barely visible, half-buried in the jungle’s grasp, its steel carcass a silent testament to Yulkonian futility. Somewhere beyond those trees, the rebels hid like frightened animals.
“One ptoon is more than enough,” Reinhardt muttered. “These rats will be exterminated before nightfall.”
Behind him, Hauptfeldwebel Dietrich Volkmann, a towering brute of a man with a scarred jawline, gave a humorless chuckle. “If they’re lucky, they’ll die before they see us coming.”
Reinhardt exhaled through his nose. “Luck has no pce on the battlefield. We advance, we kill, we secure. Simple.”
Volkmann turned to the gathered soldiers. “Lock and load, men. We move as soon as we hit the beach. No deys.”**
A chorus of mechanical clicks followed as rifle bolts snapped forward, bayonets gleamed in the dawn light, and magazines were smmed into pce. The soldiers of the Imperial Marine Corps were ready for war.
As the nding ship closed in, sirens bred, signaling final approach. The reinforced bow ramp groaned as hydraulic locks disengaged, ready to drop onto the sand at a moment’s notice. Machine gunners positioned themselves at the fnks, covering the infantry’s advance before they even set foot on nd.
“Stand by!” Reinhardt barked, gripping his rifle tight.
The ship lurched forward, skimming the shallows before smming into the wet sand.
“DEPLOY!”
The ramp crashed down.
The first wave of Gra Valkan soldiers stormed onto the shore, boots sinking into damp earth as they fanned out with machine-like efficiency. Rifles raised, eyes scanning, fingers poised on triggers.
No resistance.
The beach y eerily silent, broken only by the distant call of birds and the gentle rustling of trees swaying in the ocean breeze. But Reinhardt didn’t let his guard down. Silence was often more dangerous than gunfire.
Within minutes, more nding craft arrived, unloading half-tracks, supply crates, and heavy weapons teams. Engineers moved swiftly to set up a forward command post, marking their cim with Gra Valkan banners, their bck-and-gold insignia fluttering ominously against the treetops.
Reinhardt activated his field radio. “Oberleutnant Reinhardt to GVS Barbarossa—beachhead secure. Beginning innd operation.”
A brief static hiss, then the expected reply.
“Acknowledged, Reinhardt. Proceed with the hunt.”
He turned to his men. “Move out. The jungle belongs to us now.”
The hunt had begun.
The Gra Valkan ptoon, numbering nearly fifty elite soldiers, moved in tight formation as they advanced into the dense foliage. Scouts took point, rifles sweeping the undergrowth for signs of movement.
The air was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth and decay clinging to their uniforms. Machetes hacked through vines, clearing a path as they pushed deeper into the unknown.
Volkmann muttered, “These Yulkonian rats won’t have gotten far. They must be desperate, wounded, running low on supplies. We’ll find their corpses soon enough.”
Reinhardt wasn’t convinced. Something about this jungle felt… different.
Not in the way most battlefields did. Not like Gaia war. This pce was untouched, ancient, waiting.
May 22, 1639 – Deep in the Conshal JungleThe Gra Valkan ptoon moved like a machine—precise, calcuted, and relentless. Their bck-gray uniforms blended into the dim, sun-dappled undergrowth as they advanced through the humid jungle, boots crushing damp earth beneath them.
No unnecessary chatter. No wasted movement. Just the rhythmic rustling of foliage and the sharp metallic clicks of fingers tightening around rifle triggers.
Oberleutnant Kus Reinhardt led the column, his HMR-44 rifle raised and ready. Behind him, Hauptfeldwebel Dietrich Volkmann scanned the treetops, his instincts honed by years of brutal campaigns against inferior enemies.
The jungle felt alive, its humid breath pressing against their skin. But something was different here.
A distant rustling. The faint crack of twigs snapping underfoot.
Reinhardt’s hand shot up, signaling a full stop. The column froze.
Silence.
Then—
A flicker of movement beyond the ferns.
Reinhardt’s finger curled around the trigger. His cold blue eyes locked onto the shapes barely visible in the foliage ahead.
They weren’t Yulkonian rebels.
A dozen figures—half-naked, covered in tribal war paint—stood motionless in the clearing ahead. They held crude wooden spears, their dark eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and fear. Their nguage was an alien melody, guttural and quick, whispers floating between them as they took hesitant steps backward.
Savages.
Volkmann’s lip curled in disgust. “What is this filth?”
One of the tribesmen, an older man draped in woven animal skins, stepped forward. His chest bore intricate scars, tribal markings that told stories unknown to civilized men. He raised his hand—a gesture of peace, perhaps.
It did not matter.
Reinhardt sighed, shaking his head. “We have no need for vermin.”
Then, without hesitation—
CRACK!
His rifle barked once, the shot slicing through the dense jungle air.
The chieftain’s skull exploded, a burst of crimson spraying the ferns behind him. The body colpsed without a sound, twitching in the dirt.
For a split second, the jungle itself froze.
Then—
Screams.
The tribesmen turned to flee, but there was nowhere to go.
“Exterminate them.” Reinhardt’s voice was devoid of emotion.
The Imperial Marines opened fire.
TAKTAKTAKTAK! Machine gun bursts tore through the clearing. CRACK! A single-shot rifle punched through a woman’s ribcage. BOOM! A grenade sent limbs flying, trees spttered with blood.
Chaos and sughter.
Tribesmen fell like wheat before the scythe. Some tried to fight, hurling spears that bounced harmlessly off Gra Valkan body armor. Others dropped their weapons, sobbing, begging for mercy.
Mercy did not exist in the Empire’s doctrine.
One by one, they were cut down, their bodies piling among the ferns. The jungle, once alive with birdcalls, was now eerily silent—except for the slow, methodical execution of the wounded.
Volkmann strode forward, pistol in hand, and put a bullet into the skull of a twitching man grasping at his own severed leg. Pop. Pop. Pop. Like snuffing out candles.
Efficient. Clean.
The entire tribe was gone in under three minutes.
Reinhardt slung his rifle over his shoulder and exhaled, gncing at the bodies littering the jungle floor.
“A waste of bullets.”
Volkmann let out a gravelly chuckle. “Then we’ll make up for it.”
From the wreckage of the tribe’s crude huts, a few survivors remained—a cluster of young native women, barely into adulthood, huddled together, their eyes wide with horror.
Reinhardt’s cold gaze swept over them.
Valuable.
“Take them.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “They might be useful.”
The women screamed as Gra Valkan soldiers grabbed them, pulling them from their hiding spots. Some fought, some sobbed, others simply trembled in silence.
One tried to flee.
She didn’t make it two steps before Volkmann’s boot caught her in the ribs, sending her sprawling into the blood-soaked dirt.
He crouched beside her, gripping her chin between his gloved fingers.
Her skin was slick with sweat, her chest heaving with terror.
Volkmann smirked. “No use running, girl. You belong to the Empire now.”
She was different from the others.
Her long, pointed ears twitched in fear, her golden hair matted with dirt and sweat. Unlike the other captives—who had colpsed into terrified sobs—she refused to yield.
She kicked, scratched, and thrashed against the Gra Valkan soldier restraining her, her small frame twisting in his iron grip.
“Tch, stubborn little thing,” the soldier sneered, tightening his hold around her arms. “You think you can fight the Empire?”
She snarled, baring pearl-white teeth, her emerald eyes bzing with hatred.
“Unhand me, you filth!”
Her voice was sharp, refined—not the guttural dialect of the others.
The soldier only ughed. “Oh? The little savage speaks?”
She twisted violently, nearly slipping from his grasp. Her bare foot shot out, catching him hard in the shin.
“Urgh! Damn bitch—”
She lunged, her nails raking across his cheek, drawing thin red lines across his skin.
For a moment, she almost broke free.
Then—
SMACK!
The back of his gloved hand struck her across the face.
She crashed into the dirt, gasping as pain exploded through her skull. Her ears rang, her vision blurred.
Before she could rise, a boot pressed down on her back, pinning her in pce.
“Enough.”
She stiffened.
That voice. Cold. Sharp. Absolute.
Oberleutnant Kus Reinhardt loomed above her, his steel-gray eyes unreadable. He knelt, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him.
His gloved fingers were calloused, firm, his touch neither gentle nor cruel—just indifferent.
“You are different,” he murmured. “You are not like the others.”
She gred up at him, her breath ragged. “I am nothing to you.”
Reinhardt tilted his head, studying her like an officer inspecting a battlefield map.
Then, a smirk. A flicker of amusement.
“No. But you may be of use.”
He stood, flicking his wrist. “Bind her.”
The soldier from before grinned, yanking her up roughly. Thick rope bit into her wrists, locking her hands behind her back.
The elf girl gasped for air, her chest heaving as she fought against the tight ropes digging into her wrists. The rough hands of the Gra Valkan soldier grabbed at the fabric of her primitive tunic, yanking it down past her shoulder.
“Hmph,” the soldier sneered. “Let’s see what these wild animals have to offer—”
Then—
CRACK!
A sharp gunshot rang out through the jungle.
The soldier’s head snapped back, a fine mist of red and bone spraying across the others. His lifeless body colpsed like a ragdoll, twitching in the blood-soaked dirt.
For a fraction of a second, the Gra Valkan ptoon froze.
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
More gunfire erupted from the shadows of the jungle, precise and deadly.
Three more soldiers dropped instantly, their bodies jerking as bullets punched through their chests and skulls.
“AMBUSH! TAKE COVER!” Reinhardt bellowed, diving behind a fallen tree. “CONTACT FRONT—RETURN FIRE!”
The Gra Valkan Marines scrambled, dragging the captured girls with them as they fanned out into defensive positions. The jungle, once silent, now roared with the deafening chaos of battle.
“Where are they firing from?!” Volkmann snarled, snapping his rifle up and unloading a volley into the undergrowth.
“Can’t see them—”
CRACK! Another shot.
A Gra Valkan machine gunner crumpled, his MG-42 cttering onto the ground, his helmet rolling away into the brush.
The enemy was well-trained. They weren’t savages with spears—they had rifles, discipline, and tactical precision.
This wasn’t just a desperate rebel force.
This was something else.
Reinhardt gritted his teeth, raising his binocurs for a brief second before another bullet whizzed past his head, snapping a branch beside him.
These bastards knew how to shoot.
And they weren’t afraid to kill Gra Valkans.
“SUPPRESSING FIRE!” he roared. “BURN THE JUNGLE IF YOU HAVE TO—JUST KILL THEM ALL!”
The Gra Valkan gunners unleashed hell, spraying the trees with automatic fire. Muzzle fshes lit up the dense vegetation, branches and leaves exploding into splinters under the relentless barrage.
BOOM!
A grenade arced through the air, nding deep within the jungle. A half-second ter, it detonated, sending a shockwave of dirt, blood, and broken bodies into the air.
Screams followed.
The enemy was hit—but not broken.
They fired back, moving swiftly through the jungle, using hit-and-run tactics, vanishing before the Gra Valkans could pin them down.
“Bastards,” Reinhardt spat, ducking as another shot clipped his shoulder pte. “Who the hell are they?”
His answer came when a voice echoed through the trees—harsh, commanding, filled with venom.
Deep in the Conshal JungleThe jungle was alive with fire and death. The air stank of gunpowder, blood, and burnt leaves, the once-silent canopy now filled with the roar of automatic gunfire.
Kaspars ran.
His boots pounded against the damp earth, lungs burning as he tore through the dense foliage. Behind him, the Gra Valkans' brutal counterattack shredded the jungle, bullets slicing through leaves, tree trunks, and flesh alike.
"KEEP MOVING!" Elza shouted, reloading her captured HMR-44 rifle on the run.
The resistance fighters—no more than a dozen survivors—weaved through the trees, ducking under hanging vines and leaping over exposed roots, their rifles slung across their backs as they prioritized survival over returning fire.
They had struck first, catching the Gra Valkans off-guard, their opening shots cutting down at least five of the imperial bastards.
But the moment the Gra Valkans regrouped, their firepower overwhelmed the ambush in seconds.
Now, it was a sughter.
A bullet zipped past Kaspars’ ear, embedding itself in a tree with a sickening THUNK. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the fear gripping his chest.
One mistake. One misstep. That’s all it would take to die.
The resistance fighters broke through the underbrush, stumbling into a dry riverbed, their boots kicking up dust and scattered rocks.
Vilmar skidded to a halt, whipping his head around. "Anyone hit?"
A quick gnce confirmed the worst—two missing.
Ivars and another fighter—gone.
They hadn't seen them fall. Hadn't heard a scream.
Just… gone.
Kaspars' jaw tightened. No time to mourn. No time for guilt.
Survive now. Grieve ter.
"We need to get off the battlefield," he panted. "They have aircraft. If they get air support, we’re dead."
Elza wiped the sweat from her forehead, her face streaked with dirt. "There's a cave system to the west, past the ridgeline. If we get there before nightfall, we can lose them in the tunnels."
"Then we move. Double-time it!"
The remaining Yulkon fighters sprinted forward, their legs screaming for rest, their minds racing with adrenaline.
Behind them, the jungle still burned, but the gunfire was fading.
They were getting away.
By the time they reached the cave entrance, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the ridge.
Kaspars staggered against the rocky wall, trying to steady his breath.
They had made it.
But for how long?
Elza pulled out her canteen, taking a short sip before passing it around. "We need to stay quiet. Gra Valkans love their artillery. If they suspect we're still in the area, they’ll ftten this whole ridge just to be sure."
Vilmar, rubbing at a fresh scrape on his arm, nodded grimly. "We’ve seen it before. They don’t fight battles. They exterminate."
Silence fell over the group.
They knew the truth.
This wasn't just about rebellion anymore.
The Gra Valkan Empire was here for conquest.
And Yulkon was just the beginning.
Kaspars clenched his fists, rage boiling beneath exhaustion.
They had survived today. But tomorrow… they would fight again.
May 22, 1639 – Jungle Outskirts, Conshal ArchipegoThe Gra Valkan forward unit was in disarray.
Gunfire still crackled from the depths of the jungle, but the Yulkonian rebels had long since vanished into the foliage, leaving only the dead and wounded in their wake. Smoke curled from bullet-riddled trees, and the acrid scent of gunpowder, sweat, and blood hung thick in the air.
Oberleutnant Kus Reinhardt crouched behind an overturned log, his uniform damp with sweat and grime. His radio operator knelt beside him, twisting dials furiously as he connected to the fleet.
"Damn it, report!" Reinhardt snapped.
The operator pressed the receiver to his ear. "Establishing contact with GVS Barbarossa now, sir."
A sharp burst of static crackled through the speaker before a cold, authoritative voice came through—Kommodore Augustin Krieger.
"This is GVS Barbarossa. Report, Oberleutnant Reinhardt."
Reinhardt gritted his teeth, gripping the receiver. "We were ambushed. The Yulkonian rebels had firearms—not crude muskets, but modern rifles. At least seven dead, several more wounded. The enemy has fled into the jungle."
Silence for a moment. Then Krieger’s voice returned, calm but edged with disdain.
"Disappointing. We expected better from the Imperial Marines."
Reinhardt’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. "Sir, I am requesting reinforcements. If the enemy has access to modern weaponry, we may be dealing with more than just scattered insurgents. I need a full company to secure this jungle before they regroup."
A pause. Then—"Request granted."
Reinhardt let out a slow breath. At least the Kommodore wasn’t a complete fool.
"A second ptoon will be deployed from the fleet," Krieger continued. "Finish the job, Oberleutnant. No more excuses."
Click.
The radio went silent.
Reinhardt exhaled sharply and turned to his men. "We hold position until reinforcements arrive. No one moves alone. The jungle is a battlefield, and these rats know it better than we do."
His soldiers nodded, tightening their grips on their weapons.
But as they prepared to resume the hunt, they had no idea that the true battle was no longer in the jungle.
It was at sea.
Aboard the GVS Barbarossa – Gra Valkan Fleet, Conshal ArchipegoThe bridge of the GVS Barbarossa was a pce of order and control, where the finest officers of the Gra Valkan Imperial Navy dictated the movements of a war fleet. The air carried the scent of polished brass, burning cigars, and machine oil.
Kommodore Augustin Krieger stood at the central command console, hands csped behind his back, watching the test reports stream in.
Kapit?n Hugo Brandt exhaled a plume of smoke beside him. "Reinhardt's unit was hit harder than expected."
"It matters little," Krieger said smoothly. "One company will be enough to crush any resistance on that isnd."
Brandt nodded, a smirk pying at the edge of his lips. "Let the grunts fight over the jungle. The real war is won at sea."
Just as he finished speaking, a radar technician stiffened at his station. His fingers hesitated over the console before he turned sharply toward the officers.
"Herr Kommodore, something’s on the scope."
Krieger raised an eyebrow. "Define 'something.'"
The technician swallowed. "High-speed contact. Bearing two-seven-zero. Approaching fast."
Brandt frowned. "Aircraft?"
"No heat signature, no propellers. Speed… over Mach 1."
Silence fell over the bridge.
"Mach 1?" Krieger repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Are you suggesting a projectile is moving faster than sound?"
The radar technician hesitated. "Sir, it’s coming straight for the fleet."
The room went still.
Krieger’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Identify it. Now."
The technician twisted the dials, sweat beading on his brow as the radar dispy struggled to process the incoming contact. But the technology of the Gra Valkan Empire—modeled after the doctrines of 1940s warfare—had never seen anything like this.
"Unknown. No known aircraft or weapon system matches its speed or trajectory."
Then the arms screamed.
"IMPACT INCOMING—!"
The Gra Valkan fleet never saw it coming.
The first destroyer, GVS Wolfram, was holding position just beyond the Barbarossa, its crew unaware of their impending doom. The vessel was a proud example of Gra Valkan engineering, a steel-cd predator of the seas.
But no amount of imperial arrogance could stop what came next.
FWOOOOOOSH!
A long, sleek object—gliding low over the water at impossible speed—screamed toward the destroyer, leaving a white-hot vapor trail in its wake.
A few sailors on deck managed to look up, their eyes widening in horror at the object cutting through the sky like a divine spear.
Then—
BOOOOOM!
The missile smmed into the destroyer’s hull, just below the main superstructure.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A deafening explosion ripped the ship apart.
A shockwave of fmes and molten steel burst outward, consuming everything within a hundred-meter radius. The force tore open the hull, sending a towering fireball into the sky, visible for miles.
The Wolfram, a vessel of war, was reduced to a scattered ruin of debris and sinking metal in under ten seconds.
Sailors screamed as they were torn apart by the force of the bst or flung overboard, their bodies swallowed by the raging sea. The entire forward section of the ship disintegrated, leaving only a smoldering, sinking husk.
On the bridge of the GVS Barbarossa, stunned silence filled the air.
Then—pandemonium.
"GOTTVERDAMMT! WOLFRAM IS DOWN!" a panicked officer shouted.
Krieger’s fists clenched, his sharp gaze locked on the smoking ruin where one of his finest warships had been.
One missile. One impact. One ship—gone.
His mind raced. What the hell had just hit them?
Brandt’s cigar fell from his lips, his face pale. "Krieger… what was that?"
The Kommodore did not answer.
Because deep in his gut, he knew:
Gra Valkas had just made contact with a force beyond their understanding.
And for the first time in his career—he had no idea what to do.
The sea burned.
Where the GVS Wolfram once stood, only a smoldering wreck remained—its jagged remains barely afloat, spilling fming debris and bodies into the waves. The air stank of burning oil and scorched flesh, and the desperate cries of survivors clinging to the wreckage were quickly fading beneath the roar of the still-raging fire.
Kommodore Augustin Krieger stood frozen on the bridge of the GVS Barbarossa, his steel-gray eyes locked onto the inferno in stunned disbelief.
One missile. One impact. One ship gone.
This was impossible.
His mind raced, trying to grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. There had been no warning, no aircraft spotted, no artillery signatures—only a high-speed contact on radar, and then… annihition.
"FIND THE SOURCE!" Krieger roared, snapping out of his trance. "I WANT RADAR SCANS, AERIAL RECON—SOMETHING! FIND OUT WHO JUST ATTACKED US!"
Officers scrambled to obey, their normally disciplined movements now frantic and uncoordinated. But even they knew—they had no idea what they were looking for.
Kapit?n Hugo Brandt, still pale from the shock, turned toward the radar operators. "Any new contacts? Was that a lone projectile or are there more incoming?"
The radar technician frantically adjusted his controls, sweat dripping down his brow. "N-No new contacts detected yet, sir! Whatever it was... it's gone!"
Gone?
How the hell do you fire something that fast and just vanish?
Krieger’s hands clenched behind his back, his pride screaming that this had to be some trick—some freak accident or hidden ambush. But deep down, he already suspected the truth.
They were not the strongest force in the world.
And now, the entire world was about to witness their humiliation.
The deck of the Barbarossa was a storm of shouting sailors, all scrambling to their battle stations. Searchlights swept across the sea, their beams cutting through the smoke, desperately searching for an unseen enemy.
Arms bred. The fleet was on full alert.
But against what?
On the bridge, Krieger smmed a fist onto the comms console. "Get me a direct connection to Ragna—NOW!"
The radio operator nodded sharply, fingers flying across the controls. "Establishing long-range transmission to the Imperial Communications Bureau..."
A sharp burst of static cracked through the speakers. Then—silence.
The operator’s brows furrowed. He adjusted the dials. "Signal is weak... attempting again!"
More static.
A flicker of unease crept into Krieger’s expression.
"Try the backup channel."
The operator complied, cycling through different frequencies. Nothing.
Silence.
Then—a low, garbled noise crackled through the receiver.
Not Gra Valkan. Not even a nguage they recognized.
The officer yanked off his headset, a chill running down his spine. "Kommodore, something is interfering with our signal!"
Krieger’s breath came slow and measured, but his jaw clenched tightly.
"Jamming."
A cold wave of realization settled over the command staff.
Someone—or something—was deliberately preventing them from contacting home.
Brandt’s hands curled into white-knuckled fists. "Who in this world even has the technology to jam our long-range transmissions?"
No one.
Not Mu. Not Leifor. Not the Yulkonian rats.
So who?
The officers exchanged uneasy gnces, their confidence crumbling under the weight of the unknown.
For the first time in Gra Valkan naval history, they were alone, blind, and vulnerable.
A tension thicker than the smoke outside settled over the Barbarossa’s bridge.
Every officer present felt it creeping into their bones—an unshakable dread, gnawing at their carefully constructed belief in Gra Valkan superiority.
The empire was supposed to be invincible. Their navy, unmatched. Their technology, leagues ahead of this primitive world.
And yet—
One missile. One ship destroyed.
And now, they were cut off.
Krieger exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his emotions under control. He was a Kommodore of the Imperial Navy. He would not falter.
"We are not defeated," he decred firmly, snapping the officers back to attention. "Until we have confirmed the enemy’s identity, we will assume nothing. Our orders remain the same—eliminate all hostiles on the isnd and secure the territory for the Empire."
A flicker of determination returned to the command staff, their faces hardening.
Brandt adjusted his officer’s cap. "And if another missile comes?"
Krieger’s steel-gray eyes darkened. "Then we survive. And we retaliate."
His words were firm. But deep inside, a single, inescapable truth gnawed at him.
How do you retaliate against an enemy you can’t even see?
Outside, the sea continued to burn.
Unknown Mountain Overlook, Conshal ArchipegoThe fmes of the GVS Wolfram burned brightly against the darkening sky, its twisted hull barely afloat, spewing thick bck smoke into the heavens. What was once a proud Gra Valkan destroyer was now nothing more than a floating graveyard, its final moments broadcasted to the world in real-time.
From the top of a jungle-covered mountain, overlooking the wreckage-strewn sea, a single tripod-mounted camera stood steady, its high-powered lens locked onto the burning fleet below. Right next is Starlink receive data from satellites.
The red “LIVE” icon blinked steadily in the corner of the Twitter (X) livestream.
The world was watching.
[?? LIVE] “Somewhere in the Pacific…?” Viewers: 672,519
?? @HistoryNerd92: BRO, DID A MISSILE JUST CLAP A WHOLE SHIP?!? ?????? ?? @BasedTactician: Gra Valkas REALLY thought they had plot armor ?? ?? @BananaSmma69: WHO SENT THAT? MU? AMERICA? SANTA CLAUS?! ???? ?? @WeebAdmiral99: YOOOOO, LOOK AT THEM PANICKING! THEY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HIT THEM ???? ?? @Sigma_General: "No aircraft spotted, no artillery signatures"—bro got hit with the HAND OF GOD ???? ?? @TopG_Patriot: This is why you don’t mess with people you don’t understand. ?? ?? @DoomerVibes: Realizing your whole navy doctrine is 80 years outdated in real time ?? ?? @NPC_69420: L TAKE ???????? ?? @GamerBoi3000: Did we just witness a Gra Valkan Nuremberg Speedrun? ??? ?? @MILSIM_Jake: Bruh, they’re still using RADAR PINGS to detect modern missiles? They’re cooked. ???? ?? @LOTRfan_77: One does not simply wage war in the 21st century with 1940s tech. ??
[?? 10 Super Chat] @HyperionDefenseCorp: “Weapon System Validation: SUCCESS ?”
As the Gra Valkan fleet scrambled in confusion, their officers shouting into useless radios, millions around the world witnessed their colpse in real-time.
Some were cheering, others were ughing, but one thing was certain—this was history in the making.
Whoever unched that missile, they weren't hiding it.
And now, the entire modern world knew Gra Valkas wasn’t untouchable.
The Empire's nightmare had just begun.
