The same day, 2538 CE in the Gregorian calendar...
15 September 2538. More than half of the Armatus knights around the globe had been rallied under the same banner under the direct command of Queen Charlotte, the Arch Monarch of the Agrian continent. Their mission was at the break of the new dawn they would embark into the enemy territory and seize Germund for its high-value industrialised cities. Their ability to mass-produce arcanite harnessers posed an immediate threat to the Dunkelheit Empire as a whole.
The harnessers were artificial gems capable of storing arcane power, or magic, and transporting it in large quantities with ease. Their use greatly extended the reach of magic, enhancing both defensive and offensive capabilities, especially in regions where sentry mages were scarce.
Under the reign of the Golden Throne, Astral Empress Nohrell Voss Fenrith, known as the Silver Scythe of Death, mustered the army of Armatus to launch a decisive strike at the heart of Germund, securing a glorious victory with the decapitation of the Magus Primarch, Mathias III.
To orchestrate the total siege of Germund, over a million Armatus knights, drones, and hanger cruisers were strategically positioned to encircle the borders on all sides. Each unit had a specific mission to devastate Germund's defensive infrastructure, with a particular focus on the arcane towers, where the sentry mages were stationed — acting as fortified garrisons or military bases in Dunkelheit's terms.
Among the many hanger cruisers steadily making their way toward their designated drop-off point along the western shoreline — the most direct route to the heart of Germund — one cruiser stood out. Each cylindrical vessel, measuring one kilometre in length, had the capacity to carry 10,000 Armatus knights. Inside, it was equipped with everything needed for prolonged operations: spare parts, arsenals, and repair bays. Its dark green exterior proudly displayed the name "Merry VIII."
Onboard the Merry VIII, Rhok Wagner, a seasoned Armatus knight and celebrated war hero, carried out his final tests on his primary Armatus. At 38 years old, with fierce dark eyes and short brown hair, his commanding presence was undeniable. His broad shoulders, tall frame, and muscular build made him the epitome of strength, leading many to deem him ruggedly handsome. His sharp jawline, high nose bridge, and defined cheekbones were undeniable markers of his striking, rugged appeal.
He was clad head-to-toe in advanced knight armour forged from ultra-tensile composite material, with an eagle's sigil engraved proudly on his chest plate. The armour alone augmented his strength, speed, and endurance to six times that of an ordinary human, making the Armatus knights the undisputed pinnacle of modern warfare.
Around him, the hanger buzzed with chaotic energy as Armatus knights, engineers, and technicians hurried about, performing final checks on their war machines and ensuring the readiness of the drop-off. The clatter of tools, hum of diagnostic systems, and occasional shouted commands filled the air. Rhok glanced at the gigantic digital display overhead — in three hours, they would be plunging into enemy soil.
"Screw those Arcanii bastards..." He muttered, spitting on the floor with disdain. Read full story at novel(ꜰ)ire.net
Rhok's attention turned to his black helmet, its surface etched with scratches and chips — battle scars from countless campaigns. Despite its wear, it was still in excellent working order, much like his armour paddings: rugged, worn, but reliable. He shoved the helmet onto his head, twisting it into a comfortable position. The blue HUD display flickered to life, immediately running diagnostics and syncing with his six connected Armatus units, its interface a constant stream of vital data and tactical overlays.
A sharp, piercing whistle cut through the noisy hanger, momentarily overpowering the clamour of machinery and voices. A lean engineer approached Rhok with a brisk salute.
After quickly reading the name and rank etched on Rhok's golden chest plate, the engineer greeted him firmly. "Good morning, Commander Wagner!"
"Tony, right?" Rhok glanced at the nametag stitched onto the engineer's jumpsuit. The man nodded promptly. "You're overseeing the maintenance on my mobile suits?" Rhok's voice was flat, deep, and commanding, radiating an air of undeniable authority that seemed to weigh down the space around him.
"Yes, sir! I've triple-checked all six of your Armatus units. They're fully functional and combat-ready, sir!" The engineer replied with steady confidence, his tone crisp and professional.
"Good job." Rhok's lips curled into a cold, unsettling smile. "I wouldn't want anything holding me back from massacring those Arcanii in their sleep." The mere thought seemed to ignite a grim satisfaction within him. Yet even that mental image couldn't outweigh the rage he felt for what they had done to his family — his entire bloodline torn apart by one of their merciless mages while he was deployed in the battle countries far away.
"Y~yes, sir!" Tony stammered slightly, visibly unsettled by Rhok's eerie grin but too disciplined to falter further.
After fidgeting with his HUD, Rhok meticulously checked all the artillery and close-quarter combat weapons loaded onto his Armatus units. It was a tedious task to repeat six times — once for each mobile suit under his command — but Rhok grew used to the routine. Experience had taught him the value of preparation; ensuring he could rely on all six Armatus was far better than gambling his life on overlooked details. He had survived enough battles to understand that this "chore" was a lifeline.
"Huh? Ionised Mark V? What's that?" He asked, his curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar name displayed on his primary Armatus's loadout.
Tony, glancing at his datapad, quickly responded. "It's a new blade model, sir! It can heat up to 5,000 Kelvin in under a second — perfect for quick close combat."
"Awesome! You guys always manage to surprise me with these new weapon developments." Rhok grinned broadly as he slapped a large, armoured hand on Tony's shoulder, causing the smaller man to visibly jolt under sheer force.
"Sir! Ouch!" Tony yelped, clutching his shoulder.
"Oh... my bad," Rhok said, his grin softening as he nodded apologetically. "Got a little overexcited. This armour strength can be hard to control sometimes... like waking up one day and realising you've turned into Superman." He chuckled, offering a sheepish shrug that did little to diminish his imposing aura.