Summoning America

Chapter 158: Orisun

Kessler took the receiver. The message was brief. "Ulfar, you're clear to proceed."

He returned the receiver, turning to his men. "We move–now," he commanded, setting off toward the forest.

Their boots crunched on frosty ground as they navigated the forest's dense yet barren tapestry. The mess of brown and white before them proved just as disorienting as any green thicket would have. Corporal Wulfhart continually checked his madar, screen pulsing softly as he scanned for mana signatures.

"Find anything?" Kessler murmured, eyes flicking between his map and Wulfhart, emphasizing the sense of urgency.

The corporal shook his head. "Unusually quiet, sir. Only sporadic blips far to the east, by the town itself."

"Let's hope it stays that way," Kessler murmured, gesturing for his men to continue.

After ten minutes, they reached a small clearing. Kessler signaled for a halt. They waited in silence, the forest seeming almost serene.

Lieutenant Einar moved up to Kessler. "Sir, scouts have reported. There's no magical signature strong enough to suggest enemy mages or spell-traps directly ahead. No sign of enemy combatants, either.

Kessler looked puzzled but hid it well. "Nothing? Are we sure our madar is functioning properly?"

It's been double-checked, sir," Einar confirmed.

Kessler frowned. "One of our planes got shot down around here... why haven't they set up any defenses?" he asked to himself. "Alright, let's proceed, but stay alert. Let's advanced in a staggered column, eyes open for anything out of the ordinary."

The Gra Valkans resumed their cautious trek. Each soldier's spine tingled in anticipation – this was the realm of mages and unconventional traps, and yet it lay unsettlingly quiet. Yet, the madar and their watchful eyes told a different story.

As they moved, Kessler couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. The void of magical activity ahead was unsettling, given the adversary they faced. Even the trees and sparse bushes were clear of life. He wished he could put his finger on it, but for now, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

"We're reaching the coordinate point," Einar whispered. Ahead, they could see a squad in the forest light, seemingly relieved at their approach.

Suddenly, deafening silence gave way to a blast. A hidden claymore erupted in a hailstorm of shrapnel, ripping through the soldiers in front.

The ground trembled momentarily before fading into an unsettling silence. Shreds of uniform floated down, blood mist mingling with the droplets and snow from the trees, forming a grisly rainfall.

Kessler's ears buzzed, the cries and moans of his men a distant echo compared to the ringing tinnitus that pierced his hearing. His gaze swept over the gut-wrenching devastation – war's raw brutality on full display. Soldiers once standing tall were now twisted heaps, their faces contorted in anguish or shock.

The American explosives had unleashed their fury, hurling thousands of steel balls that tore through flesh, splintered bones, and ripped organs. The men lay convulsing, lives ebbing away in spurts of crimson. The lucky ones fell silent instantly, while others gasped, reaching in vain for limbs already severed.

Kessler froze, his finger suspended over his trigger as if wrestling with an invisible force. But years of training kicked in, and he shook himself back into action. As he looked around, his eyes met Dietrich's. Before either of them could utter a command, a volley of gunfire roared from concealed positions within the trees.