Note: This work is entirely fictional and belongs to the Alternate History genre, utilizing historical characters and events in a fictional context. All content is a product of imagination and does not reflect reality or political or military stance.

The story contains sensitive elements such as violence, large-scale warfare, tense political conflicts, and alternative historical depictions. It is not suitable for readers under 16 years of age or those who may be psychologically affected.

Continuing to read implies acceptance of all controversial elements within the work.

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The 4th, 5th, and 8th Expeditionary Fleets had been deployed to the battlefield to eliminate the enemy—Russia—by using overwhelming force to reclaim control of the empire's maritime territory. According to intelligence reports, Russia had deployed approximately 20 warships in the area, along with several support vessels. Notably, all Russian ships were constructed of steel, with modern designs far surpassing Papaldia's technology. They were equipped with main guns at the bow, which, though smaller in size compared to Mu's ships, impressed with their simplicity and sophistication.

Consecutive defeats on land had forced Papaldia to adopt guerrilla tactics—a move that military commanders viewed as a disgrace to the reputation of a superpower. Meanwhile, Russia's strength was not limited to its navy but also extended to its air force, with strange fighter aircraft that far outperformed the Swezchers Papaldia had encountered. Although Russia was suspected of receiving aid from Mu, the Mu ambassador remained silent, fueling suspicion among the Papaldian populace.

On the flagship of the 4th Expeditionary Fleet, three Papaldian admirals—Irouad, Amagion, and Mordian—gathered around a nautical chart. The map was marked with the positions they planned to attack, including ports that had been seized and exploited by Russia for resources.

"We are nearing the enemy's waters," Irouad declared confidently. "The objective is clear: destroy the Russian fleet, reclaim control of the sea, and restore the honor of the Papaldian Empire. Ensure all warships are ready for combat."

The Papaldian fleet advanced in a dense formation. Large warships were positioned at the center, protected by destroyers and escort vessels, while wyverns flew overhead, serving as scouts and support. In contrast, Russia's Black Sea Fleet, with its modern steel ships, maintained a looser formation, utilizing radar for long-range surveillance.

On the Moskva flagship, the admiral stood silently before the radar screen, his sharp eyes observing the swarm of enemy signals. An officer approached to report:

"Admiral, their wyverns are approaching at low altitude. Likely a scouting force."

He nodded and issued a firm order: "Deploy the anti-aircraft systems and hold formation. Do not attack yet; let them come closer. We'll show them the true power of the Black Sea Fleet."

"And inform ground forces that the enemy has arrived," he added.

The officer immediately carried out his duties while the admiral began notifying nearby ships.

"Attention, all ships. Prepare to engage and intercept anything within range," he paused, then turned to the communications officer. "Where are the submarines? Can we contact them?"

The communications officer replied, "I'll try," and quickly got to work. Moments later, he reported back with a serious tone.

"Four Kilo-class submarines are closing in on the enemy, expected to enter the minefield."

"Good. Then we need not worry about the enemy's numerical advantage," the admiral said. "Now, we just need to deal with those wyverns. Estimate their numbers."

A sailor responded softly, "Several hundred... no, several thousand. Apologies, Admiral, the radar can no longer provide an exact count."

"I see..." the admiral murmured, his gaze fixed ahead. He made a decision and picked up the communication device. "Permission to engage. Destroy everything within range. Ensure nothing gets through."

At his command, the ships launched a barrage of Kh-35 and Kh-59MK2 missiles toward the enemy. The missiles streaked across the sky, leaving trails of smoke over a vast area, making the sheer terror of the Russian Navy's firepower evident to anyone nearby. It was absolute destruction, against which there was almost no defense.

Meanwhile, on land, S-300 and Pantsir-S1 anti-aircraft systems lined the coastline, targeting the approaching wyverns. It was unclear what Papaldia's strategy was in choosing to move along the coast, but it clearly put their massive fleet at a disadvantage.

Moreover, Papaldia would struggle against another threat. In the sky, Su-25 and MiG-35 aircraft flew past, ready to decimate the enemy's air force. Meanwhile, Papaldia remained unaware of what was coming.

...

Papaldia's air force was heading straight for Russia's Black Sea Fleet. This was a major counterattack aimed at cutting off Russia's supply lines and regaining the initiative on the ground. They had suffered many humiliations in this war and could not let it continue.

Reymen, an experienced knight from previous battles, was fully confident in his ability to make the enemy's day difficult. He looked around proudly, his lips curling into a smile beneath his gleaming armor, reflected in the cool waters below. There was nothing better than this moment, savoring it as if it were his last.

"Reymen, do you think we can defeat Mu's ships?"

The voice came through the manacom—it was Usugui, a close comrade of his. Usugui was a good man, always showing concern for the lower classes in Behemon, a city far to the south of the capital. Reymen, however, cared little for those lower classes, as they were mostly former citizens of conquered nations—unworthy of the empire's prosperity.

He glanced at the others, all experienced dragon knights and wyvern riders. He shook off his thoughts and replied, "I don't know. Just seeing them is a source of pride, let alone fighting them."

"But we can overwhelm them with numbers, right?" Usugui pressed. "No matter how strong they are, they can't withstand this many wyverns. Not to mention the fleet behind us."

Indeed, behind them was a massive fleet, and surely those barbarians couldn't stand against it.

"Yeah, I don't think anything can defeat us. Even the Holy Milishial Empire would be wary."

He despised those barbarians for daring to insult the empire's honor and set foot on their sacred soil. He tightened his reins, his spirits rising as they drew closer to the enemy. Usugui continued chatting with him, a way to pass the time before the battle.

"Do you think we should support those former foreign citizens?"

"You mean those useless ones? No," Reymen hissed. He always made it clear that he hated people from conquered lands. They would never accept living as they had before, always opposing and even foolishly trying to resist Papaldia to restore their old nations. "I'll never let them take a single coin from the empire."

"Why? They're just like us, aren't they? They're human," Usugui's voice was clearly dissatisfied with his answer.

"Human? Where do you think the demi-humans and beastmen went?" Reymen retorted sharply. Usugui fell silent for a moment before continuing. "But no matter what, they deserve better treatment. I believe that."

"Funny, isn't it?" Reymen mocked. "You help people, but do you think you'll get a good outcome? That's just how society is."

Usugui said nothing more, leaving only silence. Reymen didn't intend to crush his friend's kindness, but he needed to make his stance clear so Usugui would understand the basics of life after discharge. Despite his gruffness, he still cared for his friend.

"Hey, don't stay silent like that," Reymen comforted gently. "I said that to make you cautious, not to crush your kindness. If anything I said made you think otherwise, just ignore it."

"Yeah, I will..."

Boom!

Usugui had just started speaking when a deafening explosion rang out, accompanied by a blinding light. Reymen looked in that direction and saw a plume of smoke rising, with many wyverns scattering.

Before he could react, a series of explosions followed. Each explosion carried a deadly sound—literally—as the bodies of wyverns fell from the sky. He yanked the reins hard, breaking formation and flying higher to observe.

As he ascended, he was horrified to see dozens of glowing projectiles streaking toward them at terrifying speeds. He maneuvered his wyvern skillfully, trying to evade them. He flew inland—where his chances of survival were higher—while continuously pressing the manacom on his ear and shouting.

"Usugui! Usugui! Are you still there?"

"Still here... What are those things?!" Usugui's voice was panicked.

"Alright, listen, fly inland, and we'll get out of here."

He confirmed, constantly scanning to ensure nothing was following. Usugui's voice came through again. "Why? We need to stay and fight them!"

"Forget it, you don't know what I just saw. Trust me, facing them is certain death. Now, shut up and follow orders!"

Reymen barked, urging his wyvern to fly faster. He glanced back—the explosions continued, with plumes of smoke left by the glowing projectiles. The entire wyvern formation, numbering in the hundreds, had been shattered and was now fleeing in desperation.

He turned his head in fear, not daring to look back. As he was lost in thought, a sound plunged him into despair. One of the projectiles was targeting him. Its shape—a cylinder with a rounded tip and a glowing tail—made him think it was some kind of light arrow.

He tried to dodge, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. He couldn't escape it. Suddenly, it was unnervingly close—his wyvern was exhausted from flying at full speed. He looked back; it was getting closer, and his fear grew. He tried to think of a way out and came up with an idea, though he wasn't sure it would work. Still, he tried it.

He pulled the reins sharply—the wyvern performed a roll. He saw the projectile fly past; for a moment, he was relieved, but then everything changed. It exploded.

The blast threw him off his wyvern, which was killed and fell, as did he. He panicked, desperately trying to regain control, his helmet spinning as he looked around for a slim chance. But there was nothing. It was over, and he began to accept it.

But then, a miracle happened. Suddenly, he felt a strong force pushing him, causing him to wince and open his eyes wide. Usugui had grabbed his arm while still controlling his wyvern, but it didn't last long. The wyvern quickly lost altitude and made a rough landing.

Reymen was thrown several meters, while Usugui was flung in front of the wyvern. He struggled to stand despite the pain all over his body. He saw his friend trying to get up and moved to help him.

"Usugui, are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, just hurt from shrapnel and the fall. It's nothing," Usugui said, tossing his helmet aside, revealing a pained expression.

Reymen helped him up and looked at his wyvern. It was riddled with large shrapnel, yet it had managed to fly a bit further—surprising. As Usugui leaned on him to stand, a continuous sound came from behind. More plumes of smoke appeared, along with...

"Planes!" Usugui exclaimed. "Didn't they say the enemy only had Mu's planes? Those aren't Mu's planes!"

"I don't know," Reymen shook his head, unable to believe the enemy possessed such things. More planes flew past, accompanied by increasingly intense explosions. Staying here was clearly unsafe.

The two supported each other as they headed west, where they might find a village for help. Reymen glanced back, wondering what fate awaited the fleet.

...

Meanwhile, deep beneath the sea, four Kilo-class submarines silently approached Papaldia's ships, unnoticed. Their mission was simple: wait for Papaldia to fall into the minefield that had been laid.

B-261 Novorossiysk—one of the submarines involved in the mission. Inside, it was relatively quiet, but there was some conversation, showing the crew's comfort in this battle.

"Maintaining a distance of fifteen kilometers. The enemy fleet is about to enter the minefield."

"Good, are the torpedoes ready?" the captain asked.

"Yes," a sailor replied.

It wouldn't be hard to destroy the enemy from this distance, especially since the enemy had no concept of submarines. Nothing could stop this attack, but the strategy required surrounding the enemy from behind while other forces attacked from the opposite side to annihilate the fleet.

This would reduce Papaldia's overall capabilities and lower the enemy's morale on land. However, the world's terrain was relatively unfavorable—mainly because the further east one went, the more rugged the terrain became, with mountain ranges. Armored forces could still traverse it, but it was troublesome when encountering Papaldia's guerrilla units, which often ambushed from higher ground, causing difficulties for infantry.

Although no successful neutralizations had been recorded because low-altitude air forces always accompanied the infantry, reducing the risk of ambushes, Papaldia's adaptability in this war still needed attention.

The captain scratched his head and continued observing the radar. The enemy was only about 385 meters from the minefield; it would be the end for these arrogant foes. He continued watching, feeling uneasy about the number of ships deployed. He knew Papaldia had a large fleet, but this size made him question where their defense budget came from. How could a nation possess over 1,500 warships of various types, even if they were wooden and didn't require high maintenance costs? It was an astonishing number for any country.

Even the United Kingdom at its peak only had about two-thirds of that. An impressive number, but not surprising compared to what Russia had shown. He shook off his thoughts and saw the enemy was close enough, so he ordered the crew to prepare for the attack.

Meanwhile, on the deck of the ship, Irouad stood at the bow, binoculars in hand, observing ahead. As the direct commander, he was focused to ensure nothing escaped his notice.

Amagion approached from behind, patting Irouad's shoulder, and said gently, "No need to be so tense. We'll face those barbarians soon enough."

"I know, but I don't like standing around uselessly."

Amagion looked at Irouad, said nothing, and continued observing beside him. Irouad was dedicated to his work, while Amagion was more relaxed and not usually focused. As for Mordian, he was somewhat special—quiet, reserved, and introverted, but that made him more comfortable than engaging in conversation.

Irouad looked out, scanning the water, but saw nothing. Yet, a sense of unease rose, as if warning him. However, no matter how he tried, he couldn't pinpoint the source of that feeling.

"Something's not right," Amagion said. "It feels like we shouldn't be here."

"What are you talking about?" Irouad asked, lowering his binoculars to look at Amagion.

"I don't know, but there's something off about the sea."

"It could be..."

Boom!

An explosion erupted from behind. The two turned to see a plume of smoke rising. Then, more explosions followed, leaving them no time to react. Death quickly spread everywhere, with screams audible within range.

Irouad's manacom kept ringing; he listened to the reports, but there was nothing but massive destruction. The dragon carriers were continuously sinking, and nothing could save them. Although there were still many wyverns overhead, they could do nothing as the enemy's location remained unknown.

Another message came through the manacom, ringing in Irouad's ear, but he quickly responded: "Speak!"

"This is the rear of the fleet. The ships at the back are being destroyed, and we can't determine the enemy's location!"

"What...?!"

Irouad was bewildered. He couldn't issue appropriate orders because there was no enemy to target. He scanned frantically for anything suspicious. But Mordian's voice caught his attention.

"Irouad! We need to abandon ship. It's too dangerous!"

Hearing this, he was displeased, but it was the best option for their survival. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Let's go. As long as we maintain contact with headquarters, we can still gather information about the enemy and the strange magic they're using, right?"

He spoke while moving to the center of the deck. Just as the two approached each other, misfortune struck—their ship was hit by a torpedo at the keel. The explosion shook the entire ship violently. The three lost their balance and were still processing what had happened when a sailor rushed up from below, shouting: "The ship is splitting apart!"

A massive column of water erupted from below, accompanied by the sound of wood cracking. The giant warship seemed to be swallowed, then broke in half amidst horrific screams. Irouad and the other two were thrown against the ship's wall as it began to sink, now split in two. The three desperately clung to something to stay afloat.

In a flash, Irouad saw an explosion in the sky, causing him to exclaim: "What the hell is that?"

In the sky, Russian fighter jets had arrived after feasting on Papaldia's wyverns. But this was from another squadron, and to finish off the ships that were struggling to stay afloat, the chefs needed to add more seasoning to make the dish more flavorful, though no one wanted to taste it except the chefs themselves.

The Su-25 and Su-30 squadrons had the enemy in their sights. One of the Su-25 pilots spoke with excitement.

"Wow, look at that. What a spectacular sight."

"Grek-13, I understand your feeling. But we need to destroy the enemy fleet."

Grek-13 replied with a teasing tone. "I know. What's there to worry about? We'll just kill them, right? They're just reptiles."

"This is Su-1, we've cleared the way. Be ready to engage."

"This is Grek-1, roger that. We're on our way, about 100 meters out."

Voices through the communication devices kept ringing. The closer they got, the more nervous the Russian pilots became. When they reached the fleet's position, they saw black smoke over a large area, with a deadly scene below—shipwrecks everywhere, with flames burning beneath.

"Welcome to the feast. The main guests have eaten their fill; the rest is for you," Su-1's voice came through excitedly. At the same time, other Russian planes could be seen leaving after completing their mission.

"Alright, this is really interesting," Grek-11 said. "In current wars, it's rare to see ships burning, let alone a scene like this."

"This is Grek-1, all ready, burn everything!" Grek-1 shouted through the radio.

The Su-25s continuously launched S-8 rockets downward. The surviving Papaldian sailors on the intact ships could do nothing against this fierce attack. They had already lost a large number of wyverns and now had no means to fight back.

"Why?" a sailor covered in blood clung to a piece of wood. "Why would a nation suddenly declare war on us and possess such power?" he groaned, his voice chaotic from the pain wracking his body.

The iron and steel objects—Mu's Swezcher planes—but the sailor's eyes could only see a blur, so he couldn't get an accurate view of their shape. But... but he could understand that the empire had made a grave mistake.

"Someone... help me... please..." his voice grew weaker, and the light in his eyes dimmed as the sounds of fire, cannons, and the roar of fighter jets created a deadly symphony in the battle.

Still in the sky, the Su-25 squadron continued to bombard the remnants of the fleet. The Papaldian Navy had been paralyzed, and on land, another battle would unfold—not between Russia and Papaldia, but within the empire itself.