Au: I'm sorry for the delay in posting today. Wattpad just gave me 12 hours of suffering by glitching out and not letting me upload anything. As I'm writing this, it's 6:51 PM, and the day has started off pretty badly

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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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Under the faint moonlight, the Milishial scout team sought refuge in a narrow valley, where towering rocks shielded them from prying enemy eyes. They established a temporary camp, leveraging the rugged terrain to conceal their presence. The air was frigid, heavy with the damp scent of earth and an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint crackling of a small fire nestled among the stones.

Aurelia, the commander of the scout team and a masterful Milishial mage, stood at the heart of the camp, her piercing eyes surveying her comrades. Her silver hair glinted in the firelight, and the ancient wooden staff in her hand quivered faintly, as if attuned to unseen danger. She spoke in a low, commanding tone: "Inspect your weapons and magic. We cannot afford a single lapse."

Sylas, a veteran scout with sharp eyes and a strategic mind, sat by the fire, retrieving a handful of forest mushrooms from a leather pouch. He carefully threaded them onto a dry branch and roasted them over the flames, the warm orange glow illuminating his weary yet vigilant face. The subtle aroma of the mushrooms provided a fleeting comfort amidst the mounting tension.

"I hope the Russians don't spot us on the hill," Kael, a young scout with tousled hair and bright eyes, said softly, his voice laced with unease.

Aurelia turned to him, her gaze softening but her tone resolute. "Fear not, Kael. I've woven a magical veil around the camp. The Russians lack magic—how could they pierce it?"

Sylas paused, the fire flaring as a dry branch succumbed to the flames. He frowned, his voice low and measured. "Your veil is formidable, Aurelia, but the Russians toppled the Papaldia Empire. What makes you certain our magic can counter them?"

Sylas's question cast a heavy silence over the camp. Kael ceased carving a piece of wood, his eyes locked on Aurelia. Lena, a female scout with tightly bound brown hair and a keen gaze, tilted her head, awaiting a response. Torren, a burly scout with a long scar across his cheek, rested his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes fixed on their commander.

Aurelia stepped closer to the fire, her staff emitting a faint blue glow. "Magic is a power the Russians do not possess, Sylas. Without it, they cannot wield spells, leaving them vulnerable to us. But..." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the team. "I don't claim they're weak. They have strategy, discipline, and a fearsome resilience. Papaldia fell because they underestimated them."

Sylas offered a faint smile, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Strategy? If the Russians' strength lies in strategy, why are we skulking like this? A mighty empire like Papaldia couldn't have crumbled from mere tactics."

Lena interjected, her voice hoarse. "I've heard the Russians wield strange machines that spew fire without magic. Is that true, Commander?"

Aurelia nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting caution. "I've seen them from afar—iron carriages that belch fire, sticks that roar like thunder. They're not magic, merely... tools. Tools from a world we've yet to fully comprehend."

Kael, ever inquisitive, leaned forward. "Tools? Are they stronger than magic?"

"No," Aurelia replied firmly. "Nothing surpasses magic, Kael. But we cannot rely on it alone. We'll blend it with tactics and our team's wisdom. And don't forget, we have allies the Russians cannot rival."

Torren, a man of few words but practical, spoke up. "Allies are valuable, Commander, but if the Russians are as formidable as rumored, we must understand them. Otherwise, we'll end up like Papaldia—dead, ignorant of the cause."

Aurelia nodded, her eyes alight with approval. "Precisely, Torren. That's why I've brought you on this mission—to observe and learn. We won't repeat Papaldia's errors." She turned to Sylas. "What's your perspective, Sylas? You always see things differently."

Sylas rose, his hand resting on the hilt of his short sword. "We must prepare for the worst. If the Russians have machines, we need a way to destroy them. Your magic is powerful, but if they outnumber us, we'll need a retreat plan."

Aurelia gave a faint smile. "Duly noted, Sylas. But retreat is not our first choice. We are Milishial's elite scouts. My mission is to return with intelligence, no matter what machines we face."

The scouts nodded, their spirits bolstered by their commander's confidence. Yet Sylas remained uneasy. He stepped to the camp's edge, his eyes scanning the darkness. The cold stones loomed, unyielding, but they couldn't dispel the sense of peril. The fire dwindled to glowing embers, crackling faintly. A chill wind swept through, carrying the damp earth's scent and an ominous stillness.

Suddenly, a faint snap echoed from the darkness, like a dry branch breaking underfoot. Kael sprang to his feet, clutching his dagger, his eyes wide. "We're not alone," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Aurelia raised her staff, a blue light flaring to illuminate part of the valley. "Prepare!" she commanded sharply. Sylas drew his sword, standing beside her, his eyes probing the night. Shadowy figures stirred among the rocks, and a chilling presence enveloped them. "The Russians are here," Aurelia declared, her voice steady but resolute.

From the shadows, faint green and red lights emerged, like the eyes of predatory beasts. A man stepped forward, his distinctive Balbo beard stark against his stern face. This was Viktor Makarov, leader of a notorious PMC mercenary force, hired under a special contract to wage war with irregular forces to cut costs, rather than a formal army. But the Milishial team didn't know this. To them, Makarov and his men were "the Russians," the ones who crushed the Papaldia Empire. He led his mercenaries and heavily armored Juggernauts, his cold eyes radiating authority.

Makarov surveyed the scouts, a faint smile curling his lips. "How disappointing," he said, his voice even but mocking. "I expected the Milishial to detect us sooner. Is this the extent of your magic?"

Aurelia stepped forward, her staff blazing with light, her eyes locked on Makarov. "You're overconfident, Russian," she retorted coldly. "Don't think your rabble can overcome Milishial magic."

Makarov chuckled, his gaze unwavering. "Rabble? You understand nothing. But that's fine. I don't need your comprehension—only your absence."

Sylas tightened his grip on his sword, standing beside Aurelia. He whispered, "They outnumber us, Commander. What's the plan?"

Aurelia kept her eyes on Makarov. "Hold your ground, Sylas. I'll show them the strength of our magic." She addressed the team, her voice ringing out: "Prepare to fight! No one retreats!"

Lena drew her magical bow, Kael clutched his dagger, and Torren raised his sword, his gaze unyielding. But before Aurelia could issue another command, Makarov raised his hand. Andrei Zudsanov, his right-hand man, shouted, "Attack!"

Thunder roared, not from the sky. The strange sticks in the mercenaries' hands spat fire and smoke, unleashing deafening blasts. The Milishial team, unfamiliar with firearms, mistook them for "fire-spitting sticks" crafted with some bizarre Russian magic. Aurelia shouted, "Scatter!" The team dodged, melting into the shadows like phantoms. She raised her staff, chanting a spell. A shimmering blue shield materialized, deflecting invisible sparks hurtling toward them.

Kael lunged at a mercenary, his dagger flashing. He struck through a gap in the armor, felling the man with a groan. Lena fired a magical arrow, piercing a Juggernaut's armor and bringing him down. Torren slashed at another mercenary, blood staining the rocks. The scouts fought in unison, using the terrain to counterattack, but Makarov's forces were numerous, and their "fire-spitting sticks" roared relentlessly.

Makarov, standing behind his men, observed with cold detachment. As a PMC leader, he anticipated every enemy move. He had built this force from elite mercenaries, hired to replace regular troops for cost efficiency while remaining ruthless. He raised a long stick—what the Milishial mistook for a magical weapon—and aimed at Aurelia. Sparks tore through the air, but she dodged with a speed-enhancing spell.

"Andrei!" Makarov barked into a small device, incomprehensible to the Milishial. "Bring in the iron carriage!"

A massive iron vehicle rolled from the darkness, roaring like a beast. The Milishial team panicked, mistaking it for a summoned creature. Lena whispered to Kael, "What is that? Is it alive?"

"It's not magic!" Sylas shouted, standing by Aurelia. "It's just a machine! Commander, what do we do?"

Aurelia swung her staff, her eyes ablaze. "I'll stop it!" She chanted, summoning a whirlwind that engulfed the vehicle—a BTR-60, though to them, an "iron monster." The wind shook it, but it pressed forward, spitting fire from a large tube.

"Your Russians aren't as strong as you think!" Aurelia shouted, her voice echoing over the roar.

Sylas watched, whispering to Aurelia, "We can't hold out, Commander. They're too many."

Aurelia nodded, her eyes never leaving the enemy. "I know, Sylas. But I won't let them crush us easily." She turned to the team: "Find the ravine behind us! Prepare to retreat!"

Lena, perched on a rock, nodded. "The ravine's narrow, Commander. We can lure them in."

Aurelia agreed. "I'll distract them. Sylas, lead the team!"

She raised her staff, chanting. A blinding golden explosion erupted, like a small sun, dazzling the mercenaries and Juggernauts. Chaos erupted among Makarov's forces. Sylas signaled, and the team raced toward the ravine, exploiting the confusion.

But Makarov wasn't easily deceived. He shouted, "Cut them off!" A deafening roar came from the sky. A massive machine with spinning wings appeared, its lights sweeping down like a monster's eyes. The Milishial team panicked, mistaking it for a "flying beast" summoned by the Russians. Later, they would learn it was an Mi-8 helicopter, but now it was sheer terror.

"Flying beast!" Kael screamed, trembling as the light hit him. Rocks and dirt flew as projectiles rained from the machine.

Lena pulled Kael behind a boulder, her eyes anxious. "Hold on, Kael! The Commander will handle it!"

Aurelia faced the flying machine, her staff glowing red. "Sylas, protect the team!" she ordered. She chanted, launching a massive fireball at the machine. The explosion made it waver, black smoke rising, but it hovered, spitting fire downward.

Makarov, inside the machine, aimed his long stick through a window. "Stubborn," he muttered. A spark shot out, piercing Aurelia's shoulder, and she collapsed.

"Commander!" Sylas shouted, rushing to support her. Blood soaked her cloak, but Aurelia gripped his hand, her eyes resolute. "Lead the team, Sylas... Don't stop."

Sylas clenched his teeth, his heart breaking. He turned to Lena and Kael: "Go now! I'm staying with the Commander!"

Lena dragged Kael toward the forest, Torren following, sword ready. Makarov ordered, "Wipe them out!"

But the Milishial didn't yield. From the forest, Lena and Kael worked with Torren, setting magical traps. Lena chanted, collapsing the ground to block the iron carriage. Torren pushed a boulder, crushing a group of mercenaries.

Aurelia, though weakened, cast a final spell. A silver wall of light rose, shielding the team. "Go, Sylas..." she whispered, collapsing.

Sylas cradled Aurelia, laying her down gently. "I swear, Commander... the Russians will pay." He ran to the forest, where the team waited.

The flying machine's roar echoed, but the forest hid them. Makarov, from above, looked down, his eyes furious. "They escaped... this time," he muttered.

At dawn, Makarov sat on a rock, surveying the smoky battlefield. As a PMC leader, he calculated every detail, from deploying mercenaries to reporting to secret clients. He checked the damage via a comm device. "Report, Andrei."

"We lost six men, the iron carriage is destroyed, the flying machine lightly damaged," Andrei replied.

Makarov frowned. "Retrieve their equipment for study. These Milishial are more formidable than I thought."

His satellite phone buzzed. Makarov answered, his tone softening for his mother. "It's me."

"Viktor, when are you coming home?" she asked, worried.

"It'll be a while, Mom. There's a lot of work," he replied, his gaze distant.

"You need to be careful, Viktor."

Makarov gave a faint smile. "I know, Mom. I'll come back with the best gift." The call ended, and he stood, the dawn light on his face. The war with Milishial had just begun.

In the forest, Sylas led the team, carrying the pain of losing Aurelia. Lena bandaged Kael's wounds, her eyes resolute. "We'll return, Sylas. For the Commander."

Sylas nodded, gripping his sword. "We'll grow stronger. The Russians will pay."

The team pressed on, their shadows blending into the deep forest, carrying resolve and hope.