Hearts of Iron 4 Player's Guide to Save the Isekai World

Icarus has fallen

Night. D'arçon Gate ramparts, Laurentine

Assistant Researcher Oskar Sommer must've rocked his head in almost every position possible. The capital glistened like a beacon of light in a miserable land, but that light ought to dim a little. Laurentine Tower tolled, and Oskar clocked in on midnight with his pencil and notebook, noting the hour's decrease of fluctuations from the interlinking mana measuring balls scanning the Mark 5 prototype emitter.

He stopped midway, allowing a moment to yawn, and continued. The archdemon hand was losing miasma, and their conclusions were nothing more than hypotheses; Mana particles pounding the accursed energy inside to degrade it, material issues the scanners can't pick up. Such was the endless woes of the academic man's pursuit of knowledge.

A bright light flashed on the obelisk-shaped emitter. Oskar's ears exploded, and the surprise jolted him off his chair. The mog (miasma fog) flashed in a reddish yellow before he ducked while dirt rained. The measuring balls then flickered.

"No."

Oskar reached for the parapet. The obelisk sparked out red like a half-baked fire mage. When the scanners became a bright pale, he hit the deck, and a blast shook his body. The explosion lit the night red, snowing glowing particles of the same color, and his heart sank. The undeniable silhouette of an obsolete airship appeared hovering overhead, bearing a black cross on the side.

"How?"

How could an airship fly without getting detected? As the alarm bells rang and the screaming came, Oskar's mind demanded an answer. The size sent a shiver down his spine as it rose and snowed paper in the hundreds. One fluttered to his side by some luck and plucked while it was still in the air. His arm stiffened at the only sentence.

SURRENDER

AND WE SHALL DELIVER YOU FROM YOUR NIGHTMARE

His trembling hand lost its grip as he stared out into the darkness.

***

31 October 1539. Laurentine, Salais

The Kingdom of Salais has capitulated

Erich fought the urge to slouch and raised his fist with heavy breaths. The sweat from marching poured down his forehead and dampened his cloth mask. The battalion halted in a domino; natural-looking for the sentries, mages, and longbowmen occupying Laurentine's ramparts provided the treants were merciful through the hellish week.

Salais was burning, leaving the days black and the nights moonless. While autumn was generous to them, the ashes were not. With the emitter's destruction, the corrupted treants turned their splinters to the nearest concentration of mana. The airships, L01 to L05, floated in the background with the westerlies' grace. Together with artillery, they resonated across the gray plains and gently rolling hills in crescendos.

Erich weaved through scorch marks, small boulders, and cracks of dried mud scattered around Laurentine. Ash painted its walls and the breached gate, but he focused on the bigger, empty craters. He kneeled, rubbing dirt between his thumb and forefinger until his wool glove glittered red.

His arm twitched stiff and flicked the fine particle away. Erich cringed, trying to make sense of its diabolical feeling.

Miasma, he concluded; perhaps enriched, for the lack of a better term. It was revolting without an explanation — a nightmare that'd give you a rude awakening. His body must be adapting to the world at a rapid rate. Erich tapped his saber to amplify his aura, incinerating it and noting static when his hair raised. Behind him, Princess Emilia gasped for air. She yanked off the mask, hiding her pale and sweating face. And Laurentine had to deal with worse than that.