Miracle Card Shop: All My Cards Can Be Actualize

The news of an army of one million soldiers being destroyed overnight became a global sensation in just half a day. War reporters stationed near the Qing Empire border recorded many harrowing scenes, and now, every channel that received the story was broadcasting it worldwide.

On screen, a fiery apocalypse unfolded in the distance. Flames rose high into the sky, and the horizon echoed with the relentless sounds of explosions. The footage showed fiery bombs raining down from orbit, obliterating the army below.

The super-heated impacts and detonations generated temperatures so intense that soldiers within the affected area were vaporized instantly, leaving behind nothing but green, glassy craters where the ground had been scorched to molten smoothness.

Each fiery detonation illuminated the night sky with white-hot flashes, as bright as daylight. The chilling screams of the soldiers echoed briefly before being silenced by the deafening blasts, painting a grim picture of utter devastation. To the audience, it was nothing less than a massacre.

The orbital bombardment lasted only ten minutes, yet in that brief time, all life, tanks, ammunition, weapons, and military equipment in the area were annihilated. What remained were vaporized, carbonized, or reduced to molten metal.

At dawn, once the reporter confirmed the bombardment had ceased, they ventured closer to document the aftermath. The scene they encountered was no less than hell on earth.

A long trail of glassed craters stretched endlessly, scattered with carbonized remains and melted iron slag. It was impossible to discern whether the twisted scraps had once been tanks or other military hardware. The sight of the carbonized soldiers left the reporters deeply shaken.

Some inexperienced reporters couldn't handle the horror and immediately turned aside to vomit at the gruesome scene.

As the investigation continued over the following days, reporters uncovered stragglers and deserters hiding among the local population in North Korean territory. Some had fled into the forests, terrified of being re-conscripted by the Qing Empire to fight against New Atlantis.

Within the dilapidated shack nestled deep in the forest, the reporters conducted an interview with one of the deserters. This group of soldiers had fled together and now survived by scavenging old wood for fire and sustaining themselves through foraging and hunting game.

The face of the leader, along with those of the other deserters moving about in the background performing their respective duties, was blurred for their personal safety.

The interview began. The reporter asked in English, and a translator relayed the question in the Qing language:

"What happened that night? Can you tell us?"

The moment the question was posed, the interviewed soldier visibly trembled. Even the other deserters in the background, overhearing the question, paused momentarily, clearly shaken.

"That night… I was there when the colonel ordered us to march to assist our comrades in fighting the South Koreans," the soldier began, his voice quivering. "We camped at the border between North Korea and our great empire. The higher-ups decided we would march at dawn. With so many tanks and mechanized units at our disposal, I thought—even if we couldn't win—we could still put up a fight. Many in my former battalion believed the same."

The soldier's voice wavered, but he managed to continue.

"That night, I was on patrol duty, assigned to the outermost perimeter of the camp. A few brothers from the battalion and some from the high command's recon team accompanied us on the patrol. That… that's the only reason we survived."

He hesitated, his hands trembling as he fought to maintain composure. Sweat soaked his collar, his pale face betraying the depth of his trauma.

"After about 15 minutes of patrolling… it happened…" His voice cracked as he recounted the event. He struggled to keep his hands steady, but his fear was evident, etched into every line of his expression. The man was clearly suffering from severe PTSD.

"The sky lit up. Fire rained down on the camp… We were on the nearest hill, and we saw everything from our post. The explosions…. they melted everything. At one point, I saw a group of men running toward the nearest trench. The trench itself wasn't destroyed, so I thought they'd survive. But instead… instead… They…. They turn into a statue… like… thing!" His voice faltered, shaking uncontrollably.

One of the reporters, understanding the science behind the devastation, realized what he was describing: carbonization. The intense heat, exceeding 200 degrees Celsius in the absence of oxygen, had turned the men into carbonized statues.

"From the hill… that night… I saw it all. We shouldn't have come here… We shouldn't have fought them! How can we fight an enemy that can bomb us from orbit? Our bullets and missiles can't even reach them! We tried! We fired everything we had at whatever was bombing us! But it was useless!"

He broke down, his voice rising in desperation and anguish. "The Emperor lied to us! We never stood a chance! There was no chance AT ALL!"

In the end, the soldier breakdown into a sobbing mess, his face contorted with anger, agony, fear, and betrayal. Yet, above all else, the predominant emotion that radiated from him was pure, unadulterated fear.

Yes… for the first time, the fearless soldiers of the Qing Empire felt fear. This was the first time they truly experienced their own insignificance. The overwhelming technological superiority of their enemy left them in utter despair.

Of course, this was not the first time the Qing Empire had lost a battle or faced a disadvantage. But one must understand: people will fight if they believe the enemy is within their means to resist or if there is even a slim chance of survival. Even when facing defeat or death, they will stand and fight if they see hope, no matter how faint.

However… when confronted with impossible odds, when all hope is stripped away to the point that despair is the only option… only a select few will choose to fight. Most will flee. In this case, those who chose to fight had already been vaporized. There are no heroic tales to recount…. only the harsh reality of war, where the brave perish first, and the cowards survive longer.

The heart-wrenching and despair-inducing testimonies of surviving soldiers became invaluable material for the reporters. These stories, laden with pain and hopelessness, were the perfect ammunition to create a sensation.

With these materials in hand, the reporters wasted no time. They sent their recordings back to their home countries and began broadcasting the harrowing accounts of the defeated soldiers.

Scenes of despair and devastation spread across nations worldwide, shattering the grip of the Hightower mind-suggestion spell over those less affected. The primal survival instinct within all living beings did its job, compelling them to pull back from this catastrophic folly.

In just half a day, allied nations contacted New Atlantis' foreign affairs office to negotiate war reparations and eagerly declared themselves neutral.

These countries scrambled to secure deals that would cause the least damage to their political careers. They understood that the fallout from this debacle would inevitably land on their shoulders.

Even though they and their citizens had been influenced by magic to participate in this reckless war, someone had to take the blame. Even is it's a scapegoat… there's need to be one… to take the fall accountability was inevitable. This… is how the world works.

But... that's not going to happen. Daniel had clearly stated in his announcement that he would wait until tomorrow midnight to declare the ultimatum. That deadline has long since passed.

— Elpis - Foreign Affairs Building —

Within the Foreign Affairs Office, Russo Veneziale was managing a meeting with a representative from Country A, one of the allied nations. This representative had called in a favor from the Stenmark family to gain access to Elpis, hoping to personally appeal to Daniel.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

In the guest room, Old Man Stenmark was enjoying himself, savoring an aged whiskey, while leaving the representative from Country A to fend for himself. Ragnar had done his part; whether or not Country A managed to close the deal was no longer his business.

"Yes, sir, I understand that you're in a bind and that your people forced you into this war. But are we really supposed to believe that as a representative of one of Country A's mage family, you didn't even have a way to protect your citizens from the spell's effects?" Russo asked with a polite smile.

It was a smile so courteous it pricked at the listener's conscience coupling with a sharp edge behind the polite words Russo had spoken.

Hearing the words spoken by this glasses-wearing, butler-like young man, the representative wanted to scream that they hadn't bothered with protective measures because they believed the cost was too steep to prepare a protection ritual for an entire country!

But how could they have possibly f*cking known that New Atlantis possessed the means to vaporize a million-strong army… a f*cking modern-day army!!! in a single night!? If they had known, they would have done everything in their power to shield their citizens from the spell!