Texas, New Naples Port.

Over three hundred colonial militia dressed in red have taken over this port.

A group of them stood in the empty port, craning their necks in anticipation.

"Colonel Arthur, those locals have such an attitude. We’ve told them that the Texans have retreated inland and that they can disembark without worry, yet they’re still making us feed the mosquitoes here."

"We only have around three hundred men, and without the Knight Order with us, if there were even a Centurion of the Wolf Race, we’d be done for."

Colonel Arthur sighed and ignored his subordinates’ complaints.

The state militia suffered a defeat and lost the arsenal, indirectly causing a massive slave rebellion, leaving half of Louisiana and Mississippi as barren wasteland.

If it weren’t for the Saint George’s Knight Order being around, even considering the high rank of his father as a colonial official, his best outcome would be to return to Arkansas as a farm owner.

The pitch-black, tranquil port suddenly dropped countless flares, illuminating the entire town in stark detail.

Militia members covered their eyes, feeling blinded by the whiteness.

"No enemy spotted, everything is safe."

Soldiers in tan uniforms quickly spread out along the shore, setting up temporary fortifications, without anyone coming forward to greet them.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, just as he was about to step forward to report, when a violent roaring sound came from the dark sea ahead.

Like a terrifying sea beast emerging from the depths, the iron giant spewed black smoke, rolling over the soft beach, leaving behind surprisingly shallow tracks.

This type of war machines completely beyond the colonial militia’s comprehension, shocked them into wide-eyed amazement.

The cruiser’s hatch opened, and armored infantry clad in steam iron armor walked out.

They held chainsaw longswords, carried small-caliber artillery, and under their steel masks, eyes glinted with red light as they vigilantly surveyed the surroundings.

Not until these armored infantry with "Perception of Evil" goggles signaled "safe," did the tense soldiers relax. They trusted none of the colonial militia’s reports.

"Relay to the main force, no enemy ambush detected, everything is normal, proceed with landing."

"Haha, these little wolves have been scared witless by us."

"Be cautious, it’s a full moon tonight, those wolves would become stronger, and if they charge into our ranks, ship artillery won’t be able to assist us."

The native troops began to chatter, completely ignoring the embarrassed red-clad soldiers under the spotlight.

After a long wait, a lieutenant came over to inquire: "You’re Colonel Arthur, right? Get your men to stand guard where they should be, the main force is coming ashore."

Receiving orders from a lieutenant, Arthur had to lower his head and comply. Despite being a colonial colonel and the son of a colonial official, he had no real standing against this native lieutenant.

As messages were relayed, land cruisers began landing on the beach one after another.

The overall shape of these land cruisers resembled World War I-era tanks, only larger in size and equipped with more artillery. They were a fresh product from the Big Ben Science Academy, designed specifically for assault operations.

This expedition army deployed forty-nine units, each carrying twelve armored infantry, forming the backbone of the expedition army.

Advance troops of eight thousand soldiers gradually spread out, taking critical positions throughout the port, leaving Colonel Arthur and his men pushed to an insignificant spot.

"These locals don’t trust us at all."

"If they don’t value us, they shouldn’t have brought us along."

The militia grumbled, facing outdated weapons, meager military funding, and the formidable Texans, they might as well work for farm owners as cowboys.

Colonel Arthur could only try his best to console them, the state militia truly didn’t value this work, but he had no choice. Without his soldiers, his empty title as colonel was worth less than a native second lieutenant.

"Spread out! Clear a space!"

Lieutenant Colonel Scott commanded sternly, and soon a team of royal mages disembarked busily began to set up a complex magic array, laying down high-purity magic stones as if they were free.

They were preparing a teleportation array surpassing the scale and distance of the medieval Philip and Richard dual kings’ arrays.

Space magic is difficult to start learning and even harder to master.

However, the Royal Mage Academy after systematic cultivation over the years, managed to produce a group of entry-level space system casters.

Traditional casters without systematic teaching, even if talented, struggle to acquire knowledge, and can only advance through exploration. Without finding a good student their skills would go unpassed, leaving them cheap for explorers in the distant future.

Royal Mage Academy is different. It selects talents of varying quality and provides tailored instruction, allowing most of them, even those with poor talent, to master at least one or two key spells, useful in group cooperation, and they wouldn’t worry if sacrificed.

Esteemed casters thus became mere henchmen under control.

With ripples spreading through space, armored infantry resembling the Iron Duke but significantly smaller emerged, standing just over seven meters tall.

Their steel armor displayed the deep blue flag of the United Kingdom, with dried blood still crusted on the chainsaw sword’s teeth.

Suddenly, someone in the lighthouse signaled, and Lieutenant Colonel Scott’s expression immediately changed.

"Enemy fleet approaching!"

"It’s the French fleet stationed in the Cuban Colony!"

"Damn Frenchmen!"

British soldiers on the shore quickly prepared for combat.

The world today seems isolated; the Franco-German conflict appears most irreconcilable on the surface but, fundamentally, it’s the Anglo-French antagonism. The most recent war between these two nations was the War of the Spanish Succession.

In that war, the British lost a crucial foothold in the Mediterranean, the Gibraltar Strait, and their land ally, the Habsburg Dynasty, was firmly halted within their borders, unable to achieve effective results.

The outcome allowed France not only to acquire a vast new territory near the mainland but also to inherit Spain’s colonial assets, with claims across South America, Central America, and beyond.

Spain has declined and couldn’t regain influence over Latin America. But as a Franco-Spanish United Kingdom, Spain’s weaknesses in national power disappeared, potentially allowing them to consolidate all Latin American and North African territories. France could challenge British dominance on both land and sea, not to mention the French have also allied with the massive Tsarist Russia.

Ultimately, the world’s hegemon remains the United Kingdom but the French are no longer on a tragic path, closely following behind the British, always ready to avenge the shame of the Afo War and reshape the world order.

The French fleet calmly anchored on the sea, with few in number, but the waving Fleur-de-Lis flags still kept every British soldier on edge.

"Lieutenant Colonel, the French have sent a message asking why we’ve invaded Texas territory without cause."

Lieutenant Colonel’s face turned grim: "Tell them we’ve entered a state of war with Texas, that’s none of the French’s business. If the French make any moves, consider whether this flotilla would be swallowed by us!"

After a while, the signalman returned with an unpleasant expression.