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

Business as usual

13 October 1539. Minutes before midnight

Only ghouls could thrive in the darkness littered with death the same way a unit from the Sonderkriegskommando crept through battlefield remains under the moonless night. Soldiers of the 1. Chemiewaffen-Kompanie shoveled the ground with help from the earth mages, shoving wide cylinders next to each other at an incline to the nearest source of light, the traitors a few hundred meters ahead. Asthmatic gasps throbbed out from their masks damped from all their toils, and some drew sharp sighs when the sound of hoofs reached their ears.

Centaurs from the Capital Army Garrison arrived after trudging in and out of the carnage caused during the day, hauling the last batch. Everyone knew through passing whispers. Some went by the Major headed to the left echelon where he had just left after a quick inspection. He made his way to the center with soft steps, already making out the mixed group of wind mage conscripts and volunteers from the nobility and army bunched up for a machine gun to only need a five-second burst to finish.

"Is everyone ready?"

The unsuspecting wind mages in front of him jolted from his sudden presence, horror striking their faces for a second from the inhumanly human features cursed with two round eyes and the snout of a donkey masking his face. The Major raised a finger to his gas filter and hushed him. He heard grass crushed beside him, and a gas mask appeared on his face and spoke in a whisper.

"We're down to the last cart. We can begin right on schedule."

"Good."

The officer turned against the rebel camp, adjusting his left arm, barely reading the time. He twisted his head, pulling his binoculars on his right to see the flags around the enemy settlement fluttering east. Once again, he checked the time and raised two fingers.

"Two minutes, gents. Does everyone remember how to wear the masks?"

They nodded.

"Wear them and proceed to your stations. You are to remove them only once we return."

The guests did so. They didn't know what they signed up for, only that their cooperation would end the war quicker. They ran to their places with light steps, barely a rustle from the grass, and lined up in rows, standing a few paces behind the cylinders that numbered around a hundred. Whatever the Salaians prepared up ahead, they will not honor them the chance to use it. As the clock struck twelve, the cylinders hissed then a mist gushed out. Wind mages whispered their chants, and the breeze turned eastward. The poison floated towards the camp, becoming one giant fog with a greenish-yellow hue the mages had to waft and direct.

"Wha–?" one could imagine their eyes widening.

"Miasma?"

The M-word sent a spine-chilling echo to whoever heard it. More so to those who experienced it. A poor harvest, disease; the accursed demons from the cold north were harbingers of such unpredictable natural disaster.

"Mind your words. Heretical it might seem, this is merely a product of nature."

The Major didn't want something blasphemous to come out of the operation or hints to Chlorine Gas production as crude as their chemistry may be. In a matter of minutes, the green cloud of death tainted the camp, and wails resonated where men broke and fled aimlessly through the darkness as the agony it brought choked them in their sleep. They've realized late that an invisible enemy has penetrated their defense, their ears, and all senses but sight and smell.

The first hour of the 14th of October 1539 marked the first day when chemical warfare was waged in Verussea, leading to one big bump in the night.

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