The ground trembled under the boots of thirty thousand men.

  Duke Thorne sat atop his black warhorse, his famous dragon-scale armor basking in the winter sunlight. His army marched with the discipline of a single organism, closing half the distance to the Royal Capital in a relentless surge.

  Thorne was not marching blind. According to the Silver Serpent, who he had hired for this war Prince Lucian had just made his move today. The Prince was marching out with a force nearing fifty thousand soldiers, heading directly for the Thorne Duchy border.

  Duke Osborne, for now, would stay neutral. His forces were positioned in reserve, ready to join only if the siege of the Capital city needed to be broken or if a third party intervened.

  Thorne glanced at the small, parchment in his hand. The Silver Serpent had specifically been hired because their information network spanned the entire capital and, crucially, they possessed a way to communicate instantly. It meant Thorne was getting live updates on the enemy's movements.

  "Sir," Knight Vice-Commander Bristane rode up beside him, looking at the approaching horizon. "Wouldn't it be better if we used the Artillery provided by Alaric?"

  Thorne shook his head, his face grim but calm. "No. I want to fight the Prince man to man."

  General Alther, riding on the other side, nodded. "Thought so. You never liked fighting from a distance, Duke."

  Thorne chuckled, but then his expression grew serious. "It is not just about preference. I don't want to showcase those Artilleries unless a truly massive emergency knocks on our Kingdom's door. Those guns are a surprise meant for enemies stronger than a wayward Prince. If we use them now, the world will learn how to counter them."

  Bristane shrugged, adjusting his gauntlets. "Well, I don't mind the old-fashioned way. But it would have massively helped if we had that firepower. Fifty thousand against thirty is not a joke."

  Thorne gave a hearty laugh, the sound booming over the marching drums. "Don't worry, Bristane. We still have the upper hand."

  After seven more grueling days of journey through the biting cold, the inevitable finally happened.

  Thorne’s army emerged onto the vast, grassy expanse of the Plains of Endlewood. And there, waiting for them, was the Royal Army.

  It was by no means small. The banners of the Crown fluttered in the wind, stretching as far as the eye could see. Fifty thousand spears glinted like a forest of steel.

  Even at this late stage, Thorne tried. He sent informants and envoys again and again before the confrontation, trying to find a middle ground to avoid spilling flowing rivers of blood.

  But every attempt at a last reconciliation effort seemed to be blocked by Prince Lucian. The Prince returned the envoys with threats or silence.

  Thorne sighed, watching the enemy lines form up. "Well, I knew it would end this way. But I guess trying it out never hurt."

  Both armies positioned themselves face to face, separated by a kilometer of frozen grass.

  The war was signaled not with a horn, but with a roar.

  "CHARGE!"

  A loud noise erupted from both sides as eighty thousand men started running toward each other. The earth shook.

  Prince Lucian, watching from a gilded carriage in the rear, was confident. With him having twenty thousand more soldiers than Thorne, he was sure he would pull it off. He had the numbers, the equipment provided to him by the priest, and the mandate of the King.

  And as the lines crashed together, that’s exactly how it seemed.

  CLANG!

  The sound of metal on metal was deafening. The sheer weight of the Royal Army slammed into Thorne’s lines. The Crown’s army was pushing Duke Thorne’s army back. Inch by inch, then foot by foot, Thorne’s center began to buckle.

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  "Push them!" the Royal captains screamed. "They are breaking!"

  Thorne’s army was slowly retreating backward, giving ground. The Royal soldiers, sensing blood, pressed forward with reckless abandon.

  However, amidst the chaos, Commander Rudolf who was leading the Royal vanguard felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  "Something is wrong," Rudolf muttered, parrying a spear thrust.

  He knew Duke Thorne. The man was known as the 'Iron Wall.' He was a tactical genius. There was no way he would confront a larger force directly without any plans and just get pushed back like this.

  Suddenly, the realization hit Rudolf like a physical blow.

  As they got pushed back, Thorne's army wasn't just retreating, they were spreading. The center was falling back, but the wings were holding firm. Thorne’s army was thinning and covering the Crown’s army in a circular pattern, creating a massive concave pocket.

  "It's an encirclement!" Rudolf realized with horror.

  He screamed orders at his subordinates. "Do not rush in! Halt! Retreat and reform!"

  But it was too late. Everyone was in the heat of the moment, filled with the confidence of victory. They couldn't hear him, and those who could didn't listen. They pushed through, diving deeper into the killing sack.

  Duke Thorne, Vice-Commander Bristane, and General Alther looked at the ground from their command post. They saw the enemy fully committed.

  Thorne nodded. "Now."

  It was time to use their ultimate trump card. It was none other than Lucia.

  The carriage door behind Thorne opened, and Lucia stepped out. She wore her ceremonial white robes, holding her staff high.

  As a Saintess, she did not just relay the will of the Goddess. Her true purpose in war was to strengthen the Hero's army against the Demons with her holy song. Today, she would sing for her father.

  Lucia nodded as her father signaled her. She closed her eyes, gathered her immense mana, and raised her hand like she was reaching out to the gods in heaven.

  "Creo Lux Aeterna! Shine eternal, hearts aflame, strength unbound!"

  FLASH.

  A blinding wave of golden light exploded from her body. It washed over Thorne’s troops.

  Immediately, all 30,000 soldiers of Thorne’s army got enveloped by a bright and gentle aura of light. Instantly, the soldiers could feel the rush of power. The mages felt their mana reserves doubling. The spell caused an instant 2x boost to all physical and magical stats for the Saint's Allies for one minute.

  In a war of inches, a double-strength soldier was a god.

  Thorne drew his greatsword and screamed towards his men, his voice amplified by the light.

  "CHARGE NOW!!! PUSH THROUGH!"

  The dynamic of the battle flipped in a heartbeat.

  The soldiers, now completely surrounding the Crown’s army from all three sides, stopped their retreat. They dug their heels in and rushed forward.

  "RAAAH!"

  A Thorne soldier swung his sword, cleaving through a Royal shield and the armor behind it like it was paper.

  With superior power, they easily won the duel. The Royal Army soldiers, confused by the sudden resistance, started falling like leaves in a storm. The encirclement tightened.

  "We are trapped!"

  "They are monsters! Look at their strength!"

  The Royal Army soldiers finally realized they were surrounded and getting massacred in mass. Panic spread everywhere.

  "Retreat! Retreat!"

  They broke formation to turn and ran, fleeing the only route they had available which was backwards, towards the Capital!

  Thorne watched the chaotic retreat, his army chasing them down like wolves herding sheep. The path to the Capital was open.

  "We let them go, Your Grace?" Vice-Commander Bristane asked, riding up beside the Duke. He looked eager to continue the slaughter. "We could crush them right here."

  Thorne lowered his sword, watching the dust cloud on the horizon. "For now, yes."

  He wiped the blood from his blade with a cloth. "We will follow them all the way to the Capital and rendezvous with Alaric. I received a message just before the charge, it seems he has already quietly progressed with his plan quite a lot."

  "So we march at full speed?"

  "No," Thorne corrected, a sharp glint in his eyes. "We will slowly chase them. We will let them run, but we will thin their numbers from the back."

  He pointed his gauntleted hand at the desperate mass of fleeing soldiers.

  "Pushing them too much with no route of escape will force the Royal Army to act irrationally," Thorne explained, his voice low . "A cornered rat bites the hardest. If they think they are dead, they will fight to the death, and that will only cause unnecessary casualties on our side."

  Thorne turned his horse, grinning at his commander.

  "Instead, we will give them hope. We will let them tire themselves out from running until they reach the Capital in a hurry, exhausted and broken."

  Thorne signaled the advance, but at a steady pace.

  "Let fear do the killing for us."