Damien stood atop the southern wall, clad in a sharp, darkened battle uniform that fluttered gently in the rising morning wind. The gleam of steel reflected off the pauldrons on his shoulders, and his deep gaze swept over the vast formation below—an ocean of soldiers assembled in solemn ranks.
His expression was calm, but carved from stone—resolute, unflinching.
Before him stretched the disciplined army of the Valthorn Kingdom, each man and woman standing tall beneath the weight of anticipation. Their armor bore the faint marks of training, and their eyes glimmered not with fear, but with an eerie blend of determination and silent tension.
By Damien's side stood Southern General Anek, his jaw clenched, back ramrod straight. Today marked a turning point in his life—not as a common soldier charging into battle, but as a general commanding from the front, holding not a spear, but the fates of hundreds in his calloused hands.
