The wounded royal army surged toward Bryndis, moving at full speed. Dust billowed behind them as they hauled the remnants of war—supplies, siege weapons, anything salvaged from the devastation. Though their ranks bore the scars of battle, they still numbered in overwhelming force.
Bryndis had played its final hand, expending its trump card in the last engagement. Now, nothing remained to counter the advancing force.
Yet, despite their advantage, the shadow of uncertainty lingered over them. The attack had shaken their morale, leaving cracks in their resolve. Lucius Drayford knew this well, and he refused to let doubt fester among the troops.
We need to strike now that they've exhausted their trump card, he thought, his mind racing with strategies. If we allow them to regain power—if that monstrous flying construct becomes fully operational—it will be the end for us.
Upon reaching the outskirts of Bryndis' domain, General Torvin raised his hand, signaling a halt.
