When Henrietta arrived at the battlefield, the situation had already become incredibly dire.
The Albion Fleet held an absolute advantage, with those gigantic warships leisurely flying through the air, mercilessly firing shells at the ground below. Facing Albion's aerial bombardment, Tristain's soldiers could only hide within the crevices of the mountains, while using magic to construct barriers in resistance.
Of course, this resistance held little significance.
"The enemy's army has already regrouped completely, I fear they will immediately take action after one round of bombardment."
The Minister of Military Affairs spoke, while Henrietta looked at the battle in front of her, her face pale.
"What are our chances of victory?"
"Probably less than fifty percent."
"......"
