The Red Banner Cavalry fell apart in the forest, and the blazing red swallowtail banners collapsed with a crash.
Silence surrounded Pallas, the seasoned general whose fingers whitened as he gripped the sword hilt—it was the Rubis Mercenaries from the report, to think they endured until now.
The old knight closed his eyes, deep fatigue evident in his wrinkled face. Sir Wied was a young man he admired, but war leaves no room for regret; Erune had already shed too much blood. When he reopened his eyes, his dim gaze held only cold, indifferent resolve.
The rebels have revealed their trump card, and the outcome is already decided.
"Knights of Jandener, rise up, and add a vivid stroke to your glory," he waved his hand, as if leaving victory entirely in the hands of the young men.
Amidst cheers, all the knights from Jandener Territory, those Silver Rank warriors, shouted in unison.
Yet, such cheers couldn't stir even the slightest joy in Pallas's heart.
