The phalanx of soldiers marched slowly forward, their formation perfectly aligned and their steps precise and powerful. Every motion reflected their discipline—honed by countless battles and forged through blood and iron. These were not parade soldiers. These were men who had killed and survived on the battlefield, their every movement carrying a suffocating aura of hostility.
"Cross! Cross! Cross! Cross!"
The rhythmic pounding of their black military boots struck the ground like thunder, echoing through the entire square. The heavy sound rolled endlessly, growing louder as hundreds more boots joined in unison.
When the troops passed by, all the kings, envoys, and noble guests gathered in the viewing stands felt the vibration through the ground. Their curiosity turned into awe as they looked toward the approaching sound—then shock froze their faces.
Two massive trucks rolled side by side through the main street, each filled with rows of uniformed soldiers. Their helmets gleamed beneath the sunlight, their rifles resting neatly across their chests.
Behind those trucks came dozens more, each packed with men—an unending column of steel. As far as the eye could see, the road was filled with nothing but vehicles and soldiers.
"This… this kind of steel creation," whispered one noble, trembling. "If it appears on a battlefield, who could possibly stand against it?"
King Ragnor IV of the Kiswell Kingdom and King Gunse III of the Tongsley Alliance turned to each other, horror in their eyes. They both imagined the same scene—these monstrous machines rolling across a battlefield, crushing bodies beneath their weight, while wave after wave of armed soldiers disembarked from within.
It was terrifying.
But the parade wasn't over.
Even after the last troop truck passed, the rumble of engines continued. The crowd held its breath as two colossal shapes emerged from the far end of the avenue.
They moved slowly but with purpose—massive bodies of steel, their armor thick and seamless, a long cannon extending from the front like a spear of doom.
The T-34 tanks of the Ross Empire had arrived.
"What kind of monster is this?!" cried one of the envoys, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Look at that armor—it's thicker than the trucks!"
Mouths hung open. Faces turned pale. No one could speak. Even the bravest knights on the viewing platform stared in silence, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
Among them, an orc warrior from the frontier trembled violently. He had faced these "steel beasts" once before—he had seen how they crushed his comrades under their treads like paper dolls. The thunder of their cannons still echoed in his nightmares.
His voice was barely a whisper. "Terrible… it's terrible…"
His eyes locked onto the tanks as if staring at the faces of his executioners.
No weapon, no arrow, no blade could harm them. Flesh and bone were meaningless before that unstoppable advance.
The big knight standing beside him clenched his jaw. "Even if this monster crushed my body," he muttered, "I wouldn't survive a second. How could anyone hope to fight such power?"
When the tank column finally passed, the air vibrated again—this time from the arrival of anti-aircraft guns and heavy artillery, each piece dragged by trucks in perfect formation.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers.
"Behold! The might of the Empire!" shouted one soldier.
"Long live the Ross Empire! Long live His Majesty the Emperor!"
The roar of the people rose like a tidal wave, echoing across the city walls.
Standing upon the grand platform, Emperor Gavin Ward lifted a hand, his expression calm yet commanding.
"People of the Empire, be silent."
His voice carried effortlessly, magnified by the sound system across the square. "People of the Empire, be still."
The shouting gradually faded. The entire square—tens of thousands strong—fell into complete silence. Every eye was now fixed upon the Emperor, standing tall in his black and red uniform, golden epaulettes gleaming in the sun.
From the viewing platform, a knight of the Golden Lion Principality narrowed his eyes, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword.
"We're so close," he whispered. "If I strike now—"
But the great knight beside him stopped him with a firm hand. "Don't be a fool," he said in a low tone. "We wouldn't make it five steps. Ross has over a hundred thousand men stationed here."
The first knight clenched his teeth, but the elder continued. "I believe in the Duke. The Duke of the Golden Lion will never fall to anyone."
After a long pause, the assassin lowered his hand from the sword. The idea of killing the emperor was madness—not today.
Meanwhile, Gavin Ward's voice thundered once again.
"My Empire—our Empire—will grow stronger and mightier. But now, a great enemy blocks our path forward!"
The crowd erupted instantly. Shouts and curses filled the air as the people demanded the destruction of their unseen foe.
On the stands, the great knight's eyes widened. His gaze locked on Gavin Ward's distant figure.
"That enemy…" he muttered, realization dawning.
Then the Emperor spoke the words that would shake the world.
"That enemy is the Golden Lion Principality of the Tongsley Empire!"
The crowd roared in fury. The name alone was enough to ignite years of hatred. But while the citizens screamed for war, the assembled kings and envoys froze in stunned disbelief.
What was Gavin Ward doing?!
Declaring war in front of the entire world? Against the most powerful alliance of nations ever formed?
Then, Gavin raised his voice even louder, his words carried through every speaker across the square.
"So, as the first Emperor of the Ross Empire, I hereby declare war upon the Golden Lion Principality!"
A thunderous uproar followed. The people shouted themselves hoarse, some kneeling, others waving flags. It was chaos—but joyous chaos.
The kings, however, stared in horror. Their hearts pounded as the realization struck them: the Emperor of Ross had just declared war against the Tongsley Empire itself.
Gavin wasn't finished. His sharp gaze swept across the foreign dignitaries.
"And to the kings and envoys gathered here," he said, his tone cold but resolute, "if you wish to break free from the control of the Tongsley Empire, if you wish to stand independent from the Golden Lion Duke—then know this: the Ross Empire will support you."
His declaration fell like a thunderbolt.
The envoys looked at one another, faces pale and sweating. None could speak.
"Is he insane?" one king whispered. "He plans to face the entire Tongsley Alliance with just one nation?"
Another clutched his chest, gasping. "This is suicide. One country against a hundred!"
The old king slumped into his chair, drenched in cold sweat. "Madness… pure madness…"
Yet on the other side of the hall, the Golden Lion Duke's knights were laughing—not with joy, but with fury barely restrained.
"One country against a hundred?" the great knight roared, his voice echoing across the stands. "How arrogant! How foolish!"
He slammed his fist against the railing, his armor rattling with the force.
"Overreaching worm! You think the Ross Empire can stand against us all? You'll be crushed like an ant beneath the heel of the Golden Lion Duke!"
But his rage could not drown out the cheers of tens of thousands below.
The people shouted in unity, their voices shaking the sky—
"Long live the Ross Empire! Long live Emperor Gavin Ward!"
And at that moment, under the blazing sunlight, the fate of nations was sealed.
The Ross Empire had declared war on the Golden Lion Principality, an act of defiance that would ignite the greatest war in modern history—
One nation against a hundred.
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