The Skyblade Knights moved like one body, sharp, and ready for war.
It was dawn.
The sun was still pale in the sky when Alaric led thirty thousand men out of the Imperial Capital City.
Their armor gleamed under the light, banners of silver and blue flying high.
Horses snorted, swords were drawn, and the sounds of boots striking the earth rolled like distant thunder.
Alaric stood before them, calm, cold and unshakable.
To his left stood Marcus, holding the small clay pot that contained Daphne's newest creation.
To his right waited Gideon, Kael, and Carlden, commanders of the three divisions of ten thousand each.
"The moment Marcus releases the powder," Alaric said, his voice cutting through the noise, "no one moves until I give the command. Remember, we wait until the enemy is weakened, we must move as one. No mercy. No mistakes."
Marcus nodded, "The wind is on our side, Commander. It'll carry the powder straight toward Varennes' front line."
