The Legions waited in a silence so profound it seemed to pull the breath from the air. Behind them, the crystal-clear waters of the Lampianis flowed without a care, indifferent to the three thousand souls preparing to dye its banks crimson. The thigh-high emerald grass swayed in the cold wind, a soft, rhythmic shush that was the only sound against the heavy clatter of iron.

Alpheo spurred his charger forward, trotting along the center of the battle line. By every metric of war, this center was his weakest point, thinned out until it was little more than a fragile ribbon of steel, and yet, it was destined to bear the full, agonizing weight of the Oizenian cavalry charge.

It was not by chance, but by design. He was begging for the enemy to strike here.

"Begging too much," Jarza had muttered earlier, fearing the bait was too obvious to be swallowed. But the scouts’ reports had put those fears to rest. The Oizenian banners were shifting, their heavy horse gravitating toward the perceived gap like water rushing toward a breach in a levee.

They had taken the bait.

And why would they not?Those youngsters on horse, dreaming of glory and riches to be get on the field?Easy to bait if one knew how to faint weakness.Their heads filled with song of chivalry and glory, they would not resist the bait at all.

Green bastards them all.

They gazed and noticed how center was the thinnest in numbers, but they knew not, that they were second to none in resilience. No green levy stood here; he had packed the line with the hardest men he possessed, for this was where the blood would run thickest and the iron would scream the loudest.

The standard of the Primogenia flapped in the gale, the silver fish on the banner mimicking the real trout leaping from the river behind them. Beside them stood the Ardita, their heraldry sporting the bright, hungry flame that signaled their legendary willingness to trade lives for glory.

Behind the front ranks, Alpheo had placed the two remaining subecenturii that the Third could still muster. They were a grim sight; two of every ten men wore stained bandages beneath their plate, hidden legacies of the butchery at the Bastion. Of all his Legions, the Third had fought the longest and bled the most. It pained Alpheo to ask for more of their lifeblood, but war was a sword without a hilt, no matter how you grasped it, you were bound to cut yourself.

Then, in a move that defied every tradition of the Yarzat military, his most mobile units had abandoned their saddles. The Crown’s Hounds, famed for their lightning-fast tactical maneuvers, stood on the flanks not as riders, but as infantry. They wore their signature wolf pelts over their helms, clutching javelins and shields, prepared to fight on foot for the first and only time in their storied history.

On this day, no Yarzat horse would touch the field. Every man would stand or die on his own two feet. It had taken a Herculean effort to convince Merelao to dismount his knights, but the sheer absurdity of watching the "flower of Southern chivalry"fall to some peasants on foot had amused the Lord of Epietoli enough to entertain the notion.

As Alpheo trotted along the line, he glanced back at the river. A cold spike of fear, sharp and sudden, pierced his chest. By burning the bridge and pinning his army between two sharp bends of the Lampianis, he had achieved his goal: the river acted as natural walls, denying the Oizenians the space to execute a wide flanking maneuver, and the absence of retreat would spur the man to fight harder.

They could only come at him from the front, and his men could only advance.

But the cost was staggering.

To reach from one swerve of the river to the other, he had been forced to stretch his men into a dangerously thin line. He had sacrificed depth for width, betting everything on the hope that they would be able blunt the enemy’s momentum before his line snapped.

There was no field that offered only victory. He looked at the vast Oizenian host beginning to move and knew that by sunset, he would either be the master of the South or the architect of his own army’s annihilation.

Since he could bet on his men’s discipline, he had stretched the center even further to make sure the other flanks, that had the levy would not squander the battle.

There was a reason why Merelao expressed his respect for him before battle, he would stand just behind them, if the army broke, they would go through him.

He knew that, Merelao did, and of course the legions did too.

No middle road. In the game he was playing , he would either win or die.

His horse whimpered beneath his foot as he let the legion take his bearing. Tall on his horse, dressed black as sin.

The men who had fended off a full Southern invasion and was now leading his men to finish what remained.

He twisted his neck, taking in the sight of the needle-like figures of the army that stood on the other side, the side that brought only death, only end to that old dream of his.

Alpheo turned back and faced his army, the Legions that had followed him in spirit or in flesh from the scorching Sands of Arlania to the echoing marble halls of Romelia. They stood now on the lip of the Lampianis to decide whether his dream would hold or flutter away like the abstract whim of a child who thought that world still recipient to his wishes.

But the child was long dead; in his place was a man grounded in a singular, iron truth: You are given only what you have the strength to take.

That was the world’s lesson. Now, it was his turn to impart it to others.

"Thirteen years!" Alpheo shouted, his voice cracking like a whip over the howling wind. A thousand men leaned forward, their breathing stilled as they hung on the words of their Prince. "For thirteen years, I have ruled this land alongside my wife. All of you were there before and when my time came. You lived through the anarchy of the Border Wars that Oizen inflicted upon your fathers. You saw the outlaws pillaging your hearths and devouring the toil of your hands."

He paced his white stallion, his gaze locking onto the weathered faces of the veterans and the wide eyes of the young.

"This was a land ruled by monsters and terrorized by ghosts.Anarchy, I say!There was only anarchy! Then I came. I brought order in my right hand and justice in my left. I brought the Law. Today, a woman may walk the high roads built toward the capital without fear. A farmer whose harvest fails does not face the grave; he goes to the city, and grain is given to him to plant at honorable cost even if he holds not the coin. Taxes are small, and when famine knocked at your doors, the crown answers."

He slammed a closed fist against his breastplate, the dull thud of steel echoing across the silent ranks.

"I did not promise these things when I first arrived as a mercenary. Many opposed my rule, whispering that a lowborn soldier had no station to command. They thought a prince should be a leech, sucking the marrow from his subjects. But I believe a prince is but a shepherd. I brought the vision, but yours were the hands that made it real!"

He leaned over his saddle.Hands departing from his bodies as if presenting them the truth of the world.

"Whenever you splattered an enemy’s blood upon this dirt, you did more than obey an order. You became the pillars upon which our people rest. You are not mere subjects of a crown; you are the protectors of everything Yarzat holds dear. You have seen it! When you march, the people throw flowers at your feet. They open their doors and offer their bread, for they know the safety your blood has bought them.You fight, you bleed and you die, so that those behind you will not!"

He turned his horse toward the horizon, where the Golden Sun of Oizen flickered against the grey sky.

"And what of those who stand against us today? What do they bring to your mothers, your sisters, your sons, your brothers, your friends? They bring the torch and the noose! They bring murder, rape, and the cold darkness of lawlness. They will flatten your cities and burn your fields until nothing remains but ash and weeping. We bring the light of the law; they bring the night."

Alpheo’s eyes burned with a cold, terrifying fire.

"I want more for my people. I want a future warmer than a mother’s embrace and nobler than a maiden’s favor. We fight for a million souls who sleep soundly because you stand awake! We fight for the dream of a better tomorrow!You serve in the dark so children may yet live in light!"

With a sudden, fluid motion, Alpheo drew his sword. The steel hissed as it met the air, pointing straight at the shimmering wall of Oizenian lances.

"Look at them!" he roared, his blade shivering in the cold air, a sliver of lightning against the grey. "Look at the ’nobility’ preening across the field! What can they boast to fight for but their own vanished pride? What do they offer the world but the bottomless pit of their greed? They fight for their titles, for their silk, and for themselves, but we fight for every soul that stands behind us! Let them come, I say! Let them find that the dirt of Yarzat is bought with a price they cannot yet pay!"

He wheeled his stallion, the animal’s eyes rolling as it caught the electric tension of the host.

"They cannot take strength from those they rule, so they seek it in numbers! I recall twelve thousand who stood against us at the start of this war! Twelve thousand who thought to trample the falcon of our banners into the mud!" Alpheo leaned over his saddle, his voice dropping into a ringing challenge. "Do you see them standing now?"

A heavy, breathless silence hung over the plain, the only sound the snapping of the banners.

"ANSWER ME!"

The collective roar of the army tore through the sky, a thunderclap of sound that seemed to shake the very clouds.

"NO!"

"They came to us thinking they would find only ash in their wake! Look at your hands! Look at your brothers! Are we ash?Will we flutter by the wind?" 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"NO!"

"Then what are we?"

The discipline of the line shattered into a thousand proud battle cries. From every throat came the name of their pride.

"PRIMOGENIA!" "ARDITA!" "ARACINEA!" "HOUNDS!"

Alpheo raised his sword even higher, his face a mask of iron and fury. "I ask you again! WHAT ARE WE?"

"YARZAT! YARZAT! YARZAT!"

The shout was punctuated by the rhythmic, bone-deep thud of a thousand javelin butts striking the earth in unison.

BOOM. "YARZAT!" BOOM. "YARZAT!" BOOM. "YARZAT!"

The earth itself seemed to groan under the weight of their defiance. Alpheo felt the vibration in his own marrow. He lowered his sword, pointing the tip directly at the shimmering Oizenian line.

"Whatever darkness they bring, we shall rage against! We shall be the light that burns their shadows away! Men! Brothers! Follow me into this night of evil and darkness and I swear to you, morning waits on the other side!"