In the early hours of the morning, there was still a long time before sunrise. Not even the dimmest hint of daylight had appeared above the eastern hills. A slightly dimmer-than-usual starry sky covered the borderlands, and beneath the low-hanging night, the dark blue vault of heaven stretched from Winterwolf Fortress's towering walls all the way to the Cecilians' Longwind Fortress.
Knights in black helmets and black armor stood gathered neatly beneath the night sky, their blades sheathed and banners furled. Their warhorses, trained and kept under dual control through potions and calming spells, stood as quietly as if they had become one with their riders, making not the slightest sound. The cold wind swept across the land, and the plain seemed filled with hundreds upon hundreds of statues cast from steel, silent and solemn.
A tall figure mounted on a warhorse circled halfway around the rear of the formation before returning to the very front of the Knight Order. His black steel armor appeared ever deeper and heavier beneath the starlight, while a low, commanding voice came from behind the faceplate that covered his entire face—
Unfortunately, it was not human language.
It was a strange, indistinct sound, like countless people overlapping as they muttered at once. It sent chills down the spine, yet carried a solemn rhythm that resembled a prayer.
The black-armored commander raised an arm before the Knight Order. His indistinct, terrifying voice seemed to stir the entire formation. The knights raised their arms as well, yet not a single one shouted. Under strict discipline, they used this gesture to convey their will to fight to their commander, and he was clearly quite satisfied.
He nodded, turned his horse around, and brought the longsword in his hand down toward the dark and distant plain. Row by