At dawn, a drop of dew slipped silently from the tip of a blade of grass.
On the plains north of the Okra Kingdom, the First Corps' army of one hundred and fifty thousand formed ranks and advanced slowly.
Armor reflected the morning light, long spears stood like a forest, and banners snapped in the wind. As they stepped across the damp grassland, they shook countless beads of dew down into the mud.
To the south, the Second Corps' army of one hundred thousand advanced northward in square formations of a thousand men each, their ranks severe and orderly.
The spacing between formations was even, and their marching rhythm was perfectly unified. With every step forward, the earth trembled a little more.
On the northern city wall, more than ten thousand soldiers of the Okra Kingdom watched the military formations slowly approaching in the distance. Their faces showed all kinds of expressions—fear, resignation, and even relief.
Atop the wall, a young general drew his longsword to rally morale, only to discover that the Holy Blood Shield in the sky had developed holes at some unknown point.
As time passed, more and more soldiers noticed the strange change in the sky.
"It's gone. It's gone."
Unable to withstand the psychological pressure, one soldier threw away the crossbow in his hands, turned, and ran toward the rear.
But before he had run ten meters, he was cut down by a supervising soldier. His head was severed and hung high above the gate tower.
The other soldiers who had begun to move saw this, their faces turned pale, and they pulled back the half-step they had taken, returning to the front of the formation.
The Okra Kingdom army used the heads of over a hundred routed soldiers to temporarily halt the wave of