Battle for the Right Flank

Alex watched Count Colt recede into the distance. The words that had risen to his lips seemed caught in an invisible grip, impossible to speak.

Hawk came to Alex's side and gently patted his shoulder. "Young Master Alex, please don't let this trouble you anymore!"

"His Lordship left you here to hold this position because he was concerned for your safety. Please don't be angry with him."

Alex slowly shook his head. "Why would I be angry? That isn't what truly worries me."

"My father would rather put himself in danger than let me advance with him."

"But we have no idea what the enemy is plotting. That's what unsettles me..." Alex's gaze drifted toward the smoke-shrouded battlefield, worry and unease showing in his eyes.

At Count Colt's command, the Northern Alliance Army surged forward into a charge.

Several units moved swiftly into formation, their steps falling in unison.

Swords and spears stood packed together like a dense forest—or a towering wall advancing on the enemy.

Behind the formation, horns blared and war drums thundered.

The sounds mingled, seeming to fill every soldier of the Northlands with boundless strength.

Their spirits soaring, the soldiers pressed forward and shouted at the top of their lungs, "Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Their cries shook the sky, as though they might tear the heavens apart. They meant to intimidate the enemy before them.

The Imperial Guard Legion refused to be outdone. Without hesitation, its troops formed up where they stood.

Spearmen filled the front rank, ready for battle, while shield-bearers guarded the flanks.

Then a furious roar rang out—the Imperial Guard Legion's answer to the Northern Alliance Army.

As the distance between the armies shrank, the Imperial Guard Legion's ranged troops finally moved. At a command—"Archers, forward!"—they stepped out.

Duchy archers poured through the spear