Leticia speechlessly touched the broken hilt of the Holy Sword.
What a way to break it. That was really something.
But things had changed a lot in the past few years.
They'd even left some old fossils bewildered.
There were jokes about it among the younger generation.
That wasn't how you waged war.
You couldn't just use tactics and strategy, suppress them with superior weapons, and crush them in every way.
You were supposed to line up your armies against each other first, then send in your top fighters to trade blows—one person striking while another fought back.
Everyone was supposed to show off their skills.
The Saintess, the Saintess's chief paladin, her three Personal Guard Knights, and the Knights Templar were supposed to join forces with the sages from the mage towers and the heroes from every nation to resist the Demon Race's invasion!
The war's final focus was supposed to converge on the heroes, who would then fight an epic battle!
Why were they shelling her from more than ten kilometers away right from the start? Up close, there were plenty of people with weapons who could immediately pose a threat at the Fourth or Fifth Order.
"I won't accept this!"
Martyn, an ordinary city in the southern Empire.
Jilian Osborn, one of the twelve Demon Generals of the Demon Race's Hope Royal Court, was currently in a towering rage.
The trouble was that they'd been surrounded as soon as they reached the battlefield, and now his subordinates wanted to break through and flee.
But Jilian wouldn't allow it.
"We're already surrounded. What kind of Demon General abandons his army and forces his way out?"
Jilian took a swig of wine. "Leon's gone senile, I swear!"
"Lynn may be powerful."
"But he's no Saintess or hero. This generation