Outside Southgate Fort, the scorching midday sun baked the earth.
Two hundred knights stood in a single line, their dark red Living Graft Armor polished to a brilliant shine and even coated with expensive leather-conditioning oil.
Under the sunlight, the formation was practically two hundred moving light sources, too dazzling to look at directly.
The troops had never intended to approach the enemy unseen. On the contrary, they seemed afraid the enemy might fail to notice them.
At the head of the formation, several enormous Thorn banners fluttered in the wind. Even their flagpoles were gilded.
Veylin sat on horseback, holding a spyglass and making a show of pointing at the distant fortress.
Behind him, dozens of supply wagons covered in black cloth were pushed to the front of the position.
The cloth was pulled away, revealing menacing metal contraptions beneath.
There were modified heavy magic cannons and rows of oddly shaped launchers.
There was no cover, nor had any bombardment shelters been dug.
These expensive engines of war sat brazenly on the plain, as though boasting to the defenders opposite: Look, I have money. I have lots of cannons.
Atop the walls of Southgate Fort.
Count Baron held a stemmed glass filled with chilled wine.
Squinting at the circus-like force below the walls, he couldn't help laughing aloud.
"Does that brat Veylin think the battlefield is his own backyard?"
Count Baron turned to the adjutant beside him.
"Putting cavalry in front of the artillery as an honor guard, pushing siege engines straight onto an open plain without any cover... were his tactics classes at the Military Academy taught by a gym instructor?"
"No, perhaps he never attended the Military Academy at all!"
The adjutant laughed along obligingly and pointed at the gleaming formation below.
"My lord, look at that