"Looks like we can't hold out. The Syndicate must have thrown everything they had into this."
Outside a small tent in the Ravenholdt Assassins' camp, an old man dressed in black gazed at the distant battlefield.
His hair and beard were white, and even his eyebrows were graying, yet he looked vigorous and alert. The two daggers tucked at an angle into his belt gleamed with a chilling light.
"We've lost the ranged fire support from both hilltops, and the Syndicate's attacks are getting even more aggressive. Your Grace, let us join the fight."
Behind him stood four human assassins, likewise dressed entirely in black. One stepped forward and addressed the old man.
The old man they called duke was the head of Ravenholdt Manor-Duke Jorach Ravenholdt.
All four men in black were master-level experts from the Assassins Alliance.
Jorach nodded slightly at their words. "They've committed everything they have, so there's no reason for me to hold anything back either. Go help them at once."
The four men nodded and were about to head toward the battlefield when Jorach suddenly raised a hand to stop them.
His gaze remained fixed on the battlefield, but a hint of surprise now showed in his eyes. "Wait a moment. It looks like the tide has turned again. We may not need you out there after all."
"Hm?" The leading man in black paused, then looked back toward the battle.
Halfway up the hill that was already blazing fiercely, someone stood with both hands raised high, apparently casting a spell.
And at the foot of the hill, across an area extending roughly fifteen to twenty meters in radius around the Syndicate mages, it was... snowing?
No, it was not really "snow," nor were those gently drifting snowflakes.
Hundreds upon thousands of shards of