(Third-person perspective)
Lord Sunderland watched the nightmarish reality unfold before him, his eyes vacant and incredulous. The battle continued, their forces facing a mere 500 defenders, of whom only 200 knights now held the town square. The remaining 300 were archers, strategically positioned atop buildings, raining arrows down on the attackers.
Within five minutes of the battle beginning, they had already suffered heavy casualties, losing a third of their forces. Lord Longthorpe was dead, while not a single enemy fell. They did manage to wound dozens of enemies, but these wounded soldiers merely got up and staggered back to their ranks. The situation was a terrible nightmare, which Lord Sunderland could not tolerate.
The Battle of Moon drift port devolved into a chaotic and horrific spectacle. In the midst of the fierce fighting, only one thought remained in the mind of Lord Sunderland: they were not mortals, they could not be mortals; it was a nightmarish dance of death. The ravaged forces of the Three Sisters found themselves embroiled in a relentless struggle for survival; their lines were shattered by the furious onslaught of the North monsters. The Drasil Knights slaughtered the enemy lines like reapers, creating a scene of utter carnage.
Commander Aermir leaped abruptly from Sith's back and now roamed the battlefield, reaping many lives. Each swing of his crescent halberd was a promise of death. At times, Sith seemed to be competing with her masters—a terrible race—to see who could take the most lives of the Three Sisters.
Sith gracefully pounced on the intruder. Her claws and fangs found their mark precisely, leaving a trail of broken, gruesome wounds. The screams of those unfortunate enough to brush past her filled the battlefield, adding to the chaotic symphony that echoed through the town square.
Harrick Greenwood, the steadfast commander of the paladins, was renowned as the " Iron Giants." His massive warhammer was a weapon of unparalleled destructive power, wielded like the relentless fury of an impending storm. Flesh and bone shattered under the immense impact, while the paladins fought steadfastly alongside their leader. In the chaotic battle, the paladins carved a path of destruction through three thousand Three Sisters inhabitants, leaving those who dared to defy them to utter destruction and near death.
The Three Sisters ' three-pronged attack turned into a disaster. No matter which direction they advanced, they encountered overwhelming resistance. The situation deteriorated rapidly, and their initial confidence was replaced by despair. As time ticked by, the North defenders proved themselves to be a disciplined and unwavering force, responding ruthlessly to the Three Sisters ' invasion.
This battle witnessed the extraordinary discipline and unwavering strength of the Aermir army. Knights and soldiers fought in perfect unison, their movements a deadly formation reflecting their relentless training. Meanwhile, the rangers' arrows struck their targets with deadly accuracy, further weakening the Three Sisters forces.
Several of Aermir's knights and paladins, numbering around 20, were wounded by blunt force trauma. Their severed arms and legs could be repaired with Aermir's powerful healing magic, but the process was extremely painful. However, their rigorous training had accustomed them to such pain; almost every one of them had lost a limb in the brutal simulated battles of the fortress; they knew their master could always heal them. All they needed to do was retreat to the rear and preserve their lives until Aermir could heal them.
Lord Sunderland found himself in a perplexing predicament, struggling to confront the reality that he had lost to a handful of adversaries. But calling them human wasn't entirely accurate; at this moment, they appeared more like vengeful demons than ordinary soldiers. The same was true of every other North lord who had accompanied Aermir. They had never seen such a disciplined army, nor such deadly force. In the chaos, Lord Drasil raised his spear, offering a fervent prayer to the gods of nature...
"Oh, great God of Nature, bless this spear; it will be the guiding light for your righteous wrath."
Having said that, he hurled his spear with indescribable force, piercing through the bodies of more than twenty men, and pinning three of them to the wall of a nearby building. This awe-inspiring power demoralized the Three Sisters army, eroding their courage and will, and they began to retreat hastily to their warships. They could hear Lord Drasil's roar, but they didn't even have the courage to look back, only running away.
"Kill them all! Don't let a single one escape!"
The situation among the Three Sisters was dire, and the armies of the North Lords were no exception; chaos had engulfed three battlefields. Every Three Sisters lord was acutely aware that their forces were on the verge of defeat, and that their enemy had proven to be far stronger than they had anticipated.
As the rallying cry of Lord Drasil echoed across the chaotic battlefield, a united wave of resistance erupted in the North. The fighting continued, but the North armies launched wave after wave of attacks.
The Battle of Moon drift port was a brutal and brief conflict, lasting only 30 minutes, but it inflicted staggering losses on the Three Sisters forces. Of the initial 10,000-plus soldiers, only 3,000-4,000 survived. The North lost 800 men, of whom only 100 belonged to Aermir's forces, the rest being from the North Lords' troops.
Aermir moved his wounded to a secluded spot, leaving the North Lord to care for them at the Mayor's Manor. He erected a stone tablet out of the guests' sight and began treating the soldiers' injuries to prevent further losses. One hundred of his warriors had fallen in the battle. Though powerful, they were still human, and their magical armor had weaknesses that could be exploited.
Even the most miraculous armor cannot completely protect the joints. When struck there, most will fall, and falling on the battlefield often means certain death. Those blessed by Aermir's magic can bypass these weaknesses. However, his limit in this regard is 200 people; therefore, he transformed the fiercest warriors into an almost unstoppable force.
The wounded knights and soldiers lay on the ground, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and pain. They knew the healing process would be painful, but it was a necessary ordeal.
At this very moment, Lord Sunderland was sailing towards the Three Sisters, marveling at the deadly efficiency and cohesion of the Aermir army. He was witnessing firsthand a disciplined and ruthless force unlike any he had ever seen on this land. They showed no fear, no weakness; all they knew was merciless slaughter.
The Lord Sunderland was filled with despair and panic, realizing that his grand ambitions for a victorious invasion had been utterly shattered. The taste of victory had turned bitter, for he now faced the harsh reality of defeat. In a futile and devastating battle, more than half of their forces had perished.
As he grumbled over his actions, the lord could not escape the harsh reality. His momentary arrogance led him to declare war on the North, a bold move that ultimately led to his downfall. He was acutely aware of the gravity of the consequences.
In his precarious situation, the Lord Sunderland made what he believed to be his only option. He sent urgent messages to other Vale lords who owned ships, pleading for their help. His hopes rested on the possibility of reinforcements; this lifeline might allow him to salvage his remaining forces and perhaps even reverse the tide of this unexpected conflict.
He knew he was finished, but there was still hope for his land; he could take the blame, bear all the responsibility, and save his land. To this end, he wrote another letter to Lord Stark, accepting all punishment and announcing his intention to become Night's Watch, asking only for a peaceful resolution. He hoped that the peaceful wolves of the North could tame this ferocious beast that was baring its fangs at him.