Drissian Right Flank February 1731 City of Cir, Province of Ciresia, Osterian Empire.
The men looked around in uncertainty, the last battle leaving it's scars as unfamiliar faces fill their ranks. Some looked terrified, other looked anxious while everyone held a foreboding feeling, wiggling in their chest.
Shouts then erupt around them, "Make way!" "Move!"
The new soldiers watch in anticipation as a man walks up through the ranks, with cheers erupting around them as the General once more walk up to meet his men.
It took a second, then a minute, as Damien watched over his men. His golden eyes illuminated as he raise his hand, the surrounding men drowned in anticipation as they cheer.
He then spoke, "I have won, as I have promised." His voice cuts through the cheer, silencing the men in their fervor.
He then gestures to the men, "Yet, before us, stand the price of such victory. Our comrades that once stood by our side, wounded, shattered and killed!"
The men lower their heads in melancholy, their comrade's death once more entering their minds, once more baring its ugly teeth as war once more bares its price.
Damien watches their shoulder drop, their cheering stop as the veil of death washes over them.
He smirks, before a loud roar erupts from his throat, "BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN!"
With a stride, he walks towards his men, looking back at him as he continued through his path, "Understand that you are no longer alone!"
His eyes lock with theirs. "No longer shall you fight alone!"
His shoulder rubs with theirs. "No longer shall you die alone!"
His hand reaching theirs with a grip, "For all of Drissia stands together!"
He then stood as men looked at him in reverence. "For all of you holds its legacy!"
His eyes illuminate before he stomps his foot on the ground. "For Drissia, fights with you!"
"NOW AND FOREVER!"
Screams erupt around them, screams of grief, screams of anger, and screams of victory.
The ground trembles from it all as the hill before them quivers from the power unleashed, magic drowning their surroundings, the hill trembling before them.
Damien unsheathes his saber, "VICTORY AND GLORY!"
"VICTORY AND GLORY!"
"VICTORY AND GLORY!"
"VICTORY AND GLORY!"
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A great man. That was the only way Schneider could ever describe the General. The man to perform magical feats that would leave men, bowing. Eloquence and charisma to consume his own men into a fervor and lead them with enough ferocity to affect battlefields.
A man of uncontained greatness, a man that holds his undying admiration.
What else could it be? What else would the swell of heat in his cheat be? If not admiration and pride.
A pride of indescribable origin, the belief of being part of something more, the shout bubbling in his throat as he hears his men extoll, what he could only deem as the next hero of Drissia.
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Meyer choked from the magic, drowning his surroundings. The familiar feeling almost leaving him relieved if not for the shake taking him off of his footing.
He looked down the hill, noticing the gouged earth. It's depth enough for men to hide in, its uniformity speaks for a precision few men could ever dream of, and even then five levels of it exists, a feat which requires a power of unimaginable scale.
Meyer turns his head at the boy surrounded by men, screaming out their anger, shouting out their victory as the ground trembles from their voices, the unnoticeable blood dripping from his mouth.
In his mind, Meyer could only wonder what he had to do to reach this level and if he could ever be allowed to try and reach it.
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Forst could only smirk as he watches the scene before him. The man has played his role perfectly, the perfect combination of eloquence and charisma.
It still boggles the mind to know that the cold, expressionless young colonel, the timid young boy and now the awe-inspiring general was all the same fifteen-year-old boy.
He looks to the insignia on his shoulder, He does not know what it is that High Command has planned or what the General plans to do with such power.
But all he knows is that sticking to them would be the easiest way for him to reach power. The easiest way he could gain the promotions and the wealth he has sorely desired.
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Maj. Gen. Klein could only look in awe at the scene before him. The reports he read wasn't enough to describe the gargantuan amount of magic concentrated at a single point, an amount he feared would be unleashed against his lines.
He shouts to his men, "All of you! Ready yourselves!"
The men scramble around him, running in defensive formations as hundreds of mages raise their arms to repel against this bombardment.
The men wait with bated breath as the magic around the hill condenses, concentrates, then explodes, covering the hill as we prepare to defend against a bombardment.
Only for the hill to tremble, tremble in unimaginable strength and explode.
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Damien held his saber up as he listened to their shouts. The congregation of their misery, the culmination of their life's experiences, all of which will be put unto him to bear.
Their eyes were now filled with loyalty and reverence, his carefully laid out plan coming to fruition. And yet, the weight of it all seemed to drag him.
Their eyes were now on him, their fate held between his fingers. For now, he was no longer a tool to be used, he was no longer a boy to be shaped.
The fate he once desired was now his and so was the fate of the thousands before him.
Such sudden realization bothered him, their eyes filled with nothing but reverence and admiration struck deep within his core. For now, he was no longer alone in his conquest.
The weight of power suddenly appears on his shoulder and he was no longer sure.
So he did the only thing he could: smile.