Hearing the words of the soldier, Velmund stowed his grimoire and plucked a small cylindrical object from his cloak, and upon unfolding it, became an elongated cone-shaped device, which he obtained from a trade with an Durfrenian merchant called a 'spyglass,' an innovative item utilized by the Imperial Navy and pirates alike to spot ships and lands at a considerable distance from the vast Great Neutomian Sea. Velmund peered from the thinner side of the spy glass and saw a magnified image of the distant town square through the lens at the opposite side, where he saw hundreds of trotting horsemen.
"I see," Velmund uttered, stashing the spyglass inside his cloak and returning his grimoire to his hands at the same instant. He then beckoned for the soldiers, addressed one of them and instructed him, "Hoist a blue flag."
"Yes, milord!" they yelled in unison, and the three men lifted a pole bearing a blue banner, swinging it back and forth.
Velmund turned a leaf upon his grimoire, and started to murmur the incantations:
"Spirituous of shadows darker than black, concealed and polished in the caliginous void of the slumbering god. I implore the wisdom of this ancient tome. Hark, O' great god Grimereth. I beseech thee, grant me thy power. Bring forth deceit that obscures reality; deceit that fools the wisest of men. I cast upon thee... Dark Magic: Great Phantasm."
Upon the release of spell, a great silhouette materialized aloft the town square, and immediately began taking form of a creature Velmund had envisioned. It was an enormous serpentine body wrapped in red scales with half a dozen limbs and sharp darkened talons, and possessed a pair of bat-like wings and an elongated barbed tail. Velmund need not consult the spyglass to see his illusion spiraling in the sky, above the tribesmen who were just beginning to see the mighty beast as they cower from terror. The mere sight of such monstrosity is enough to inspire fear among the bravest of men, Velmund had remembered from a passage he read upon a page of his grimoire.
"Is that one of your illusion spells, m'lord?" Frenda whispered, squinting towards the illusionary dragon.
"Indeed."
"Truly, I see that the mere glimpse of an ancient dragon would send any man terrified and fleeing, but I cannot seem to fathom how will this illusion won our battle unless it is the real Ill-spawn in flesh. Our troops are vastly outnumbered still and exhausted, after all."
"That is most certainly true. But listen, Frenda. The art of deception is the most effective weapon a sound strategist and tactician can have at his disposal. War does not only revolve around sheer numbers and brute force. I know this may sound ludicrous at first, but honor and pride can only get you so far in winning a battle. This particular deception causes fear; fear that obscures judgement. A dulled mind and misjudgment can be a fatal mistake on the battlefield. With those factors in mind, this illusion of mine will not be of any difference from a bona fide dragon." Velmund raised his hand, gesturing for the men at his back. "Hoist the red flag."
"Yes, milord!"
The soldiers did as they were ordered, oscillating the banner repeatedly against the swaying wind. Far in the distance, situated upon the belfry of the local church tower, Dame Reona Rumbline, ranked seventh seat in the Order of the Raven Knights, had drawn an arrow drenched with oil from her quiver after taking a deep breath and sharpening her focus, enkindle it on the nearby torch, and nocked the projectile upon her bow. As she saw the red signal flag waving in the horizon, Reona released the blazing arrow beneath her, hitting a wooden house the same instant as the scorching breath of the illusionary dragon. And so, the thatched roof were set ablaze hastily, which unbeknownst to the Norsmundi was soaked in oil beforehand by Regalian militia. As the dragon breathed fiery orbs under its maws, the multitude of the town structures flickered orange and red as they were engulfed in flames, causing debris and wreckage to fall off from collapsed edifices. It did not take long for the fire to muster its strength, as most of the abandoned houses, inns and taverns were rigged with combustible substances and materials for them to catch fire purposely. Undetected through the ruckus of howls and wails of pleading warriors, the female Raven Knight let loose of dozens of flaming projectiles from her vantage point and continued to strike terror through the guise of a raging dragon. The flames were spreading rapidly, reducing the barbarian horde into utter disarray.
Descrying the appalling scenery, Velmund contemplated upon his actions, hoping that remorse or guilt would dawn upon him. Strangely, however, he felt nothing. For the sixteen years of his existence, this day was specially peculiar compared to the mundane days he spent at the Duke's court, where the young noble would study war tactics, simulate battles upon his head and practice swordplay in a sparring duel. Upon this day, he had inflicted wound and struck someone through flesh, witnessed the atrocities of war and ordered the slaughter of hundreds if not thousands of people. As these thoughts filled his mind, Velmund was seized in a reverie.
"M'lord?" Frenda called out, breaking his trance. "Is there something wrong?"
"Worry not, I am merely wondering if the repercussions of this strategy should serve me well in future," Velmund said. "Originally, I intended to let survivors escape to tell the tale of this siege. Hence why I summoned an illusionary dragon to exaggerate our victory, and so they may think otherwise of invading our lands once more. But on the contrary, this onslaught may as well inspire hatred and retribution among our enemies for their fallen comrades. Thus, I fuel the never ending cycle of revenge and peace may as well be a pipe dream for Runtallia and Norsmund."
"You only acted upon what you deem is righteous to protect Regalia. You are ever so kind and prudent for the sake of others, m'lord."
"Your words ease my worries greatly, Frenda. But be that as it may, this battle is yet to be over. So please, help me draw the final curtain upon this play."
"To what can I be of service to you, m'lord?"
"This field of battle shall witness another atrocity from you, Frenda, in the guise of my illusion. I believe I have enough mana for one more spell. Pray tell, do you know the legend of the minotaur?"
"I do, my liege. And I take it that you want me to rampage and assume the role of such ferocious beast?"
"Indeed. None shall pass beyond that gate. Let the survivors of the fire tremble before you so they might be discouraged to reach outside and we capture them alive. Too much blood has been shed. Forbye I would ask of you to slay the magic caster who destroyed the gate. Be careful, however, as I suspect that he is a mage on the Disciple Stages. Yet, please do spare the lives of those who have given up arms and retaliate only if you were to be attacked."
"Your orders are absolute."
"Then by all means, let us begin." Velmund unfolded his grimoire, riffling towards the fourth page as he started to chant the words: "Spirituous of shadows darker than black..."
* * *
Situated at a vantage point afar from the main encampment of the Celbriac horde, a tall, masculine figure clad in dark plate armor with an auburn hair and light brown complexion was scrutinizing the rows of canvases and the scattered, loose lines of Norsmundi tribesmen. Underneath the concealment of a dense thicket elevated upon a hill, a faint sliver of light that penetrated through the trees offered warmth at the flushed countenance of Lord Jurelle Walruse, ranked third seat upon the Order of the Raven Knights, retainer and first cousin to Lord Velmund of House Walruse, as he stood upon the fore mounted upon a barded warhorse. Jurelle pivoted around as he shifted his attention from the enemy camp to his allies, and uplifted his spear before the eyes of many knights of the same chivalric order, beholding fixedly the faces of around a hundred cavalrymen whom shared his intent and purposes.
"Hark, my comrades-in-arms!" he cried unrestrained, eyeing his fellow knights who gazed upon him back with the same resolve and intensity. "Today, we face a great adversary who dares desecrate the land of our birth and ancestors. Our duties as knights demand of us to answer the call to arms and defend our motherland against those who threatens to cause her harm. First and foremost we rally for the sake of our country and to prove our loyalty; to uphold the fealty to whom we swore our allegiance and gave our oaths as warriors. Secondly, we do this for our loved ones as we answer to our roles as sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, and as fathers and mothers. Thirdly, we rise up arms for ourselves: to seek glory in battle, to live by virtue, and to defend our own honor. We fight for justice, for the weak and unable and for all that is good, we protect."
He gave a momentary pause, lowering his spear and exchanging his weapon to his left hand. Jurelle then gestured the salute of the Raven Knights, embedding his clenched fist upon his sturdy chest plate, and all followed his example instantaneously. "Steel your hearts, Raven Knights! We ride for victory and offer the head of the enemy general to his lordship our liege. Onwards to battle!" he yelled boldly, insinuating the cavalry charge.
"For Regalia!" roared the knights in unison.