The battlefield was a cacophony of shouts, the air thick with the smell of blood and sweat. "Charge!" The Galdorian soldiers roared as they broke through the thinning defense lines of Alanor, "Kill!" Their cries of victory echoed across the battlefield, a harbinger of the slaughter they intended to bring. The Alanorian soldiers, though outnumbered and exhausted, refused to yield.
"Hold the line!" a commander bellowed, his voice straining to rise above the din of battle. "Protect His Majesty! For Alanor!"
The Alanorian soldiers, though battered and bruised, answered the call. They stood firm, knowing that their sacrifice could mean the difference between life and death for their comrades. Some of them, with grim determination etched on their faces, threw themselves into the enemy ranks, causing chaos and confusion. Their lives were the price they paid to buy even a few precious seconds for their allies to retreat.
Amidst the chaos, General Marcus Draven and Lord Lehard Arlyn fought side by side, each protecting the other's flanks with practiced precision. Their swords flashed and clashed as they cut down wave after wave of Galdorian soldiers, their bond forged in countless battles evident in their seamless coordination.
Suddenly, a Galdorian knight slipped through the chaos, unnoticed by Marcus, and launched a deadly strike at Lord Arlyn's blind spot. Lehard saw the attack too late, and just as the blade was about to find its mark, a shield intercepted it with a resounding clang. Loras, Marcus Draven's son, had blocked the blow, his eyes burning with determination. Lord Lehard seized the moment, swiftly turning and slaying the enemy knight with a decisive strike.
As the three continued to fight, another Galdorian soldier closed in on Loras from behind, his blade raised for a killing blow. But before he could strike, Kellan leaped into action. With a powerful swing, he parried the enemy's sword, shattering it with the force of his blow. In a fluid motion, Kellan followed through, his sword cutting through the enemy's armor and ending his life.
The eyes of Marcus, Loras, and Kellan met briefly, a silent understanding passing between them. With a nod, the three knights of House Arlyn, along with Lord Arlyn, tightened their formation. They moved as one, their swords and shields working in unison as they slowly retreated, covering each other with the precision of seasoned warriors. Soon, other knights of House Arlyn joined them, their presence bolstering the group's strength as they continued their grim march backward.
But not all were as fortunate. While most of the soldiers were from the northern garrison, who had fought with Lord Arlyn for years, driven by their deep loyalty fought fiercely to protect him, many other knightly orders and nobles were not so lucky. Without the same level of coordination or trust, they were picked off one by one, their ranks decimated in the hasty retreat.
Lord Arlyn, realizing the gravity of the situation, commanded the units around him to prioritize the defense of King Thorian at all costs. The Alanorian forces were in disarray, and it was clear that only a concentrated effort would ensure the king's survival.
The Royal Knights were the only other elite unit with a semblance of order amidst the chaos, forming the last line of defense around King Thorian and the allied mages. Lord Arlyn with his knights joined them to bolster the defense.
Galdorian forces surged through one line of defense after another, their relentless advance pushing deeper into the heart of Alanor's defenses. In a desperate bid to neutralize the mages, the Galdorian army concentrated their assault on a single critical point. They smashed through the weakened gap and reached the rear of the Alanorian formation, their brutal charge cutting down a few of the enemy soldiers. Though scattered, the Alanor forces still rallied a substantial number and mounted a fierce resistance. The core offensive unit of Galdor barreled toward the final line of elite guards protecting the king and the mages.
Swords clashed with Galdorian steel as they held their ground, buying time for the retreat. The personal guards of the king, their resolve unshaken, fought with a ferocity that matched the desperation of the situation.
Despite the heavy resistance and the significant losses on both sides, the Galdor forces continued to push forward, their eyes fixed on the vulnerable mages. The struggle became more violent, blood soaking the earth as men fell by the dozens. The air was thick with the stench of death and burning wood, but still, the Alanorians held their ground.
The Royal Guards and knights fought with everything they had, but one by one, they began to fall. Yet, even as the Galdor soldiers closed in, they did not falter. With each step, they brought the mages closer to the outer edges of the anti-magic veil, the hope of breaking free igniting a small flicker of determination in their hearts.
It was a small hope, but in that moment, it was everything.