The Leviathan command vehicle towered like a moving fortress of steel, making the deadly Razorback tanks beside it look like mere ants. As the transport aircraft touched down on the command vehicle's upper deck, Creed disembarked, immediately spotting the two castle lords.
Crayne Malus and Calvin stood atop the command vehicle, awaiting the arrival of the Vorskanian forces. Over a thousand Vorskanian infantry stood in perfect formation, their captain performing the Eagle Salute to the lords.
"You've endured a hard journey," Malus greeted, gesturing to a servo-skull hovering nearby. The skull, with a tray affixed to its crown, carried a goblet of wine. Malus, as Chief Lord, poured a cup himself, offering it to the captain.
The captain refused with a stony expression. "Thank you, my lord, but we abstain from drink until battle is over."
"As expected of the most resilient and unyielding warriors from the Cadia Gate," Malus remarked with a satisfied smile, returning the cup to the tray.
Creed observed the Vorskanian captain and his men intently, noting their unwavering resolve. They seemed far from traitors.
"Your landing ships should be approaching the plains by now?" Malus inquired warmly. "The parade will commence upon your arrival—it has been planned to honor your forces."
"Indeed. When we boarded the transport, the landing ships were already en route to gather our forces," replied the captain.
"Excellent," Malus nodded approvingly and exchanged a glance with Calvin, who returned a nod of equal enthusiasm, the anticipation of the Vorskanian arrival plain in their expressions.
Malus then turned to Creed. "Is the Eighth Regiment ready for the parade?"
"A minor delay," Creed replied, masking his evasion with a polite pretense.
Malus let the matter pass, for his intent was not to reproach Creed but to have him witness the parade from the top of the command vehicle.
As Malus conversed with Creed, Calvin approached Crayne, who stood with his merchant escort, admiring the intricate designs of the power armor and inquiring about potential purchases.
Soon, five enormous transports pierced the skies, descending toward the Toyuk Plains.
"The Vorskanians have arrived," Malus noted, glancing upward before issuing an order over the comm. "Commence the parade."
Troops across the plains moved in unison, marching in precise formations before the command vehicle. Those on the command deck stepped to the edge, overlooking the spectacle below.
Crayne's gaze remained fixed on the parading soldiers, but Creed's attention was still on the Vorskanian captain and his men, each standing immobile, statuesque and devoid of expression.
Minute by minute, more transport ships landed, releasing hundreds of thousands of Vorskanian Iron Cavalry onto the plains, each contingent marching in disciplined rows.
Malus and Calvin continued to admire the Vorskanian display, praising their unshakable dedication.
Creed, however, remained wary, his gaze unwavering from the captain, his hands ready to reach for his weapon at the slightest provocation. But the Vorskanian captain and his soldiers remained impassive, offering no hint of aggression.
"Don't just stand there," Malus called to the captain, "I order you to observe the parade with us."
"I am but a captain," the man replied stoically. "My orders are to report your forces' arrival."
Creed's suspicion intensified. If this were a covert assassination, the captain had just forfeited the perfect opportunity. Could Talon's prophecy have been wrong?
Just as Creed's tension began to ease, Malus turned back, repeating, "I command you to join us—there's no war here, no need for such formality."
"Understood, my lord." Reluctantly, the captain removed his weapons, handing them to his men, then stepped toward the vacant space beside Malus.
Creed observed every movement, still cautious, though his mind wandered to informing Crayne afterward: *Perhaps Talon's predictions aren't as infallible as we thought.*
"What do you think of the parade?" Malus asked the captain.
"I am just a captain," he answered. "My opinion bears little weight."
"No, no. Your superiors entrusted you to lead the way on their behalf—a trusted and competent officer. Your opinion certainly matters."
"Then, on behalf of the Vorskanian Iron Cavalry, I express our gratitude for your grand preparations," the captain replied with modest reserve, toying with the insignia on his shoulder as though the event itself was mere tedium.
"In my youth, I was invited to your barracks to inspect new recruits," Malus reminisced. "Your people's admiration for steel was astonishing; everything there was forged from iron."
"Indeed, even our insignia," the captain concurred, fingers brushing the metal emblem.
As those on the command deck continued to watch the parade below, so too did the Vorskanian Iron Cavalry on the plains, standing in unwavering formations, awaiting the command to relax.
Malus's gaze drifted toward the banners waving amid the Vorskanian ranks in the distance. Black flags, emblazoned with symbols too distant to discern.
Are the Vorskanian banners black? The question flitted through his mind as he reached for the binoculars at his side.
Noticing this, the captain's eyes darkened.
In the next instant, he ripped the insignia from his shoulder and slashed across Malus's throat—so swiftly that even Creed, who had watched him closely, could not react in time.