Eldenia mobilized swiftly, constructing defensive fortifications along its borders. Sentries patrolled day and night, vigilantly observing the movements of Strongson's army. Yet, facing such a formidable foe, the morale of their soldiers faltered, and the common people sank deeper into anxiety and fear.
In a low-lying valley, Eldenia generals oversaw the construction of defensive lines. Soldiers dug trenches along cliff faces and erected obstacles in narrow passages, hoping these modest fortifications could slow Strongson's advance.
The Horas cavalry, dispatched by Eldemeyer, patrolled the plains, their commanders well aware that this open expanse would soon become a battlefield. Meanwhile, Mathur's archers hid within the forests, ready to ambush. Their legendary precision was renowned, but whether their arrows could pierce Strongson's ironclad army remained uncertain.
Morning sunlight bathed Eldenia's sprawling fields, with mountains resembling slumbering dragons and rivers weaving silver threads across the land. Arthur rode steadily on horseback, accompanied by three warriors of the Silver Wolf Clan. Their figures blended seamlessly with the landscape, exuding resilience and strength amidst the grandeur.
Arthur gazed into the distance, where towering snow-capped peaks reflected the sunlight, resembling cold silver flames blazing in the heavens. Their journey took them across vast grasslands, where deer scattered through the morning mist, and flocks of birds streaked across the azure sky. Passing through a canyon, they encountered a thunderous waterfall, its roar echoing as sunlight split the mist into a vivid rainbow.
After several days of arduous travel, Arthur and his companions finally reached Eldenia's frontline outpost. The terrain grew increasingly complex, with rolling hills and dense forests. In a distant valley, a forward post emerged, its banners fluttering in the wind as spear-wielding guards stood watch atop the heights.
Arthur led his group cautiously forward. The sentries raised their weapons warily.
"Halt! Who goes there?" a tall soldier barked.
Arthur dismounted and raised his hand in a gesture of peace. Standing tall, with calm eyes, he replied:
"We are from the Silver Wolf Clan of Airtulan. We come to meet with Eldenia's commander, bearing our chieftain's intentions and hopes for peace."
The soldier scrutinized them before turning back to call into the post:
"Inform General Greve—they've arrived!"
Moments later, an armored soldier emerged, his gaze sharp as he surveyed Arthur and his companions.
"Welcome," the soldier said evenly. "General Greve of Eldenia has been expecting you. Please follow me. We have much to discuss."
Arthur nodded and followed the soldier into the outpost. Glancing back at his companions, he saw the weariness of their journey etched on their faces, but their resolve remained unshaken.
In this perilous moment, Arthur knew he bore not only the hope of his clan but also the prospect of peace for all of Airtulan. He silently vowed that no matter the strength of Strongson's army or the ambition of Leon, he would fight tirelessly for justice and peace.
After a brief respite, Arthur was ushered into a modest yet solemn hall. At a long table sat Greve Bryan, the frontline commander of Eldenia. Clad in armor and draped in a golden cape, his hands were clasped, his expression both stern and weary.
"Envoys of Airtulan," General Greve began, nodding slightly. His voice carried a mix of fatigue and worry. "We've heard of your arrival and understand Airtulan's desire to aid in peace. But the situation we face now is far from optimistic."
Arthur noted the concern in Greve's tone and replied calmly:
"Airtulan may not be able to send a large army, but our support can take other forms. I will report the situation here to our clans and send more reinforcements and supplies to assist your front."
Greve frowned slightly and asked in a low voice:
"Your sincerity is clear, but this is the largest military campaign Strongson has ever waged. Are you truly prepared to risk becoming entangled in such a war?"
Arthur's voice was resolute:
"When the flames of war reach our borders, no nation can remain untouched. Airtulan is not choosing war—it is defending its right to survive."
As the conversation continued, an adjutant hurried into the hall, whispering something to General Greve. His brows furrowed before he turned to Arthur.
"We've just received word: Leon's forces are gathering at the border. Their attack seems imminent."
Arthur's expression grew serious. "Do you have specific intelligence?"
Greve's tone was grave.
"Leon himself is leading the troops. The coalition may struggle to withstand their initial assault. Reports indicate that he has mobilized Strongson's elite forces, including heavy artillery and crossbows."
Arthur rose, his hands gripping the table, his gaze sharp as steel.
"In that case, we must use the time before their attack to prepare thoroughly."
Greve nodded, standing alongside Arthur.
"The courage of the Airtulan people is admirable. I look forward to standing with you on the battlefield to stop Strongson's advance."
In this modest but solemn command tent, a shared resolve was forged. This determination would soon be tested by the fires of war and tempered by the blood of those who would stand against Strongson's relentless onslaught.