The skyline over Eldenia's border was shrouded by heavy clouds, with an oppressive atmosphere thick in the air. The terrain here was narrow and rugged, a natural fortress formed by winding mountain ranges, dense forests, and highlands. To the north, towering mountains stretched endlessly, while to the south lay vast plains, creating a robust natural defense. Yet now, this land was heavy with an air of tension, as if the earth itself was holding its breath for the impending conflict.
Leon's army poured into the region like a tidal wave. The iron hooves of the vanguard's warhorses crushed soil and grass underfoot, raising clouds of dust. Each soldier was clad in heavy armor, their shields, longswords, bows, and armor gleaming with battle-worn etchings, like unyielding fortresses. The atmosphere within the ranks was one of grim resolve; there was no lightness, only the steely determination of elite warriors. With stony faces and upright stances, they stood like immovable rocks, weathering the storm without falter.
Leon stood at the forefront of his army, his gaze sharp as a blade as he surveyed the Eldenia border ahead. Behind him, his army stretched out like a dense forest of steel, their tightly-knit formation emanating an indescribable pressure. His eyes betrayed no hesitation, only calm resolve. Years of war had taught him how to command and manipulate both armies and morale. To him, this was but the beginning—a necessary step to prove his power and authority.
At his command, the army swiftly moved into formation, their movements precise and disciplined, forming a massive steel net encircling the border. Archers on the frontlines readied their longbows, while crossbowmen in the rear prepared powerful bolts. Infantry and cavalry advanced in unison, the sound of clashing armor and the pounding of hooves reverberating across the land, carrying an unstoppable momentum.
Every soldier's eyes burned with the light of battle. Fear had long been replaced by the anticipation of victory. This army's purpose was not only conquest but also to send a clear message to the eastern coalition: the power of Strongson was unmatched.
The border of Eldenia was fortified with layers of defenses, yet they seemed fragile in the face of Strongson's iron-clad army. General Greve, a trusted commander of Eldenia's king, stood atop a high ridge, gazing at the distant Strongson forces. His brow furrowed, his heart weighed down by deep concern. While the empire's troops were not lacking in bravery, they appeared insufficient against the might of Strongson's cavalry.
In the distant Horas Kingdom, King Eldemeyer sat in his palace, his eyes closed in contemplation, as though he could hear the ironclad footsteps of Leon's army. He knew that if war broke out, his kingdom's fate would hang by a thread. Although Horas lay beyond Eldenia geographically, Leon's forces, known for their heavy cavalry, excelled at breaking through any defense. While Eldemeyer held supreme authority in his independent kingdom, his greatest threat now loomed from Strongson's invincible army.
Meanwhile, in Mathur Duchy, Duke Kragg was even more anxious. As a duchy, Mathur lacked the resources of Eldenia or Horas. Its people relied more on tactics and mobility, but even these advantages seemed inadequate against the sheer scale of Strongson's forces. Sitting on his throne, Kragg's eyes flickered with a complex emotion. He knew that if Strongson succeeded in taking Eldenia, the entire power structure of the eastern continent would be irrevocably altered.
These three rulers sat in their respective halls, burdened with worry yet filled with determination. Despite facing a formidable enemy, Eldenia's commander resolved to hold the line, willing to pay any price to halt Strongson's advance.
The tension along the border grew thicker, the air seemingly frozen as the fate of the coalition hung in the balance. Strongson's army had already begun its march eastward, and this war seemed destined to reshape the history of the continent.