Thick dust and pitch-black smoke billowed wildly over the Southern Gates of the Capital of Luminara.
The late afternoon sky, usually a warm orange, was now completely smothered by an ashen fog and a rain of embers. Desperate screams and bloodcurdling war cries echoed endlessly along the city's defensive walls.
Lobrecht stood like a statue atop a small hill overlooking the gates. His faded brown cloak snapped violently in the scorching wind.
Down below, the Heretic Order forces were fighting in a lethal formation, honed through decades of oppression. They clearly weren't regular soldiers in pristine uniforms. There was no gleaming holy plate armor. Just a mob of people clad in patched-up rags, wielding scavenged, rusty weapons. Yet, their movements were... extraordinarily disciplined. Coordinated. And absolutely deadly.
Gladius spearheaded the frontline.
