The council chamber was alive with urgency. Kael Veyron's gaze swept across the maps, wards, and incoming reports. The Eastern Continent's devastation weighed heavily in every word. The Dark EMPEROR's generals were advancing relentlessly, their path of conquest leaving nothing but fire and death. Alora had to buy time—time to recruit, to marshal forces, and to prepare the city for the inevitable confrontation.
"Selene," Kael said, voice steady but firm, "mobilize Team 6 immediately. Tavric Hallow will lead them, supported by two hundred thousand troops. Their mission isn't to defeat the generals—we know that's impossible—but to stall their advance in the Eastern Continent and buy the other continents time to reinforce and prepare."
Selene's brow furrowed. "Two hundred thousand, led by Tavric? That's a fraction of what they'll face. The generals have already crushed twenty kingdoms in the East."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I know. But every hour Team 6 delays them is time for the rest of Alora to mobilize, recruit allies, and fortify their defenses. Tavric is agile, cunning, and knows how to exploit terrain. His team will slow the generals' progress, no matter the cost. That's the priority."
Lyra Thorne leaned forward, eyes tracing the generals' projected paths. "It's almost suicidal. Ironwraith, Ashclad… they don't lose. Team 6 won't survive long."
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "Survival isn't the objective. Delay, disruption, and attrition are. Every clash they survive, every ambush executed… it buys the rest of the world time. Team 6 will be the wedge in the East, slowing the Dark EMPEROR's march while the other continents prepare their defenses."
Selene nodded, fingers flying over the wards and magical networks. "Orders will be clear: hold positions, exploit terrain, harass the generals, and retreat when necessary. Troops will create choke points, traps, and ambushes. Every maneuver counts."
Kael's eyes hardened. "Make it clear to Tavric: do not attempt to win. Stall, harass, and survive as long as possible. Every hour gained in the East is a chance to save the rest of Alora. Team 6 and the two hundred thousand troops are the shield for the other continents—not for themselves."
Lyra's lips pressed together, but she nodded reluctantly. "Understood. They will know their orders. Tavric Hallow will lead Team 6 with precision. But Kael… this will cost lives."
Kael's voice was unwavering. "Every war costs lives. But if this works, it will give the rest of Alora the chance to stand. Delay them, weaken them, and buy time. That is all that matters."
The winds over the Eastern Continent were sharp and biting, carrying the acrid scent of scorched earth from the twenty kingdoms already devastated by the Dark EMPEROR's generals. Tavric Hallow stood atop a ridge, his piercing eyes scanning the valley below, the sun glinting off the edges of his armor. Two hundred thousand troops spread across the hills, forests, and rivers, poised for the mission Kael had given: stall, disrupt, survive.
Tavric's lips curved into a faint smirk. "All right, people. Remember the orders. We don't win. We buy time. Every clash, every ambush, every delay counts. The generals are coming—they're fast, ruthless, and deadly—but we'll make them bleed before they reach the heartlands."
His voice carried across the ranks, and soldiers adjusted their formations instantly. Scouts disappeared into the treelines, while the engineers laid hidden traps along narrow passes and river crossings. Every movement was deliberate, every placement tactical.
From the shadows of the valley, the first wave of generals appeared—Ironwraith and Nightvein, their aura radiating menace. Ironwraith's armor shimmered with black steel energy, each step shaking the ground beneath him. Nightvein slithered like a predator, his venomous aura crawling through the air, a threat even before combat began.
Tavric's grin widened. "Perfect. Just as expected. Scouts, mark their approach. Archers, hold fire until my signal. This is a game of patience… and precision."
The valley erupted as the first ambush unfolded. Tavric led the vanguard, moving with supernatural agility, darting between trees and rocks. He struck with precision, slicing through Ironwraith's subordinate units with lightning speed. Every maneuver was choreographed—hit-and-run attacks designed to frustrate and delay, not to destroy.
From above, arcane projectors fired bolts of energy, shattering rocks and creating barriers to funnel the generals into kill zones. Tavric darted between the chaos, his twin daggers flashing as he neutralized enemy scouts before they could alert their masters.
Ironwraith growled, his voice cutting through the battlefield like a blade. "So… this is the famed Tavric Hallow. Clever. Agile. But clever and agile are not enough against me."
Nightvein hissed beside him, venom dripping from claws that could pierce through armor. "Let's see how long their tricks last."
The generals advanced, moving as a tidal wave of destruction. Tavric's traps detonated beneath them—fallen trees triggered by arcane wires, boulders dislodged by hidden mechanisms—but the generals pressed forward, their sheer strength and presence shrugging off most of the damage.
Tavric's grin hardened. "Good. Just as planned. Keep moving, keep striking, keep bleeding them."
For hours, the clash continued. Tavric's troops harried, ambushed, and retreated in perfect synchronization, creating delays with painful efficiency. Even the generals' might was slowed, each step forward costing precious time and resources. The valley became a storm of clashing steel, flying arrows, and exploding spells.
Yet, Tavric never faltered. Agile, cunning, and slightly cocky, he danced through the battlefield, predicting enemy movements, cutting off reinforcements, and leaving trails of confusion behind him. The generals roared in frustration, unable to adapt quickly to the guerrilla warfare tactics.
By sunset, the first day's fight ended—not with victory, but with time gained. Tavric's team had bled the generals' forces just enough to slow their advance, buying the other continents precious hours to rally their defenses.
From the ridge, Tavric looked over the valley, chest rising and falling from exertion, a smirk forming on his lips. "That's right, boys and girls. Every hour counts. We didn't win. We stalled. We survived. And tomorrow… we'll do it again."
Below him, the generals regrouped, their eyes burning with the desire for vengeance. Tavric's gaze met theirs briefly, unflinching, as if mocking the unstoppable force before him. He knew this was just the beginning, and the real war had only just begun.