The human knights marched in unison, their polished armor reflecting the dim light of the setting sun.

Their boots pounded the dirt road in rhythmic unison, CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!, a sound that sent shivers down the spines of any who might dare to oppose them.

The air was thick with tension, and the distant cries of crows circling above only heightened the ominous atmosphere.

At the forefront of the column, mounted on a massive, scaled magical lizard that hissed and snapped at anything too close, was the infamous Gerhardt, the old mage.

His mage’s uniform, adorned with golden threads and arcane runes, shimmered faintly with magical energy.

His face, lined with age but alight with fervor, scanned the horizon with a gaze that promised no mercy.

Suddenly, Gerhardt’s booming voice erupted across the battlefield, a sound so powerful it seemed to rattle the very trees nearby.

“KNIGHTS! FORM YOUR RANKS!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the clamor of armor and marching feet. “THE FILTHY ORCS ARE NEAR! READY YOUR WEAPONS!”

The soldiers immediately obeyed, the sound of swords unsheathing and spears being readied filling the air like a chorus of steel.

Shields clanked as they were raised, forming an impenetrable wall of gleaming metal.

“REMEMBER WHY WE MARCH!” Gerhardt roared, his magical lizard rearing back and letting out a bone-chilling screech. The soldiers flinched but held their ground.

“THESE SAVAGES TOOK OUR LAND!” he continued, his voice rising with each word. “THEY SLAUGHTERED BARON GEISLER, OUR BELOVED RULER, IN COLD BLOOD! WILL WE STAND BY AND ALLOW SUCH AN INSULT TO OUR HONOR?”

“NO!” the knights shouted in unison, their voices thunderous and resolute.

Gerhardt raised his staff, its tip crackling with raw magical energy. The light illuminated his weathered face, making him look more like a wrathful god than a man.

“THEN LET US SHOW THESE VERMIN THE POWER OF CIVILIZATION! LET THEM SEE THE WRATH OF THE BARON’S AVENGERS!”

The knights cheered, their cries echoing across the land like the roar of an unstoppable storm.

The mage’s fiery words had lit a flame in their hearts, turning their fear into righteous fury.

The army’s banners, depicting the Baron’s coat of arms, fluttered violently in the wind. The crimson and gold symbols stood out against the darkening sky, a beacon of vengeance and power.

Five hundred strong, the knights marched onward, their formation perfect, their discipline unwavering.

“ARCHERS!” Gerhardt bellowed, his sharp eyes darting to a unit of bowmen riding behind the main force. “READY YOUR ARROWS! IF THE ORCS COME CLOSE, WE WILL RAIN HELL UPON THEM!”

The archers, clad in lighter armor, quickly nocked arrows tipped with glimmering steel. Their bows creaked under the strain, their faces set with grim determination.

Gerhardt’s voice dropped slightly, but the menace in it only grew. “Let no one falter,” he hissed, his tone colder than the autumn wind.

“We march not just to kill, but to cleanse. These beasts do not deserve the breath in their lungs. They are a blight on this world. And we,” he paused, pointing his glowing staff toward the horizon, “are the cure!”

The knights roared again, their voices filled with bloodlust and resolve.

The ground beneath them seemed to tremble as the column pressed forward. The weight of five hundred armored men, each step a declaration of vengeance, was enough to intimidate even the most stalwart of foes.

“BE READY!” Gerhardt shouted again, his staff pulsing with energy. “THESE ORCS WILL TRY TO AMBUSH US, LIKE THE COWARDS THEY ARE! BUT WE SHALL BE READY FOR THEM!”

“YES, GRANDMASTER!” the soldiers replied, their voices ringing with obedience and loyalty.

The mage’s lizard hissed again, its glowing eyes scanning the surroundings. It seemed to sense the tension in the air, the inevitable clash of steel and blood that awaited them.

“DO NOT FORGET YOUR TRAINING!” Gerhardt barked, his voice cutting through the ambient noise like a blade. “YOU ARE THE PRIDE OF THIS LAND, THE SHIELD OF OUR PEOPLE! LET NO ORC’S AXE PIERCE YOUR ARMOR! LET NO OGRE’S CLUB CRUSH YOUR SPIRIT!”

“FOR THE BARON!” a knight shouted, and the cry was quickly taken up by the rest of the army.

“FOR THE BARON!”

“FOR OUR LAND!”

“FOR HONOR AND GLORY!”

As they advanced, the terrain grew darker, the thick trees casting ominous shadows across their path. Gerhardt, ever vigilant, raised a hand to slow the march.

“HALT!” he commanded, his voice sharp and unwavering. The column stopped instantly, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves and the faint hiss of the lizard beneath him.

Gerhardt narrowed his eyes, scanning the darkness. His staff glowed brighter, casting eerie light across the trees.

“KNIGHTS!” he called, his voice low but carrying.

“This is no ordinary march. You are not fighting ordinary beasts. Keep your wits about you. Stay close to your brothers and sisters in arms. And remember—there is no greater glory than dying for our cause!”

The soldiers nodded, their faces a mixture of fear and determination.

The younger knights clutched their weapons tightly, their knuckles white.

The veterans, though hardened, kept their gazes fixed on the horizon, knowing that death could come from any direction.

The mage turned his attention back to the path ahead, his expression unreadable.

“The Orcs think themselves clever,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “But their savagery will be their undoing. They will learn the true meaning of fear.”

And with that, the army continued its march, their footsteps pounding like a heartbeat of war, the air around them heavy with the promise of bloodshed.

Suddenly, the steady march of the five hundred knights slowed as five distinct figures rode forward from the rear ranks, their magical beasts stirring awe and fear even among the hardened soldiers.

Each mage, cloaked in robes of varying colors that shimmered with an arcane glow, approached Gerhardt.

Their beasts were as strange and menacing as their masters: one rode a wingless wyvern with scales like molten lava; another a crystalline stag whose antlers pulsed with a soft blue light; the third sat atop a serpentine creature that seemed to swim through the air as though it were water; the fourth commanded a hulking, horned feline with glowing green eyes; and the last, a cloaked figure, rode a pitch-black arachnid that clattered menacingly with each step.

The knights murmured among themselves as the mages approached.

Their conversations were tinged with unease and respect.

The presence of these individuals only underscored the gravity of the situation.

Gerhardt, seated on his massive lizard mount, raised his staff high, its tip glowing brighter with each passing second.

His voice rang out like thunder, cutting through the murmurs and silencing the crowd.

“Mages!” he bellowed, addressing the five.

“Step forward and hear my words. What lies ahead is no mere skirmish. This is no trivial exercise in spellcraft.

“This is war. You stand on the precipice of history, and your actions will determine whether you rise as legends or fall as forgotten corpses.

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“Not just that, you are all fighting for humanity too! This is your chance to enhance your magic and use it in real time combat, you hear me! Be prepared!”

The mages urged their beasts closer, their faces a mixture of youthful determination and quiet dread.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep