Meanwhile, far from the Armand Border Wall…
King Edmund stood on a rise, watching the distant black haze swirl above the battlefield. A slow, confident smirk tugged at his lips.
"Heh… by now, that wall should be nothing but rubble," he muttered. "Those fools can't stop the golems , they'll just keep regenerating every time they're brought down."
He turned toward his armored general, malice gleaming in his eyes.
"Send in the special elite veteran wyvern unit. All out. I want fire raining from the sky — burn them alive. Have the riders launch magic strikes at the crumbling wall. Kill their citizens without mercy. I'm certain that brat's precious defenses have already failed."
The general bowed sharply and began barking orders.
"And the mages…" Edmund's voice dropped to a darker, almost gleeful tone. "Keep hammering them with dark fireballs. Tear that place apart."
He glanced back toward the horizon, his grin widening into something cruel.
