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The Balser Fortress, built on the vast Balser Plains in northern Gandia, stood as the kingdom's mightiest stronghold. Erected to fend off invasions from the thriving Logner and serve as a future base for northern expansion, it was a symbol of impregnability, repelling Logner's armies time and again over nearly a century. Its legend spread across neighboring lands, cemented by the retreating Logner forces' repeated failures.
This held true even during the reign of the revered King Sius Cloud Rei Gandia, whose brilliance shone undimmed even as he lay bedridden by illness. Eventually, Gandia grew complacent, believing Logner's forces no longer posed a threat a fatal miscalculation.
The Balser Fortress fell.
Logner's concentrated forces, bolstered by powerful Zarwan reinforcements and the emergence of Quon Kamiya, overwhelmed it. Yet the true cause was Gandia's hubris. Had they met Logner's advance with full force and repelled it swiftly, neither Zarwan's elite nor Quon Kamiya's wildcard presence would have mattered. A routed enemy could not have breached the fortress.
But such thoughts were mere hypotheticals. The past was immutable, and so he had no choice but to take up his sword.
Above, a dazzling blue sky stretched endlessly, not a cloud in sight. The clear weather, a stark contrast to days of gloom, almost made him dizzy, and he gave a wry smile. Dizziness from a sunny day? Pathetic.
Below, the fortified city of Maldar sprawled, its streets teeming with thousands of soldiers and citizens gathered to see them off. From the fifth-floor balcony of Maldar Tower, he Leongand Rei Gandia—stood in silver lion armor, the kingdom's emblem. He wore no helmet, baring his face to his people, though few could likely discern it from so high up.
Leongand drew the ornate longsword Grassorion from his waist, thrusting it forward. This heirloom of Gandia's royal line, passed from king to king, was unsheathed by a new king only for their first battle.
"All forces, advance!" he commanded.
His order sparked a wave of roaring cheers from the soldiers below.
The Gandian army marching from Maldar numbered five thousand. Of these, three thousand five hundred were regular troops a modest force for a nation of two hundred thousand, but that was Gandia's reality. Not all its forces could be committed to retaking Balser Fortress; neighboring nations eyeing territorial gains would seize any opening.
The south was secure, thanks to alliances with Lucion and Mion, requiring no troops there. But to the east lay Berel, and to the west, Azark small nations like Gandia, yet dangerous if underestimated. Caution was paramount.
Still, Gandia mustered every available soldier for Balser three thousand five hundred regulars, their disciplined march an unexpectedly reassuring sight despite their reputation for weakness.
Of the remaining fifteen hundred, eight hundred were Lucion reinforcements. Three days prior, Lucion's first prince, Halberk Reus Lucion, arrived with seven hundred elite soldiers, joining the hundred White Holy Knights. Their presence alone outshone Gandia's regulars.
Mion's aid came too: five hundred troops led by General Gilbert Hardy, one of Mion's famed three generals, clad in azure armor. Their strength likely dwarfed Gandia's forces as well.
"Relying on allies—that's Gandia's bitter truth," remarked Sigurd Folia, leader of the Blue Wind mercenaries. His hundred-strong band, plus another hundred hired swords, fell under his command, making up two hundred of the fifteen hundred non-regulars. Mercenaries joined him for one reason: survival. The Blue Wind, despite heavy losses in the Balser siege six months ago, was renowned for minimal casualties in other battles.
Mercenaries fought for coin but valued life above all. Joining Sigurd's command boosted their odds of survival.
"Win this battle, retake the fortress, and things might turn around," said Jin Clair.
"Let's hope so," Lux Vain replied, his silver hair gleaming under the sun, impossible to miss in the ranks.
"If we don't, Gandia's finished," Faria Belferia muttered nearby, her words catching Setsuna's ear. It was no surprise. Failing to swiftly reclaim a key stronghold lost after the late king's death, left neglected for over six months, would shatter Leongand's already fragile authority.
They had to win.
North from Maldar, the five-thousand-strong army advanced in formation along the highway, unwavering.
Regulars led, followed by Lucion and Mion allies, with mercenaries at the rear. Setsuna marched among them, alongside the Blue Wind's captain, vice-captain, and assault leader, stepping closer to his first battle.
He walked, of course—no horse, no rank to warrant one, and no skill to ride even if he had one. Faria had outfitted him with battle-ready attire, stylish and easy to move in. Setsuna had thanked her repeatedly, instantly fond of it. Armor was meant to follow, but its weight proved too much, and he'd abandoned it. Still, going to war unarmored was madness. Then again, Setsuna knew he'd long lost his sanity.
Madness.
Only madness could drive someone to war, especially a former student thrust into this surreal world. Here, old norms crumbled, and madness became sanity, while sanity faded into a distant fantasy.
There was no turning back.
Among the marching army, Setsuna wore lightweight metal armor, scavenged after a frantic search in Maldar. It was far lighter than Faria's intended set but vastly inferior in protection.
(No choice, huh.) He sighed inwardly, glancing ahead. His lack of stamina was a problem only time and training could fix.
But first, he had to survive this battle.
(Can I even fight?) He'd faced monsters and defeated Lankain Byunel, but war was different.
(Guess I've got no choice…)
Tension and exhilaration swirled within him as Setsuna pressed forward, one step at a time.