Cassia led the vanguard, her armor glimmering with frost, eyes sharp as steel, as her soldiers marched behind her. Their shields locked tight, their boots crushing the snow beneath in perfect unison.
"Forward!"
Her voice pierced the blizzard.
They surged ahead, spears leveled, blades ready. The first impact came like a thunderclap, shield met shield, steel shrieked against steel, and the white field of snow turned blood red.
The Holy Allied soldiers, battered by the endless bombardment, fought with desperate faith. Their armor gleamed with holy insignias, their lips muttering prayers between screams. But faith alone couldn't hold the line.
"Advance!"
"Push them back!"
Cassia's sword carved through a crusader's chestplate, her movement a blur of efficiency. Around her, Thirell's soldiers pressed on, their formation bending but never breaking.
Every thrust, every block, every step — it was moves done by elites and legends, all granted power by Justinian.
