They saw it as a perfect opportunity to strike.
Their leader signalled a coordinated attack.
Their target was clear: Prince Milan, vulnerable at the rear of the battlefield.
They entered the fray and charged towards Milan and Arvant.
Arvant, who noticed them, quickly turned towards them, standing before Milan.
Jolthar, with his heightened perception, saw them rounding up Milan and Arvant. Stay updated via My Virtual Library Empire
He looked around and stopped where Cleora was, "Cleora!" He yelled.
Cleora, who was fighting with her n along with her son Roblan, looked towards Jolthar. She wasn't a warrior, but that didn't stop her. Her son fought alongside her, keeping one eye on her.
Jolthar pointed towards where Milan was present and shouted, "Don't let him die; protect him at all costs."
As if understanding his intentions, Cleora nodded as she looked towards Milan and Arvant.
Black-clad n have already reached them and surrounded them.
She quickly took her son and a couple of n and moved towards where Milan was present.
Then Jolthar turned towards the drake, and with a quick, precise signal to Maelruth, he commanded, pointing towards Cleora, "Go and help her, at the back."
The drake understood imdiately.
With another earth-shattering roar, Maelruth leaped into the air, landing protectively before Arvant.
The assassins, montarily stunned by the drake's sudden appearance, hesitated.
So recovered quickly, attempting to fight the drake, while others tried to circumvent it to reach Milan.
Arvant dismounted from his horse, his eyes locked on the approaching assassins. "My prince," he said to Milan, his voice steady despite the impending danger, "leave from here. I will stop them with my life."
"You must not die here."
Milan didn't move. "No, I can't leave you here. We have already lost so many of our n; I am not gonna lose you too."
Cleora then reached them, joining Arvant in a desperate defence.
Arvant, looking at Cleora and the drake, thought that he might be able to save the prince. Thanking them for coming to his aid, he turned towards the assassins.
"Lady Cleora, I can't say I am more happy to see you. But I am grateful that you have stepped in despite the fight of your own."
Cleora, shehad a few scratches, but she stood strong and said, "It is for his highness; we should protect him. After all, we are his subjects."
Arvant nodded, satisfied, and felt happy that she felt that way.
The drake flapped its wings, creating barriers of wind and fla, trying to hold back the assassins.
But they were nurous, skilled, and desperate.
Not all could be stopped.
What followed was a dance of survival—Cleora, Roblan, and Arvant fighting with everything they possessed, the drake providing support, and Jolthar continuing his relentless assault on Ozug and the Chitterea forces.
This was more than a battle. This was a mont that would be etched into the annals of history—a turning point where individual courage and extraordinary capability could challenge the tide of overwhelming odds.
And at the centre of it all stood Jolthar—a beacon of defiance, a storm of impossible skill and power.
-
The battlefield had transford into a hellscape of carnage and desperation.
Despite Jolthar's earlier devastating attack that had obliterated hundreds of Chitterea's soldiers, the army seed to possess an inexhaustible resolve.
They ca in wave after wave, their determination fuelled by sothing beyond re military discipline—it was a primal hunger for victory that refused to be quenched.
Dagur watched from the sidelines, a study in cold detachnt.
While his soldiers were being systematically decimated, his focus remained entirely on Jolthar. The lone warrior had beco more than an opponent—he was an obsession, a puzzle that Dagur was determined to solve.
His eyes never left Jolthar, tracking every movent, every breath, analyzing the mysterious young warrior's capabilities with a calculating gaze.
The Barony of Tekkora's situation grew more dire with each passing mont.
What had begun as a potentially strategic engagent had devolved into a brutal fight for survival?
Their numbers had dwindled dramatically.
The fierce soldiers of Chitterea showed no rcy, their combat skills far surpassing those of the Barony troops.
They were a relentless force, driven by a bloodlust that knew no compromise. They only trembled in front of Jolthar, but they were like a fierce bunch towards the soldiers.
The only thing that gave the Chitterea soldiers pause was Jolthar himself.
His presence on the battlefield was like a living nightmare.
Wherever he moved, soldiers fell.
His long sword was a blur of destruction, his movents defying their sight.
Yet, despite his extraordinary abilities, the sheer number of enemies was overwhelming.
For every soldier he cut down, two more seed to take their place.
At the rear of the battlefield, Baroness Cleora stood protectively near Prince Milan. Her composure remained unbroken, but her eyes betrayed the gravity of their situation. Her son Roblan fought alongside the veteran Arvant, their movents synchronized, creating a defensive periter around their leadership.
The drake—Maelruth—fought with them, a magnificent beast of raw power and loyalty. Its scales bore the marks of multiple strikes, dark wounds that glistened with an otherworldly resilience.
Yet the creature did not retreat.
Each wound seed to fuel its ferocity, its roars becoming more thunderous, more defiant with every passing mont.
The assassins they faced were unlike any typical warriors. They moved like shadows, each strike precise and deadly. Their techniques suggested years of specialized training, possibly from multiple martial traditions.
So used poison-tipped blades; others relied on complex chain weapons that could change shape mid-strike.
Roblan and Arvant found themselves constantly adapting, their standard combat techniques proving insufficient against such exotic fighting styles.
Jolthar himself was a whirlwind of combat, simultaneously fighting Ozug—a warrior of significant reputation—while repelling waves of soldiers. His sword seed to exist in multiple places at once, parrying attacks, striking down enemies, and creating impossible angles of defence and assault. Yet even though he was being gradually surrounded, the nurical superiority of Chitterea's forces slowly but inexorably closed in.
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