(The Ti Stilled World, Chaosbringer's Office, Leo's POV)
Nobody was happier about Leo's return to the Stilled World as much as Chaosbringer, as the poor sob literally began to cry the mont Leo walked back into his office.
"My Lord.... You're back. Your lowly servant was truly incomplete without you..."
Chaosbringer said, as Leo gave him a genuine smile, before taking a seat across his desk.
"I hope you achieved everything you set out to achieve in the wider universe, My Lord..."
Chaosbringer hoped, as Leo leaned back slightly in the chair and answered with a small nod.
"I did."
He said simply, as the quiet certainty in his tone spoke far louder than any lengthy explanation could have.
"I am finally ready to ascend to Monarch."
He added, as Chaosbringer's breath hitched for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening with raw, unfiltered joy, while his shoulders trembled very slightly, as though he were fighting the urge to break into another round of tears right then and there.
Leo watched that reaction for a brief mont, a faint warmth stirring in his chest, before he gently steered the conversation back to what actually needed to be done.
"I am sure you are busy, so let make this brief..."
He began, his tone turning calm and businesslike as he rested his forearms on the armrests.
"I need you to acquire the Monarch breakthrough potion for . The
best you can get."
He said, as his gaze locked onto Chaosbringer's, making it clear this was not sothing he intended to compromise on.
"And I need you to arrange a suitable venue for the breakthrough."
He continued, his voice steady as ever.
"I will need absolute peace and quiet while I go through this process....
So plan accordingly."
He instructed, as the weight of those words settled heavily between them.
"Rest assured, my Lord, it will be done within two days."
Chaosbringer said, his voice firm despite the lingering emotion in his eyes, as he placed a hand to his heart as if swearing a solemn oath.
(anwhile, sowhere in the outskirts of Skyshard City) *Rumble*
*Rumble*
The ground quaked under the synchronized thunder of millions of boots, as Commander Mickey Jas stood atop the raised command platform with his arms folded behind his back, his expression drawn into a severe, unforgiving line while his soldiers moved across the valley floor with the precision of a sharpened blade.
*Thud*
*Thud*
*Thud*
The battalions accelerated into position as signal horns echoed across the training grounds, their war cycle beginning with a formation that
modern armies across hundreds of galaxies would have instantly recognized.
"Phalanx Advance. Tighten ranks."
Jas ordered, his voice carried by mana amplifiers, as heavy infantry locked shields together in a seamless wall, the line stretching across the valley as they marched forward in perfect unison, their spears angling outward at staggered heights to create a deadly layered kill-zone.
Behind them, the second and third legions stepped forward in harmony, their soldiers rotating positions every thirty paces to prevent exhaustion, as each soldier's movent matched the one beside him like mirror reflections.
The classical phalanx was considered outdated by many armies in the
wider universe.
But not here.
Not under Jas.
For he had enhanced it with mana boosters, anti-charge spikes, and coordinated mage support weaving micro-barriers between shield
gaps.
It was beautiful to watch.
Terrifying to face.
Yet Mickey Jas shook his head in disappointnt.
"Too slow."
He said, as a lieutenant stiffened beside him.
"Convertible formation. Execute the Feigned Retreat into
Hamr-and-Anvil."
He ordered while raising a hand, as the command horns blared once
again.
*Tutututuuuu-*
In an instant, the phalanx dissolved backward, the front-line infantry peeling away with controlled disorder, their steps mimicking panic while the rear lines arced outward like wings.
In such a situation, enemies unaware of the maneuver were likely to
surge forward in pursuit.
Which was exactly the trap.
The light infantry units, stationed on both flanks, surged forward at
full speed as the phalanx's retreat opened a perfect funnel between the two wings, drawing the hypothetical enemy straight into the
kill-pocket.
Heavy tanks from the right swept in as the hamr.
While Mage battalions and spearn from the left compressed
inward as the anvil.
*Rumble*
*Rumble*
The valley floor trembled as the two forces collided with precision,
the entire maneuver unfolding with such perfect timing that even seasoned generals from the outer universe would have called it
impossible.
And still, Mickey Jas frowned.
"Reset. We run encirclent next."
He commanded, as his soldiers obeyed instantly, reforming into loose
staggered lines.
"Cannae Maneuver. Double envelopnt."
Jas said, as the soldiers surged forward yet again.
However, once again, despite them completing the move without a
single mistake, Jas refused to look impressed, as he kept shaking
his head in disappointnt.
"Listen to carefully lads!"
He said, as he raised his hand to garner everyone's attention.
"You think this is enough because your maneuvers are flawless? Because your timing matches the manuals? Because your spears are straight and your shields aligned?"
He questioned, as his gaze sharpened.
"If you want to save the Dragon Veyr...
If you want to reclaim the Cult lands we lost...
If you want vengeance for the humiliation our ancestors suffered..."
His voice hardened further.
"Then you must push faster. Strike harder. Move cleaner. React before the enemy even understands what they are seeing"
He said, as he stepped toward the edge of the platform as millions of
soldiers stood in rigid attention before him.
"You are better than the Righteous Faction."
He declared.
"Your discipline is better.
Your formations are better.
Your spirit is far greater.
But greatness ans nothing if you are even one second too slow."
He said as he put down his hand.
"Reset the field. We shall run all the maneuvers again until dinner. No
breaks."
He instructed, as "Yes, Commander!" ca the collective response.
*Thrum*
*Thrum*
*Rumble*
The ground vibrated beneath their renewed charge, dust spiraling
into the darkening sky as the Cult Army threw themselves into the drills with a fervor that bordered on religious.
And as Mickey Jas watched them confront fatigue, push past exhaustion, and execute the sa brutal formations with even sharper precision than before, he felt a quiet certainty settle in his chest. This army was absolutely ready for war.
And faced with such discipline, no matter the enemy, they were gonna have a hard ti pushing these n back.
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