Thump. Thump. Thump.

James watched from atop the hill, his cold gaze fixed on the battlefield below. The Windstride archers retreated, falling behind their armored allies in a hurried shuffle. From this vantage, the two armies appeared as massive, contrasting blocks—one dark and foreboding, the other larger, its armor gleaming faintly in the light of the day’s final moments.

The gap between the forces closed quickly, now no more than a few meters apart. The Warwardens’ voices rang out, sharp and commanding, their orders cutting through the biting wind: “Charge!” The command was swiftly relayed by the centurions, their shouts carrying the signal down the Frostbane ranks like a crashing wave.

At once, the men of Company 2 surged forward, their battle cry rolling across the frozen plain like thunder. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their charge, the distance between the armies vanishing in an instant as the Frostbane warriors stormed toward their foes like an unstoppable avalanche.

The Windstride soldiers braced themselves, shields rising and spears locking into position. Their ranks, already weakened, seemed ready to crumble under the weight of the Frostbane’s fury. Yet, behind them, thousands more stood poised to take their place, a grim reminder of the battle’s sheer scale.

The charge slammed into the Windstride line with the force of an avalanche, the impact sending men flying backward or crashing to the ground in heaps. The first clash was devastating, leaving the front ranks of the Windstride soldiers shattered and broken. Yet, almost immediately, the warriors behind surged forward, filling the gap with grim determination.

Blades flashed in the waning light, slicing through armor and flesh alike. Spears thrust forward with deadly precision, meeting shields and bodies in a desperate struggle. The air was thick with the clash of metal on metal, the sickening sound of flesh being torn, and the anguished cries of battle.

And yet, despite being the smaller force, the Frostbane warriors were slaughtering the lesser-trained soldiers and draftees of Windstride, steadily pushing them back.

Only ten minutes into the battle, the battered draftees of the Windstride clan shattered completely. Lacking the training and discipline of seasoned warriors, they fled in disarray, with only a small portion meeting their end on the field. In their place, the Mana Warriors of Windstride stepped forward, their presence signaling a shift in the battle's tide.

This was now a clash of equals. Steel met steel as swords from both sides struck with unrelenting fury. The battlefield became a storm of chaos, the air filled with the deafening sounds of war. Casualties mounted on both sides, men falling in droves as the fight reached a deadly crescendo.

Amid the chaos of the battlefield, where frostbitten blades clashed against enchanted steel, duels erupted that seemed to freeze time itself.

A Frostguard leader, clad in gleaming armor etched with ancient runes of his people, stepped forward. Frost curled off his body, the air around him dropping to an icy chill that forced weaker Windstride soldiers to retreat instinctively. His sword, a weapon with a blade as dark as his armor, seemed to absorb the light around it. He was the leader of a Tenthblade squad, one of the elite warriors of Frostbane.

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Opposing him stood a Mana Warrior of the Windstride clan, a towering figure whose body seemed to ripple with raw energy. Sparks of golden light danced along his blade, and his armor pulsed with the telltale glow of mana-infused power. His strikes had already felled a dozen Frostbane soldiers, and he stood unfazed, a storm of raw power made flesh.

The two warriors locked eyes, and the battlefield around them seemed to fade into the periphery. For them, the duel became the center of everything.

The Mana Warrior struck first, a burst of speed carrying him across the gap in an instant. His blade descended in an arc of golden light, the sheer force of the swing carving through the frozen ground. The Frostbane leader met him head-on, his blade intercepting the blow with a resounding crack. Frost spread from the point of impact, creeping along the enemy’s blade as the cold sought to consume the mana-infused steel.

With a roar, the Mana Warrior wrenched his weapon free, his energy surging outward in a wave that shattered the encasing frost. The Frostguard staggered back but recovered swiftly, his breath visible in the frigid air. With a mighty swing, he brought his blade down, the force of the strike splitting the ground and sending jagged shards of ice hurtling toward his foe.

The Mana Warrior dodged with impossible grace, the golden glow of his power leaving streaks of light in his wake. He countered with a thrust aimed directly at the Frostbane’s heart, but his opponent sidestepped, the icy chill around him intensifying.

The two warriors clashed again and again, their blows shaking the earth and sending nearby soldiers sprawling. The Frostbane's strikes grew colder, each one freezing the very air, while the Mana Warrior's energy burned brighter, his blade cutting through the icy onslaught like a comet streaking through the night.

Finally, the Frostguard leader raised his hand, channeling his power into a single, devastating attack. Frost surged outward in a wave, the ground freezing solid in an instant. The Mana Warrior, sensing the danger, unleashed all his remaining energy in a final, desperate counterstrike. The resulting explosion of frost and mana threw both combatants back, their clash leaving a frozen crater in the battlefield.

As the frost settled, the Frostbane leader rose first, his armor cracked but his resolve unbroken. His sword rested against the frozen earth as he gazed at the Mana Warrior, now lying lifeless amid the shattered remains of his power.

With a grim nod, the Frostbane leader turned back to the battle, his icy aura reasserting itself. Yet even as he braced for the next challenger, across the battlefield, similar duels unfolded—titanic clashes of power and will, each echoing the ferocity of their war.

As the battle intensified, the frozen plain became a graveyard for countless soldiers from both sides. The clash of steel and the cries of the dying filled the air, a grim symphony of war. Frostbane’s relentless advance seemed unstoppable, their elite warriors cutting down all who dared oppose them.

Just as it seemed the Mana Warriors were on the verge of breaking, ready to retreat to the fortifications within the devastated capital, a fresh wave of Windstride draftees surged forward. Reorganized and bolstered, they joined their seasoned comrades, their sheer numbers forcing the Frostbane advance to slow.

With them came the mages—masters of devastating magic who turned the tide in an instant. The battlefield erupted into chaos as explosions tore through Frostbane’s ranks, bolts of lightning scorched the earth, and torrents of fire engulfed entire squads. The once-cohesive lines of Frostbane’s second company fractured under the onslaught, their disciplined ranks struggling to hold.

“Retreat!” The centurion leaders bellowed, their voices cutting through the chaos of battle like a clarion call. The command rippled swiftly through the three companies, each unit moving with disciplined precision. The warriors of Frostbane began a controlled withdrawal, their shields forming a protective barrier as they shielded the wounded. Step by step, they retreated from the raging inferno of the battlefield, regrouping at the fortified camp on Butcher’s Hill, their banners still flying defiantly against the darkening sky.