The new recruit adjusted the straps of his battered leather armor, his heart pounding as he stumbled through the crowded war camp. Around him, soldiers shouted orders, sharpened weapons, and made hurried preparations for battle. Smoke and the scent of damp earth filled the air. The recruit—Marlen Caddis, though no one had yet asked his name—felt completely out of place.

He had arrived late, conscripted from a nearby village when the Simbarian army marched through. Thrust into service with barely a day of training, Marlen had only been told that he would join one of the many squads under the command of General Alaric Kaelen, the stalwart Brightblood leader whose reputation spanned across the kingdom.

But now, as the quartermaster thrust a worn spear into his hands, Marlen's fate took a startling turn.

"You're in the 1st Squad," the grizzled man barked, barely sparing him a glance.

Marlen froze. "The... 1st?"

The quartermaster raised an eyebrow. "You deaf? Yes, boy, the 1st. Report to Captain Elian Ashrin atthe south end of camp. And hurry; battle's upon us."

Marlen's pulse quickened. The 1st Squad—the fabled squad under Kaelen's command. Tales of theirexploits were whispered across campfires and sung in bawdy taverns. Led by Elian Ashrin, known as theCrow Of Kaelen, they were said to be the strongestsquad of the 16,000 men under Kaelen’s banner.They suffered fewer casualties, executed daringmaneuvers, and survived battles that should have ended in slaughter. Yet their captain, Elian, remained an mysterious figure—a man of few words but with unmatched skill with a blade.

Marlen had no time to dwell on his sudden fortune—or misfortune. He ran.

At the southern edge of the camp, the 1st Squadstood ready. They were a small group compared tothe other squads, barely forty men strong, but their composure was striking. Where other soldiers fidgeted or whispered nervously, the 1st moved with practiced efficiency, checking their weapons and armor in silence.

Marlen approached hesitantly, clutching his spear as though it might slip from his grasp. A tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing gray eyes turnedtoward him. This had to be Elian.

"You’re late." Elian said, his voice calm but firm. Hisarmor was simple—sturdy leather reinforced with steel—but his presence was anything but. The scaracross his left cheek, the crow motif etched into hisshoulder plate, along with a longblade attached to hishilt, marked him unmistakably as the Crow OfKaelen.

"I... I was just assigned," Marlen stammered.

Elian nodded once, turning away without further comment. Marlen let out a shaky breath, blending into the squad’s ranks as best he could.

The battlefield stretched out before them, a rolling expanse of hills and rocky outcrops. Kaelen's army was arrayed in staggered formations, with the 1st Squad positioned near the center. The banners of theother squads fluttered in the wind, their insignias a mix of wolves, suns, phoenixes and hammers.Marlen could see the Brightblood leader himself,General Kaelen, atop a black horse. His golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, making him an easyfigure to spot amid the sea of soldiers.

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Marlen wasn’t the only one captivated by the general’s presence. Whispers rippled through the ranks as soldiers speculated about the enemy force—a rival Brightblood army led by Lord AurelianHalcrest. The Simbarian kingdom had been fractured ever since King Eltharion II’s assassination threemonths ago. With the crown prince, Aeric Lotharion Eltharion, declaring war on his siblings and lesser nobles to secure his claim, the land had descended into chaos.

Kaelen's forces were here on behalf of the 3rd prince, Reinhart Eltharion, to crush Halcrest's rebellionbefore it gained further traction. Yet even with theirsuperior numbers, the battle promised to be brutal.

As the horns of war sounded, chaos erupted. The 1stSquad moved swiftly, maintaining tight formation as they surged forward. Marlen barely had time toregister the cacophony of clashing steel and screams. Around them, other squads charged with varyingdegrees of success. The 23rd, a unit of archers,rained volleys upon the enemy, while the 17th and35th squads formed a defensive line to protect the flanks.

Marlen’s grip on his spear tightened as they neared the front. His training was nonexistent—he knew only to thrust and hope for the best. His firstencounter was a mess of flailing limbs and panicked strikes, but he managed to bring his spear down into an enemy soldier’s leg. The man crumpled, and Marlen stumbled back, gasping.

Elian’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Hold the line! Stay together!"

The squad’s cohesion was remarkable. While other units faltered under the sheer chaos of battle, the 1st moved like a single organism, adapting fluidly to every shift. Marlen began to understand why they were so revered.

But the tide of war was merciless.

Marlen didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly he found himself alone. The press of bodies had driven him away from the 1st Squad. He spunaround, searching desperately for familiar faces, but all he saw were enemies. A hulking man with a mace loomed over him, raising the weapon high.

Marlen raised his spear in a last, desperate defense, but the blow never came. A flash of steel, and the man crumpled, blood spraying from a deep gash across his chest. Elian stood over the body, his blade dripping crimson.

"Stay close," Elian said, his tone as steady as ever. He turned his attention to a new threat—a Brightblood in shining plate armor, his golden hair glinting even through the grime of battle.

Elian charged.

Marlen could only watch in awe as Elian Ashrin took on the Brightblood. The clash was ferocious, Elian’s strikes precise and unrelenting. The Brightblood fought valiantly, but Elian’s skill proved superior. With a final, decisive blow to the chest, he felled hisopponent, leaving no doubt as to his prowess.

Yet there was no time to celebrate. Marlen’s gaze was drawn to a new figure—a massive man clad inblackened steel, his presence radiating menace. Theunique insignia on his armor marked him unmistakably as a Forger, Forgecraft, a mystical discipline that grants skilled individuals called Forgers the ability to imbue objects with unique abilities. Forgecraft relies on Soulfire, a volatile energy extracted from rare ores mined deep beneath the mountains of certain lands. Making its practitioners both revered and feared.

One forger was said to have the strength capable of rivaling 20 men. The Forger charged, heading straight for Elian.

"Captain!" Marlen shouted, his voice cracking.

Elian turned, his eyes narrowing as he assessed thenew threat. The battle was far from over.