As the first tendrils of dawn crept across the sky at 3:30 AM, a soft roseate glow began to dispel the darkness. Throughout the encampment, few of the soldiers of Triba found rest on the eve of battle. Even among those few, sleep was a grudging visitor, easily chased away by the slightest stir of anxiety or the distant clank of armor. The truth was stark and undeniable: sleep could be as capricious as fate, snatching hold of a person regardless of their will to stay awake, yet just as quickly abandoning them when their minds were most in need of peace.
The soldiers, versatile and resilient, divided their time between honing their combat techniques and strategizing for the survival that the coming day might demand. Each man and woman knew that the words of their sovereign, Prince Armad, carried the weight of imminent reality; the enemy was predicted to surge forth at dawn – and so sleep was sacrificed on the altar of preparedness.
In the waning night, within a secluded chamber perched high upon the defensive walls of the town, Prince Armad and Nusi were deeply immersed in their tactical deliberations. The air around them was thick with the urgency of their task, and the very stones of the room seemed to resonate with the gravity of their discussions.
Nusi’s cultivation level had surged to an astounding 8,900 years. The gap between her and Armad was not a difference that exceeded 1,100 years of cultivation.
Armad’s strength continued to grow, yet it was shackled by the plateau of 10,000 years – a critical threshold in the life of a bender. It was here that benders were tested, their resolve pitted against the stagnation that preceded the revered state of Pre-Deba. To surpass 10,000 years was to join the upper echelons, to become a bender whose very being was elevated, whose body was transformed to harness energies unfathomable to common practitioners. This was the time when the world itself conspired to aid a bender’s growth, yet paradoxically, this very assistance made the journey all the more arduous. For many, the path to Pre-Deba was a journey of over a thousand years.
Armad had once believed that his unique system, a gift that set him apart from his peers, would allow him to bypass these trials with ease. But reality had proven otherwise. Despite the power surges he experienced after ingesting specialized pills – which bolstered both his Nagirinki and his world’s power – the rapid ascension of his abilities plateaued once he achieved a 15 percent enhancement in his combat techniques. This was a vexing conundrum, for while his Nagirinki continued to thicken, the overall growth of his world’s power had decelerated, leaving him searching for a solution.
Armad knew that the path to higher levels of cultivation would be fraught with challenges, but he was resolute. The barrier that stymied his progress was formidable, yet it was not insurmountable. To ascend to the higher echelons of cultivation, to break through to the next level, and harness the full potential of Pre-Deba, he would need to overcome this unseen adversary. It was a battle of wills against the very fibers of his being, a struggle that would define his journey as a bender and shape his destiny in the annals of his people. Determined, Prince Armad turned once more to the intricate stratagems before him, his mind alight with the possibilities of what lay beyond the barrier, ready to breach the next level.
Ever since the era of King Aldaima, countless methods have been devised that can help to breach the formidable wall that divides the levels of Sammai and Pre-Deba. Armad has pledged to himself that he will uncover these ancient secrets once he is done with the battle that lies ahead. His goal is clear: to demolish the barrier that stands between him and the higher level of Peak-of-Deba.
Armad’s resolve is matched only by his sense of duty towards his comrades. He left Nusi to focus on acclimating to her recently acquired powers. The common wisdom in their world dictates that when one experiences a surge in cultivation strength, time must be dedicated to fully assimilate and control this newfound power. This process of harnessing ensures that the cultivator can wield their abilities at will. Nusi’s cultivation levels had soared in a remarkably short period, indicating that she required a substantial period of adjustment to stabilize her powers. It was anticipated that by the conclusion of the current battle, she would have mastered control over her cultivation, which was exceptionally robust due to its origin in the system. Her unrefined power was so advanced that to the untrained eye, it would appear as if she had been a master all along.
Despite the potential that Nusi represented, Armad was acutely aware of the differences in their abilities. Unlike him, she did not possess the unique things such as Miyura. Nevertheless, he held no doubts about her contribution to the battle ahead. Upon exiting the room, he was greeted by the stoic figure of Commander Silaini. Together, they stood in silent vigilance, peering into the distance, awaiting the first sign of the enemy. Their shared silence spoke volumes; their faces were etched with determination and the unspoken knowledge that the outcome of this battle would be pivotal. Victory would lay the foundation for their empire’s future, while defeat promised to erase their aspirations.
Their anticipation was abruptly cut short by the sight of an overwhelming enemy battalion. The enemy forces were so numerous that their end could not be discerned, an endless sea of adversaries. The thunderous sound of their horses’ hooves roused even the deepest slumbering soldiers, the din echoing as if the very earth was being pummeled. The resonance of this fearsome march reached as far as the middle of Tiriba, sending waves of trepidation through the town’s inhabitants.
Not far from Armad’s position, Ai was seen clutching her spear, her stance a mixture of fear and resolute courage. She was not alone in her feelings, standing amidst the common people who had yet to awaken their cultivation potential. These untrained individuals stood out starkly against the backdrop of the seasoned, cultivation-enhanced warriors. Yet, in a show of unity and necessity, these novices were interspersed among the benders, each bender accompanied by at least a couple of non-benders. This blend of experienced and novice fighters highlighted the gravity of the situation, with palpable fear etched into the faces of the commoners. Their lack of battle experience was evident; this was merely their second war, and even their previous victory had been secured largely due to Armad’s intervention. The apprehension in their eyes was not only expected but a natural response to the unknown horrors of war that lay ahead.
Despite the veiled gloom of dawn’s first light, they make out the shimmering armor of their advancing foes. No mist or terrain masked the sheer number of the approaching enemy, yet from their vantage point atop the town’s ramparts, the defenders could not discern where this dark tide of warriors ended. The enemy continued its relentless march towards the town, unyielding.
In that tense moment, as the enemy drew closer, a subtle change overcame Armad’s features. His senses, honed by experience and intuition, alerted him to a new threat: the enemy was not merely advancing from the front—they were also circling to attack from the rear of the town. The western boundary faced the sea, a natural barrier against any land-based threat, but the front was under siege. Moreover, the town was not entirely encircled by water; it neighbored other towns to its side. From these exposed flanks, Armad felt the unmistakable presence of enemy soldiers—large numbers moving with intent. On the right, his instincts screamed of an impending clash with 3,000 enemy combatants. The left flank too braced for an encounter with an army of similar magnitude.
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It seemed the enemies had chosen the cover of night to orchestrate a comprehensive encirclement. The town was besieged from every conceivable angle. Armad’s lips tightened with apprehension. His dilemma was complex and dire: his forces were too few to replicate the enemy’s strategy of division, and even if he had the numbers, every single soldier, including himself, was crucial to the defense. Commander Silaini was indispensable—his prowess unmatched, capable of holding his own against the mightiest of foes, including those from the King’s Legion. Armad, bolstered by his system, his Miyura, and his world, was on the verge of stepping forward to meet the enemy head-on. Yet, without their leadership, the remaining troops of Armad’s army would be ill-equipped to face the enemy alone.
Armad had foreseen the possibility of such an overwhelming assault, but he had fervently prayed it would not materialize. He knew all too well that dividing his forces would drastically reduce their chances of survival. As reality set in, Commander Silaini, too, grasped the gravity of Armad’s strategic predicament. Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding, each aware of the grim choices that lay ahead.
Compounding their troubles was the newfound realization that their cultivation sense, which now allowed them to sense the enemy’s approach, deprived them of the chance to preempt the siege before the encroaching forces reached the town’s perimeter. Even if they had the troops to distribute along the defensive line, the element of surprise and the opportunity to disrupt the enemy’s advance had slipped through their fingers. The town’s fate hung in the balance as the enemy drew nearer, and every decision henceforth would be critical to their survival or their demise.
With a heavy heart and a sense of foreboding, Armad sighed deeply and exchanged a weighted glance with Commander Silaini. The shock etched upon his face was unmistakable. They shared a tacit understanding that disclosing the full extent of their dire situation to the rest of the troops could be detrimental to morale. So, they made the difficult choice to keep silent about the perilous odds, opting instead to shoulder the burden of knowledge themselves. They would not divulge the grim reality to the rest of the army.
In their minds, the strategy was clear: they must swiftly eradicate the thousands of enemies that lay before them. Only then could they turn their attention to the besieged town and confront the battalion wreaking havoc within its walls. Armad was painfully aware that if the enemy forces succeeded in ravaging the town, everything they held dear could be lost. Yet, he clung to the conviction that victory in the ensuing battle could allow them to recover all that was taken. This battle was a fulcrum upon which the fate of their lands would tilt; the victor would claim all.
The immediate priority was to deal with the enemy in their midst. Armad could not afford to be distracted by the forces that had already infiltrated the town; he had to focus on the pressing threat in front of him. He was determined not to allow the enemy within the town to regroup and form a pincer movement that would trap and potentially annihilate his forces. Thus, the imperative was clear: he must act swiftly and decisively to defeat the enemy before him before those behind could join the fray and encircle them.
As the front-line battalion advanced, they showed no signs of hesitation or delay. They brandished their weapons from afar, preparing for a ranged assault. Among them were firebenders of the Sammai level, masters of their art, who began to bombard the town with their incendiary prowess. The night was abruptly vanquished by a cascade of light, signaling to all that the battle had well and truly commenced.
Armad felt a surge of frustration at the sight of the enemy’s relentless assault. The volleys of fire they launched were capable of overwhelming the town’s defenses, causing catastrophic damage and loss of life. In response, Armad summoned his power, weaving rings of lightning into existence. With precision and intent, he launched them towards the incoming flames. Each ring collided with its target, snuffing out the enemy’s fires and preserving the town’s defenses for a moment longer.
Inspired by Armad’s direct intervention, his captains and the soldiers under Commander Silaini, as well as Nusi and the remaining forces, unsheathed their weapons. A fierce determination took hold, and with a unified front, they unleashed their counter-assault. What ensued was a battle of epic proportions, a maelstrom of magic and steel. The chaos of combat engulfed the battlefield, and the only sounds to be heard were the roar of flames and the harrowing screams of those who fell.
As Armad commanded his forces amidst the tumult of war, he was struck by a harsh epiphany. With the battle raging on as it was, his chances of triumph were becoming increasingly slim. He had quickly surmised that even if each of his soldiers could heroically take down ten of the enemy while only losing one of their own, his army would be exhausted long before the enemy’s numbers were sufficiently diminished.
Yet, Armad did not relent in his assault, nor did he cease his tactical considerations. His mind raced with the possibility of ordering a retreat, particularly for the battalions under Ai, whose lack of bending abilities made them particularly vulnerable. He could pull them back to the safety of the town; however, such a move would likely invite the enemy to swarm into the town and lay waste to everything within, including the farm where he keeps his medicinal plants: without a strong defense, the larger and better-prepared enemy force threatened to overrun them.
The enemy’s unyielding advance was an ever-present pressure, the battalion drawing closer to the town walls with every passing moment, now only one hundred paces away. It was a visual testament to the urgency of their situation.
It was in this moment of despair, as Armad was coming to terms with the near impossibility of victory, that the voice of Nusi reached his ears.
“Your Highness, I think we should retreat to the town. I have a technique with which I believe I can afford us some time to prepare our defenses,” Nusing advised earnestly.
Armad turned sharply to Nusi his mind racing with the implications of her words. Even if he accepted her counsel and ordered a strategic withdrawal, the enemy would not simply watch them retreat—they would surely capitalize on the moment, launching an all-out assault. The battle’s escalation seemed inevitable.
In the midst of this, Commander Silaini approached Armad with urgent news, gesturing towards a particular point within the enemy’s ranks.
“Your Highness, look over there,” Silaini implored. Armad’s gaze was drawn to a group of soldiers whose attire matched that of the enemy, yet they exuded a formidable presence that set them apart. These were no ordinary foes; they were the elite of the King’s Legion. Armad’s heart sank as he recognized them—the very ones who had abandoned the town after he had ordered the execution of their captain, who had attempted to assassinate him.
Silaini’s finger was pointedly directed at the commander of the King’s Legion, a formidable adversary who had attained the exalted level of Peak-of-Deba. This commander shared not only Silaini’s war-torn experience but also the distinguished lineage of the Wilberforce bloodline. It was clear that any offensive move by Silaini would be met with a calculated and powerful retaliation from this commander.
The realization dawned on Armad and Silaini: with the King’s Legion revealing themselves on the battlefield, their intentions were unmistakably lethal. They were here not just to fight, but to ensure absolute silence regarding the day’s events. The presence of the King’s Legion signified a grim resolution—no one was to survive and bring word of the battle back to the Empire of Wilberforce.