Linus quickly retrieved the device he had used to seal the area, moving efficiently as he began unsealing the tent. Mara watched him intently, then glanced at Curtis's lifeless body on the ground. The first name on her list of enemies was crossed off, but her satisfaction was fleeting. Her gaze returned to Linus, her mind racing with questions. How deep does his trickery go? she wondered. The device he wielded was powerful—when had he even acquired such a thing? She recalled Marcus's explanation of the plan, which initially seemed absurd. Yet, here they stood, victorious.

Linus met her eyes, sensing her unspoken thoughts. But there was no time for reflection; the tension outside was palpable, the battle about to erupt. "Is everyone ready?" he asked briskly.

Mara scanned her remaining soldiers. A few had fallen in the fray, but those who remained were her most trusted. She gave a sharp nod. "We’re ready."

As the tent flaps fell open, they charged out, immediately engaging the nearest Sorenputhran soldiers. The scene outside was chaotic—Curtis's men and Mara's forces stood tensely, unable to enter the tent for the last few minutes. Confusion and uncertainty rippled through the ranks as they hesitated, unsure of what had transpired within.

Seeing their hesitation, Linus seized the moment. He stepped forward, his voice carrying the command of a seasoned leader. "Listen to me! This was an ambush. Curtis is dead, slain by the Sorenputhrans. If we don’t unite now, they’ll cut us down one by one!"

As the words sank in, a deep, resonant war horn sounded from the Sorenputhran side, the haunting call reverberating across the battlefield. It was a signal that sent a shiver through every soldier present—a declaration that the true battle was about to begin.

Meanwhile, on the Sorenputhran side, the scene was one of utter chaos. The soldiers, who had been holding their disciplined ranks just moments before, now stood in shock as the body was brought forth—a lifeless figure wrapped in cloth, blood staining the fabric. It was their prince. The realization spread like wildfire, igniting gasps and cries of disbelief. The soldiers who had sworn loyalty to him felt a collective wave of grief, quickly replaced by a burning, righteous fury.

At the heart of the turmoil, General Varaxes stepped forward. A towering figure clad in battle-worn armor, he radiated an aura of raw power and command. His face, usually stoic and impassive, was twisted into a mask of controlled fury. He scanned the lines of his troops, his sharp eyes taking in their expressions—shock, disbelief, and then a hardening resolve. He knew this was the moment. The morale of his men was crumbling, but their anger was a weapon waiting to be wielded.

Varaxes raised his arm, his gloved hand forming a fist in a silent, powerful gesture. The soldiers immediately fell silent, their eyes snapping to their leader. The general’s voice, deep and thunderous, cut through the chaos like a blade. "Our prince has fallen!" he roared, his words echoing across the battlefield. The soldiers around him stiffened, their shock giving way to a fierce, unified resolve. "This was treachery, a betrayal from within. We have been deceived, and now we stand betrayed!"

The atmosphere shifted, the simmering rage now boiling over. The soldiers’ cries turned into a unified roar, a deafening sound reverberating across the plains. Varaxes’s eyes, glinting with a dark, violent promise, scanned the horizon, locking onto the forces of Curtis and Mara.

"Signal the charge!" Varaxes barked to his standard-bearer. The young officer, pale with fury and grief, raised the banner of Sorenputhra high into the air. The emblem of the crimson phoenix fluttered in the wind, a symbol of their undying spirit, now tainted by the death of their leader.

Without another word, Varaxes unsheathed his sword, a massive, gleaming weapon that caught the last rays of the dying sun. He pointed it toward the enemy lines, his voice a guttural growl filled with the promise of bloodshed. "For the prince! For Sorenputhra!" he bellowed.

The soldiers, galvanized by his cry, surged forward as one. Their battle horn sounded—a deep, resonant note carried across the field, signaling the beginning of an all-out assault. The ground trembled beneath the pounding of thousands of boots, a rising tide of warriors fueled by grief and driven by vengeance. General Varaxes led the charge, a storm of fury incarnate, as they hurtled toward their enemies, determined to exact a brutal and unforgiving retribution.

On the other side, Linus and Mara exchanged a brief, urgent glance, both understanding the gravity of the situation. Together with the remaining forces loyal to Curtis and Mara, they quickly dispatched the few Sorenputhran officers lingering nearby. With the immediate threat neutralized, they rushed back toward their own ranks, calling out orders to ready their troops.

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"Into formation! Prepare for battle!" Mara’s voice cut through the chaos, her authority snapping the men to attention.

As they approached their ranks, Linus spotted Marcus waiting in the shadows. They shared a brief, knowing look, acknowledging the plan. Marcus had one final job today: When the battle began, he would ensure that none of Mara's men inside the tent would survive to share what they had seen.

The soldiers moved sluggishly, their faces pale and drawn beneath their helmets. Some clutched their weapons too tightly, knuckles bloodless, while others stared blankly at the enemy gathering in the distance. Armor scraped against armor as they shuffled into formation, their shields locking unevenly like mismatched puzzle pieces.

“Tighten that line!” Mara barked, striding between the ranks. A young recruit flinched as she passed, his spear shaking in his trembling grip. She paused, fixing him with a hard stare.

“Hold fast,” she said, her voice lower but firm. “You only need to last longer than they do.”

The boy swallowed hard and shifted his stance, tightening his grip. The faintest flicker of resolve settled across his face.

The loss of General Curtis had left a void among them, but Mara’s presence quickly filled it. She moved through the ranks with the calm of a seasoned warrior, her reputation as one of Aldric’s kingdom’s finest fighters preceding her. The soldiers steadied, reassured by her commanding presence.

Linus stood back, momentarily observing the scene. Undeterred by the chaos unfolding around her, Mara moved with purpose through the disjointed remnants of Curtis’s forces. The lieutenants, a mix of seasoned veterans and ambitious young officers, converged on her position. There was a flicker of hesitation in their eyes—uncertainty and a simmering resentment from those still loyal to Curtis.

Mara, sensing the tension, did not wait for them to voice their objections. She stepped forward, her presence commanding immediate attention. “Listen to me,” she snapped, cutting through the murmurs of dissent. Her fiery sword, still glowing faintly from the battle inside the tent, was a stark reminder of her capabilities. “Curtis is dead, and if we don’t get organized now, you will be too.”

A few older lieutenants exchanged glances, their faces lined with suspicion and lingering loyalty to their fallen commander. One, a grizzled officer with a scar running down his cheek, opened his mouth to object, but Mara was quicker. She raised a hand, palm out, her expression steely. “You can question me later if you survive this,” she said coldly. “Right now, we need a unified front, or Sorenputhra’s forces will cut us down where we stand.”

The lieutenant faltered, his objection dying on his lips. The other officers, seeing his hesitation, fell silent as well. Mara continued without missing a beat, pointing to a lieutenant. “Take the left flank. Form a defensive line and hold your ground—do not engage unless absolutely necessary. We need to buy time.”

She turned to another, a younger officer whose face was pale with shock but determined. “You, gather the archers. Position them along the ridge. We need suppressive fire to break their charge. Aim for their front line—disrupt their momentum.”

The young officer nodded, snapping a salute before dashing off to rally his men. One by one, the lieutenants fell in line, their initial resistance crumbling under the force of Mara’s decisive leadership.

She paused for a brief moment, scanning the faces of the gathered officers. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. “This is not just about surviving today,” she said, her tone low but resonant. “This is about sending a message. We hold the line here and show Sorenputhra that Aldric’s forces will not be broken.”

There was a beat of silence as her words sank in, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on every man present. Then, slowly, a murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks. The officers, bolstered by her confidence and clarity of command, straightened their shoulders. A hardened resolve replaced the doubt and fear that had clouded their eyes moments before.

Linus stepped forward, positioning himself beside Mara. He could see the shift in the men’s demeanor—a subtle but vital change. They were no longer a fractured group of soldiers uncertain of their next move; they were a unified force, galvanized by her leadership.

“We don’t have much time,” Linus murmured, his voice loud enough for Mara to hear. “Varaxes has already signaled the charge. The Sorenputhran forces will be on us any moment.”

Mara nodded curtly, her face set in a determined mask. She raised her sword high, the flames flickering along the blade like a beacon. “Then let’s meet them head-on,” she called out, her voice carrying across the field. “Form up! Hold the line!”

The soldiers, roused by her words, quickly moved into formation. Shields were raised, swords unsheathed, and the archers took positions along the ridge. Mara’s lieutenants barked orders, echoing her commands as they readied their men for the impending clash.

The sound of the Sorenputhran war horn blared in the distance, a deep, mournful cry that seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath them. The first lines of the enemy began to crest the hill, their crimson banners billowing like bloodstains against the darkening sky.

Banners of Sorenputhra flapped violently in the wind, their phoenix emblem twisting and snapping like a beast straining to break free.

“Steady!” Mara shouted, her voice unwavering. “Hold the line!”

The clash was imminent, and as the soldiers braced themselves, Linus felt a surge of anticipation. This was the turning point, the spark that would ignite the full blaze of war.