The golden sun dipped low, gilding the edges of clouds. Below, across the vast wilderness, ten thousand armored cavalry stood in perfect formation. Chainmail glinted beneath steel plate armor, crimson surcoats edged in gold bearing the emblem of a white lion—the Kingdom’s Lionheart Knights.

"Lionheart Knights of the Kingdom!! Today, we charge into hell itself!! Do not waver! Do not fear! Swing your blades hard! Thrust your lances deep! Charge forward! Glory belongs to those who fall first! Fight to the death!!"

A knight in golden armor thundered along the front lines, face uncovered. The Grand Marshal of the Lionhearts raised his sword high, rallying his troops.

"FIGHT TO THE DEATH!!!"

The knights roared back. Horns blared—a deep, shuddering sound that rolled across the plains.

"FIGHT TO THE DEATH!!!!"

The Grand Marshal snapped his visor shut, locking eyes with his counterpart across the field. Before the enemy ranks, clad in black armor, stood his old rival’s grandson: Hisarl.

"Soldiers of the Empire! Brave, fearless warriors! Do you hear those Kingdom *wenches* boasting they fear death? A joke!"

"Hahahaha!"

"Heh heh!"

"When you first followed me, I told you—even in death, stand tall like true men! Not even the Nether God himself could make us bow! Blades and arrows? Mere scratches! Look at your scars now! These are holy marks bestowed by the War God!"

"ROAR!!!"

"Warriors! Show these Kingdom *wenches* who dare block our path what true courage means! CHARGE!!"

Both cavalry lines surged down the gentle slopes simultaneously. The Grand Marshal and Hisarl locked onto each other’s presence—soldier to soldier, commander to commander. The formations collided like crashing waves.

"Die!"

An Imperial lancer drove his spear through a Kingdom knight’s gut.

"Heh heh..."

The knight froze, gripped the shaft piercing him, then slowly lifted his head with a twisted grin.

"What?! Let go!"

The Imperial soldier yanked desperately at his spear.

"Die!"

The knight swung his axe—a brutal strike to the face. Blood trickled from his lips as he toppled from his saddle.

"Guh..."

The Imperial soldier dropped his spear, falling backward off his horse.

"Hyah! Damn... bastard!"

A Kingdom knight wielding a spiked mace swept three Imperials off their mounts in one swing.

*Boom!*

Gunpowder smoke billowed. The knight gasped, clutching his chest—a smoking hole where his heart bled out. Life drained like a receding tide. Far off, an Imperial officer holstered his matchlock pistol, drew his saber, and spurred his horse forward.

"Heh heh heh..."

With his last breath, the knight hurled his mace. Death’s final surge sent it screaming through the air—shattering the officer’s left shoulder and exposing his still-beating heart.

"Gaaahhh!!!"

The officer shrieked, tumbling from his mount.

Kingdom knights rotated in relentless waves. The wounded were dragged back; the living treated on the spot, the dead given swift prayers by field priests before being laid aside for burial after the battle.

"Old Lionheart dog! You die today!"

Hisarl raised his blade, battle spirit blazing, and slashed downward at the Grand Marshal.

"Blade Art—Water Sever!"

Wind pressure sliced the air like a river parting.

"Not yet!"

The Grand Marshal met the strike head-on, sword raised high.

"Blade Art—Mountain’s Might!"

He deflected the crushing blow with a thunderous *clang*.

"Interesting! Blade Art—Phantom Slash!"

Hisarl laughed wildly, retreating only to unleash his ultimate technique. His blade vanished—only wind scars crisscrossing the earth marked its path.

"Child’s play! Witness mine! Blade Art—Judgment!"

A blinding sword-light erupted. Lightning crackled along the Grand Marshal’s thrust. Hisarl’s blade scraped the Marshal’s armor, leaving shallow cracks but no mortal wound—barely breaking skin.

"Tch... bastard!"

Hisarl clutched his bleeding side, snarling. He glared at the Marshal before leaping back toward his own lines. Imperial officers rushed to shield him.

"Hmph!"

The Grand Marshal panted heavily. Age weighed on him. That final strike had drained him; he couldn’t pursue. Holy Knights closed ranks around him, pulling him back.

Soldiers hacked and bled until the sun vanished. Darkness swallowed the field, leaving only gore, severed limbs, broken swords, and shattered spears.

Such battles raged endlessly along the Stone Fortress border of the Fire Eagle Duchy. Legions clashed in a frenzy, grinding flesh and steel. Rivers ran red. The earth reeked of blood. Crows and vultures wheeled joyfully, diving for their feast.

Freshly dragged back to the Stone Fortress, Hisarl faced his grandfather, General Elinorund, and his officers.

"G-Grand... General..."

He struggled to rise, expecting praise for his valor. Instead—

"Fool!"

Elinorund’s boot slammed into Hisarl’s shoulder, knocking him flat.

"I ordered you to HOLD THE LAND! HOLD IT! You brainless brute! Charging? Killing? Could you alone wipe out the Kingdom’s army?! Worthless!"

Hisarl lay stunned, speechless.

"Get out of my sight! ...Keane was wise. Why couldn’t I have a grandson like him? Hmph."

Elinorund turned away. Hisarl slowly rose, head bowed. His face twisted in humiliation, teeth grinding. Such shame—from his own blood. The man he’d idolized... his grandfather... Elinorund. Humiliated before his own men. Told he was inferior to *Keane*—that effeminate coward who never faced enemies head-on. *Him?* Inferior? Damn it!

"Lord Hisarl... are you—ah!"

"Get lost!"

He shoved a fawning aide so hard the man tumbled backward. Hisarl strode away, lips bleeding from biting back rage. Humiliation. Resentment. But deeper still—envy. And hatred.

---

On the azure sea, the Imperial Navy’s White Dragon Fleet lay anchored near a reef cluster. White dragon figureheads and banners marked their ships.

"Scout reports confirm over seventy vessels approaching from the Fire Eagle Duchy... expected to reach these waters tonight."

"Hmm... So tonight presents the perfect opportunity?"

"None but Lord Keen could time it so precisely. Darkness cripples the Kingdom’s ‘Jaegers.’ Our arcane cannons will be their nightmare."

Staff officers huddled over a sea chart. Keane stood silent, hands clasped behind his back, calculating. After a moment, he tapped the map with one finger.

"Correct. Our vanguard outnumbers theirs twofold. Deception has lured them in—thanks to the Empire’s intelligence network. We ambush them here. What of the currents?"

"Lord Keen... heavy winds and waves are forecast. Any competent commander would anchor here at Black Reef to wait out the storm. Unless he wishes to ‘train’ his men’s sea legs in a tempest."

"Understood. Orders: All ships withdraw into Black Reef’s cover. No lanterns! No noise! Disobey, and face military law! ...When they anchor near the reef, we strike. Annihilate all thirty thousand. Remember—no greed for minor gains. No rushing for position. Encircle. Divide. Destroy. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Officers dispersed. Only Keane remained, palms flat on the chart table, already plotting the next battle. And the one after that.

---

Night wind howled. Waves tossed ships like toys. The White Oak Kingdom’s fleet emerged on the horizon—first as dark specks against the moonlit sky, then sharpening into shape.

Aboard the Empire’s specialized observation vessel, a soldier relayed hand signals to Keane. These slow, unwieldy ships carried massive magical scopes—granted limited night vision and range, usable only by veterans. They served as stationary watchtowers near flagships.

Unaware, the Kingdom fleet sailed toward Black Reef. At one nautical mile out, the White Dragon Fleet glided from the reef’s shadow. Hulls merged with the dark rocks; no distant eye could spot them. No noisy arcane paddles churned—only silent sails riding wind and wave.

"Huh? Damn cold..."

A drowsy lookout on a Kingdom lead ship rubbed his eyes. He turned away, then snapped back, gripping the railing.

"Something’s... there. Damn it—ENEMY ATTACK! ENEMY ATTACK!"

Bells clanged. Too late. The White Dragon Fleet ignited their arcane paddles, surging forward. As Kingdom sailors stumbled onto decks in disarray, they saw enemy ships broadside—flames spitting from cannon muzzles.

*BOOM! CRASH! THUD!*

"AAAAHHHH~~~"

"My leg~~~ Help! Someone help~!"

"Gods! What were the night watch *doing*?!"

Cannon fire ripped through the Kingdom ships’ sides.

Many soldiers of the White Oak Kingdom hadn’t even donned armor. Forced into battle, they wore only pajamas and long johns.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Volleys of gunfire erupted. The Imperial Navy stood in neat formation opposite them, unleashing rounds of bullets via volley fire onto the unarmored White Oak Kingdom troops.

At the same time, magic cannons fired, intensifying the enemy’s chaos.

“Boarding action! Don’t give them a breath!”

An Imperial Navy officer barked orders. Imperial ships curved around to the stern of the White Oak Kingdom vessels. Another volley shattered the enemy rudders.

Galleys assigned to boarding charged toward the kingdom’s ships under their commander’s lead. Hidden rams pierced hulls underwater without resistance, tilting the vessels sideways. Many White Oak soldiers plunged into the sea—only to be picked off one by one by Imperial troops on waiting boats with matchlock muskets. Their coordination was flawless.

Assault troops scaled the tilted hulls using grappling hooks. They stormed the decks, cleated boots gripping the slant firmly as they clashed with unsteady White Oak soldiers. It was near-total slaughter.

White Oak commanders had no idea how to control the chaos. Some were utterly panicked by the assault; unluckier ones flailed in the water after falling overboard.

“My lord, it’s time for the all-out attack. We hold all the advantages.”

“Hmm… Sound the horn!”

The horn blared. The Imperial Navy attacked the doomed White Oak fleet with renewed fury. The fierce battle raged a full day and night… The sea floated with shattered planks, White Oak banners, and the bodies of their soldiers…