The colossal glacier came crashing down upon the Sarybin Empire's ranks, burying nearly half the host beneath its frozen mass. Though the mountain of ice bore no enchantment, its sheer size and weight alone unleashed devastation beyond imagination.

Upon impact, the glacier shattered. Countless fragments of jagged ice rained upon the field, embedding deep into the snow, sliding and grinding across the plain as they crushed what remained of the unstruck regiments. For a time, the Sarybin army could do nothing but defend and flee.

A vast hemispherical barrier of magic shimmered above them, an arcane bulwark forged by their magicians and wizards working in tandem. It caught the brunt of the impact, but cracks webbed across its surface, and the spellcasters maintaining it suffered severe backlash from the strain.

"How... how can this be?! Why are there dragons in Aleisterre, and so many of them at that?! Weren't they supposed to have vanished from the continent? Why are they attacking us now?"

Disbelief rippled through the soldiers' ranks. Their force, which had massed in confidence of an easy victory, had been meant to sweep aside Aleisterre's border defenses in days. Instead, these dragons from their eponymous isle had shattered every plan.

"Retreat! We must retreat! This isn't an enemy we can fight. Use that curio to revitalize the magicians and wizards, then fall back! A single legendary dragon is a match for our strongest champions. We have no chance at all!"

The commander, shielded by his magicians' and wizards' wards, shouted orders with frantic urgency. There was no reason to continue. Lingering here would mean death.

A radiant green circle unfolded in the middle of the Sarybin ranks. A wave of restorative power washed over the army, mending shattered armor, repairing the fractured barrier overhead, soothing the knights' fatigue and superficial injuries, and replenishing the mana drained from their spellcasters.

"The strategic-class curio Staff of Salvation," Edward murmured, watching the light descend upon the field with a sardonic smile. "I didn't expect Sarybin to bring that. They must desire this ancient ruin far more than I anticipated."

Once per day, the staff could unleash a vast restorative miracle that healed not only flesh but also weapons, armor, and enchantments.

On the battlefield, such an artifact could restore a broken army to fighting strength in an instant, turning the wounded from a burden into newfound strength.

Sarybin's decision to bring it proved their resolve. But resolve meant nothing here. Even as the curio's boon took effect, the other dragons loosed their fury.

Blazing fireballs of unimaginable heat. Bolts of lightning that danced like rivers of light. Corrosive clouds that rained acid upon the field. Cyclones that tore through ranks like blades. And earth-shattering tremors that split the ground apart.

The dragons' assault fell without mercy upon the barely restored army. There was no room to flee, no hope of defense.

Men screamed and perished in the storm of unleashed elements, cut down like grass beneath a scythe. What had once been an unstoppable host now scattered in panic, its grand banners reduced to tatters, its proud knights reduced to ash.

"Shall we hold back?" came Aurelian's voice beside Edward. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"No. Our aim this time is deterrence. They've invaded Aleisterre's soil. There's no reason to let them walk away alive. A brutal reckoning will serve as a warning to every kingdom on our borders," Edward replied calmly.

"Of course," he added, with a touch of humility, "I don't presume to command you. Aleisterre's powers alone could never have won your aid."

The dragons possessed awe-inspiring power, but Edward knew well that they weren't subjects of Aleisterre. They might work together from time to time, but it wouldn't do to count on their consistent support.

Aurelian's answering tone was warm and tinged with laughter. "This is my brother's favorite human kingdom, and you are his friend. There's no need for formality. The dragons will stand as Aleisterre's allies."

With that assurance, there was no need for further restraint. High above, the air rippled with magic as the dragons beat their wings in unison. The heavens themselves seemed to convulse. Every dragon unleashed its full power, raw, cataclysmic, and unstoppable.

The Sarybin army vanished. Nothing remained of their invasion force but a scarred, cratered wasteland. The long-accumulated snow of the north had been vaporized by the heat of unleashed power, leaving behind steaming pits where hot springs now hissed amid the desolation.

"With such extreme losses, this should be enough to draw out the true stance of the surrounding kingdoms. Are their entire nations truly swept up by this war, or are they merely puppets forced to act by those enthroned above, like Selwyn and Aleisterre once were? Tell me, do you truly have the courage to defy all opposition and wage war upon Aleisterre again?"

Amid the battlefield where the enemy lay annihilated, Edward stooped beside a boiling pool and retrieved the Staff of Salvation. His gaze turned toward the distant border, where a handful of Sarybin scouts were fleeing in desperation: those who had not entered Aleisterre's territory with the main host. He intended for them to survive, to bring word back to the Sarybin Empire.

"No matter how you see it, this alliance has already brought Aleisterre far more than it could ever have dreamed of. What rare and precious fortune..."

He gave a quiet chuckle and shook his head before turning back toward Winterhold, where the dragons had already assumed human form as they landed. Reports of victory along Aleisterre's other borders were pouring through the Prayer Network. As the newly instated Duke of the North, it was his duty to properly welcome such august guests from afar.

On Aleisterre's western border, the army of the Visconti Kingdom stood before the road to the capital, only to find their path sealed by an overwhelming force.

Aleisterre should never have been this strong. None of their intelligence had suggested anything similar. A heavy garrison at the frontier was to be expected, yes, but this? This was a scale of defense no kingdom with four borders to guard should ever have been capable of.

Before them stretched the western highway, ringed by low hills. Every span of it was crammed with Aleisterre's soldiers. Beyond the ranks of knights and magicians, the walls bristled with magic cannons, densely arrayed as if for a siege. Even the surrounding hills were fortified with armored cavalry and arcane formations.

No one in Visconti's army doubted what would happen if they dared a frontal assault. Few, if any, would survive, whereas the defenders' wall of iron and wizardry would remain unshaken.

Yet it was their commander who felt the deepest despair. He recognized the four figures standing at the forefront of the Aleisterre host—each one a legend, each one a Grand Duke of Aleisterre.

"The Four Grand Dukes—four legends—all here? Has Aleisterre gone mad? Have they abandoned every other frontier to gather their strength against us? They must be insane! Unless..."

His thoughts spun wildly. None of this made sense. Such a deployment was sheer madness. What possible strategy could explain it?

A dreadful idea struck him cold: that Aleisterre, realizing it could not possibly withstand the encirclement of four kingdoms, had chosen to focus all its might on the western border, marching its entire army into Visconti's weaker lands to retaliate, or perhaps to seize new lands and rise again from ruin.

At once, the Visconti army fell into deathly silence. To advance meant certain annihilation against an unbreakable wall of defense; to retreat meant defying the grim commands of their own court. They had never truly possessed a choice.

Far to the south, an immense wall of golden light stood across the great southern road. Upon its radiant summit stood Father Fang Stuart, bare-chested and broad-shouldered, the holy book of the Church of Light in hand. Together with the priests behind him, he had raised this colossal holy barrier. He smiled faintly as he gazed down upon the approaching army of the Zeren Empire.

"To invade another kingdom is an act of sin the Church of Light cannot ignore. I ask you to turn back now, or face the judgment of our blades."

His voice rang clear across the snow-swept plain, leaving his enemies with no doubt of his resolve or his purpose. Behind him, rank upon rank of holy knights gleamed in full armor, flanked by battle clerics murmuring divine verses. The combined presence of the Church bore down upon the Zeren host like the weight of heaven itself.

The enemy commanders looked grim. Their plight was no different from Visconti's. They would have given anything not to face the paladins of the Church of Light.

Even without any divine blessings, these men were among the mightiest warriors on the continent. But with the Light itself upon them—with priests at their backs and a god who truly answered prayers—the paladins became a force that no mortal army could confront without dread.

To fight the Church of Light, or to disobey the incomprehensible orders from their own capital... Their choices were between damnation and death.

Whatever the answer, one truth was beyond doubt: on this day, Aleisterre, a small, oft-overlooked human kingdom of little renown, had shaken the continent to its core, its name heard and transmitted across every land.