The young Knight, Maxim, climbed the city wall.
When the shrieks of Scaya's Red Dragon Cavalry tore through the sky overhead, their dense formations blotted out the sun, casting a massive shadow.
When the Scaya Dragon Race Army, a boundless tide stretching as far as the eye could see, kicked up a colossal dust storm and surged across the Empire Border.
When a destructive wave of fire rained down from the sky, turning the vast grasslands of the Northern Lands into scorched earth.
Perhaps, at a time like this, he could comfort himself. 'Imperial reinforcements will be here any moment. A third-rate Battle Group like ours just needs to lay low and protect ourselves, and we can survive this grand war.'
But the roars of the Knights and the whistle of spears flying past his ears forced him to face reality.
Maxim didn't understand politics, much less conspiracies and schemes.
To him, a Knight's glory felt more like some lofty, unrealistic lie spun by important people.
