Son of Zephyrus.

The biting wind of the northern front swept across the battlefield, carrying with it the scent of frost and steel. Below, the vast expanse of his army was arrayed in perfect formation, waiting for the signal. It had been weeks of cold marches and this battle would decide everything.

"Commander," Mettei second-in-command approached, his breath visible in the frigid air. "The soldiers are ready."

Vallen nodded, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. He knew this battle could break them, but he had led these men through worse. 

He turned to his soldiers, hardened warriors. "Hold your lines. Trust in each other. Fight not for glory, but for your brothers beside you." His voice rang out over the frozen plains, clear and steady.

Vallen galloped straight toward his legion, the snow beneath his horse's hooves transforming into a playground of white powder. As he halted beside the right flank, he stretched out his arm, lifting it high as he began to ride alongside his men, his gaze piercing through their ranks.

The respect they held for Vallen stemmed not only from his prowess as a strategist but also from his courage as a commander who was always the first to charge into battle. Whispers had circulated that he sought death.

"We are the last!" His voice thundered across the battlefield, reverberating with an intensity that many recalled as if he were certain of victory. "Raise your weapons high and follow me! If we die, we die together. We are the Imperium's last guardians, we are our loved ones' and homeland's final hope! For the Imperium. For our homeland, kill everyone that crosses your path!"

"FOR THE IMPERIUM! FOR OUR HOMELAND! WE KILL EVERYONE THAT CROSSES OUR PATH!" The soldiers roared, their voices echoing through the valley, even making the Republic's troops tremble before them. They did not fear the Imperium's men, they feared the man who commanded them, Vallen Casuss, whose cunning and strategies had outmaneuvered even the Republic's best and most experienced generals.

He was known as the 'Son of Zephyrus' the war god's son, who thrived on the battlefield, feasting on the souls of the fallen, where every clash was a banquet.

"Sir, is it a joke? They're trying to stop us with just one legion?" A Republic officer laughed.

"One legion under Vallen Casuss is worth ten!" Replied General Teran Costa, a gleaming figure in gold armor, one of the Republic's finest commanders. His tone was somber, tempered by respect.

"Come now, General, he's just a teenager given power by a mad emperor!" 

"Try telling that to General Risma, whose entire army fell to him in less than an hour!" Teran's voice serious.

The laughter from the Republic officer died as he recalled the shattered remnants of Risma's forces returning, crushed and demoralized.

"Shall we charge them, sir?" Another officer asked, eager for blood.

"No, we wait." Teran replied, his brow furrowed in concentration, glancing toward the horizon where Vallen's legion waited.

"Sir?" 

"They'll adopt a turtle formation if we charge. We also have no idea how many of them have Skills. Rushing in blindly would lead us to the same fate as Risma. Even with our numbers, we cannot be reckless" He dismounted from his horse, stepping into the warmth of the tent, the battle map spread out before him.

"I don't understand." The officer muttered under his breath.

"What is it you don't understand?" Teran glanced back at him, his voice calm yet commanding.

"It's just a valley, surrounded by two mountains. How could it be a trap? It seems like raw strength will win here."

"It took us three days to confirm they were here. They arrived in a day, it wasn't snowing then. Our scouts are all dead, and they could've set any traps they wanted." Teran replied sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Vallen knows how to manipulate the terrain. Every moment we hesitate gives him an advantage. He's waiting for the perfect moment to strike."

Meanwhile, on the other side, Vallen was sipping hot tea on horseback while his soldiers stood firm, awaiting any attack.

"Commander?" Mettei asked, breaking the tension as he approached Vallen.

Vallen's tired eyes turned slowly toward him. "Yes?" he replied, taking another sip, savoring the warmth against the biting cold.

"You've fired up the troops, but they're starting to question what we're waiting for."

"I'm waiting to finish my tea." He answered, his eyes scanning the battlefield before him, where the tension hung heavy like the dark clouds overhead.

Vallen's legion counted five thousand men, among whom seventeen possessed Skills that could turn the tide, yet none had been used, and he had no plans to activate them just yet.

Once he finished his tea, he summoned Siro, his trusted defense Skill user.

"Tell me, how long can you maintain the shield?" Vallen asked, his tone serious, knowing the weight of the question.

"Thirty seconds, sir" Siro's eyes glimmered with determination, though the strain was evident in the lines of his face.

"And if you really push it?" 

"One minute, sir." Siro's gaze didn't waver, revealing his unwavering resolve. If he stretched his limits, his body would likely not endure the strain.

"Excellent. Then jump on my horse." He extended his hand, which Siro grabbed, mounting behind him.

"Mettei, take a thousand spearmen and form a line in front of me." Vallen commanded, and soon, they were arrayed before him.

The Republic general watched the movements unfold, puzzled yet certain Vallen was preparing for something wild, as he ordered his men to assume a formation. They were far stronger against Vallen's troops, fireballs, wind manipulation, healing but the most important Skill was the one that doubled the strength of all soldiers within a thirty-meter radius.

"Listen up!" Vallen began, his voice cutting through the cold. "We advance in an arrowhead formation, breaking through the enemy lines. Once we break their line, we'll change to the turtle formation. Strike everything you see, and do not hesitate; Siro will protect us from any Skills for at least a minute. We'll utilize Lei's speed and Julian's stealth Skill to flank them, which means we'll appear just a few meters from them. Once we breach their line, remember to shift the formation. This is where the second and most vital step comes in. The remaining four thousand are the backup. With every ounce of strength you can muster, charge the enemy so they will believe it is a full out attack. Shout at the top of your lungs, but once you reach us, who will retreat, turn back immediately! If they take the bait, victory is ours. If I fall during battle, Mettei will take command."

"Vallen Casuss will never fall!" They shouted, their voices rising like a storm, filled with conviction for their commander and themselves.

As the soldiers braced themselves, Teran's sharp gaze never left Vallen. He could sense the energy radiating from the Imperium commander even from afar. "What are you up to, Vallen?" He murmured to himself, feeling an unfamiliar unease creep in"

"Sir?" One of his officers asked, noticing Teran's distraction.

"Stay sharp." Teran commanded, his eyes narrowing as he observed Vallen preparing for the impending clash. "I want our archers positioned where they can cover the flanks. As soon as they move, we'll counterattack. I won't let him dictate the pace of this battle."

"What if he uses his Skills?" Another officer asked, a hint of doubt in his tone.

He won't, his Skill would kill his own soldiers too." Teran replied, the confidence in his voice cutting through the tension. He gestured toward the ridge where Vallen stood, a dark silhouette against the morning sky.

The officer frowned, still skeptical. "But if he has no choice, General? 

Teran shrugged, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Then we'll be ready. It's our advantage. We've got numbers, and we can afford to play the waiting game." He turned to his men, ensuring they were focused and prepared. "Make sure the archers are on standby. We need to be ready to rain hell if he makes a move."

"Yes, sir!" The officers replied.

Meanwhile, Vallen took a moment to finish his tea. The sharp wind bit at his cheeks, and he knew he had to make the first move.

"Commander, we're ready." Mettei said, his voice steady. "The men are waiting for your order.

Vallen put down his cup, the remnants of warmth fading away. "We're all ready to charge, but I want to give Teran a little more time to second guess himself. I want him to feel that pressure."

As the seconds turned into minutes, the tension in the air grew thick. Teran watched Vallen's every move with a calculating gaze. He sensed the shifting winds of war, but he refused to let fear seep into his command.

"Form the archers." Teran ordered, steeling himself. "Prepare for a barrage as soon as they advance."

The archers swiftly took their positions, arrows nocked and ready. Teran felt the fire of determination igniting within him.

Vallen raised his sword high, the blade gleaming in the cold light of dawn. "For the Imperium!" He shouted, his voice carrying across the battlefield, igniting the hearts of his men.

The Imperium soldiers responded with a deafening roar.

"FOR THE IMPERIUM!"

Teran's heart raced as he ordered his archers. "Fire!"

Arrows flew through the air like a storm, aimed at the charging legion of Vallen Casuss, and then they disappeared all of them.

Despite the hundreds of arrows that blanketed the battlefield, Vallen and his forces surged through the line. The powerful battle steed he rode swept aside the Republic soldiers as if they were mere autumn leaves. Vallen's arm pierced through the chaos, striking anyone within reach, while his battle horse thundered forward. The clash of blades rang out as spears and swords struck against his armored mount, but thanks to Siro, not a single Imperium soldier fell in the chaos.

The Republic's General commanded his Skill users to unleash their powers, but it was all in vain against the protective shield of the Siro. The shield held strong until it finally shattered.

Around Vallen, his men began to fall, overwhelmed by the sheer number of the enemy. Realizing the tide was turning, he issued the order to retreat, directing them towards the second fallback point. Breaking free from the clutches of the Republic soldiers, the enemy General took the bait and initiated an attack, believing victory was within his grasp.

As the retreating soldiers trudged through the snow, weighed down by their heavy armor, they struggled but managed to pull back, losing 321 men in the process.

Upon reaching the point, the entire legion regrouped adn started to fall back as the Republic soldiers ran toward them.

General Teran realized too late that they had walked into a trap. Vallen issued the final order. The remaining Skill users concentrated their power on the mountain ridges flanking the valley, unleashing a devastating avalanche that would strike both sides.

Around five hundred soldiers of the Imperium stood guard, ready to cover the retreating forces. As the avalanche roared down, it swept away the Republic soldiers and Vallen with the defense line as if they were mere puppets in a grand play. The relentless wall of snow claimed around eighty percent of the enemy troops, burying them.

Vallen's plan had always been to use themselves as bait for a trap. The protective Skill not only absorbed the Republic's strikes, but it also caused the ground beneath them to tremble. The loosened snow required only a final, decisive push to unleash its full forces.

But he himself had also become a victim of the snow. As the avalanche raged down, Vallen felt the force of nature enveloping him, pulling him into its icy embrace. His vision blurred as the snow engulfed him, dragging him down into a cold, white abyss.

For a moment, time seemed to stretch, the chaos of the battlefield fading into a distant memory. Vallen fought against the grip of the snow, his instincts screaming at him to survive. 

In that moment of despair, memories flashed through his mind.

With a final surge of determination, Vallen clawed at the snow, fighting his way to the surface. The cold air rushed into his lungs as he broke free, gasping for breath. But the battlefield was a scene of chaos, the avalanche had wreaked the Republic's forces, but it had also claimed his own men.

He staggered to his feet, heart pounding, and surveyed the scene. Snow and debris lay strewn across the field, but there were cries of victory mingled with the groans of the wounded. Vallen's soldiers, though battered, were regrouping, their spirits rekindled by the success of their trap.

"Commander!" Mettei shouted, rushing to his side. "We thought—"

"No time for that!" Vallen shaking off the remnants of the snow that clung to him. "We have to capitalize on this moment. Gather the remaining troops we push forward!"

As his men began to rally around him, Vallen took a moment to breathe in the cold air, the realization of what they had accomplished hitting him. They had turned the tide, but at what cost.

This became the Imperium's greatest victory, a staggering triumph achieved with only one legion against a force of twenty thousand. Generals would later argue that this battle exemplified true leadership, showcasing strategic brilliance in the face of overwhelming odds. Others, however, would label it the most ruthless betrayal of one's own people, leading them unknowingly to their doom.

But one thing was certain, on this day, Vallen Casuss emerged as the most successful commander the Imperium had ever known. And this was just the beginning.