Eskil stood atop his warhorse, the wind rushing past his face as he scanned the battlefield ahead. The sight before him was what he had grown accustomed to—Jorailian forces scattered and broken, their formations in shambles, retreating in panic.
Another victory.
Or so he thought.
The other commanders, each equipped with their Phones, were just as confident. The coordination between them had been so precise, so effective, that their forces had barely suffered any losses while cutting through Jorailian lines.
Eskil smirked as he raised his Phone to his ear.
"Another clean victory. Have your men push forward—we'll crush them before they can reorganize," he ordered.
From the other end, Commander Velton laughed. "You're starting to sound arrogant, Eskil."
Eskil grinned. "Can't help it when we're this good."
Velton snorted. "We'll sweep them up and move ahead."