The Resistance (Part 2)

The enemy troops— at least fifty strong —shifted into motion.

Their movements were raw but deliberate, their weapons a mismatched array of axes, short swords, and unrefined magic.

Though their stance was unpolished, the weight of their black cloaks and the grim determination in their eyes told one thing— they were prepared to die.

As if responding instinctively, the unified troops of the caravan fell into formation, their ranks tightening, shields raised.

Then— with a single stomp —the frontman led the charge.

The two forces collided, steel meeting steel, the air thick with magic and fury.

Kayer stepped forward, his grip firm on Proxy's Ego, his sword, the weight of battle settling into his bones.