The War Against Cassander

The plains of Macedon stretched before Pyrrhus's army. Thousands of Epirotes, Illyrians, and mercenaries stood ready. Their banners fluttered in the wind, their weapons gleaming under the morning sun.

Pyrrhus sat atop his warhorse, his golden armor reflecting the light.

Across the field, Cassander's army awaited. Their shields locked together, their phalanx standing unbreakable.

Echecrates rode up beside Pyrrhus, his face grim.

"The Macedonians are well-trained," he said. "They will not break easily."

Pyrrhus smirked. "Then we break them harder."

He raised his sword high, his voice carrying across the battlefield.

"Sons of Epirus! Macedon stole our throne! Today, we take it back!"

The battle began.

The clash of bronze on bronze filled the air. Pyrrhus led the charge himself, cutting through enemy lines like a storm.

Then, through the chaos, he locked eyes with Cassander.

Their rivalry had begun.