From proud cavaliers to elite footmen, all were crushed—utterly slaughtered without a shred of mercy. And now, the cities were next.
In the span of a single, harrowing month since the war began on the island kingdom of Everard, city after city had fallen. Each one reduced to ash and bone, swallowed by ruin, until only one remained—Cyclox, the golden city.
Its mighty walls shimmered with a luster that caught the eye even under the gloomiest skies, a radiant sheen not of illusion but of actual gold—a declaration of wealth and pride.
Yet now, those same gilded ramparts stood trembling before doom. For outside, beneath the banners of Ashbourne, marched an army like no other—an army forged from conquest, madness, and vengeance. They came not alone but with millions of broken souls, slaves ready for vengeance, their minds shattered and reforged into unwavering instruments of war.
