Along the banks of the Tewar River, lush water grasses flourished under gentle sunlight. This was a famed pasture in North Aethel, said to be the only place capable of breeding the purest, tallest Aethel warhorses.
A well-equipped, highly disciplined cavalry detachment was stationed here. The whinnies of their mounts mingled with the whistling wind, creating a restless clamor.
In this formation of over a thousand riders, nearly every cavalryman was clad in splendid armor striped with gold and bright silver and draped in rich crimson cloth. Mounted atop tall, powerful warhorses, they held five-to-six-meter lances whose tips bore vibrant pennons fluttering in the wind.
Most striking of all were the massive wings mounted upon metal frames and fitted with plumage that arched above their backs.
They were the Aethel winged cavalry, the sharpest spearhead at Duke Walter's command.
Formed centuries ago, this force had achieved glorious triumphs. It had once utterly wiped out the orc clans and giant tribes across the North Aethel Plains, securing decades of peace for the region.
Though they might seem modest compared to the Godblood Legions of Fadlan, they were formidable enough to sweep through any kingdom across the Northlands.
The conspicuous wings upon their backs stemmed from an old, glorious military tradition of Holy Fadlan. Cavalrymen wore them to emulate angelic godbloods, hoping to attain courage and strength worthy of that divine lineage.
Moreover, these wings were far more than mere decoration. Painstakingly engineered by Fadlan wizards of the past, they were vital pieces of equipment designed to boost speed and multiply the force of an impact.
In recent years, the Aethel cavalry had also been outfitted with muskets, granting them an edge by allowing them to fire from a distance even during disordered melees.
A single suit of winged cavalry armor alone weighed well over a hundred kilograms. To maneuver swiftly as the wind and move freely while bearing such crushing gear, one had to be at least a classed fighter.
Four digits of classed combatants was unthinkable for any former duchy in Anzeta—yet the Aethel winged cavalry was precisely such a dreadful force, composed of over a thousand classed individuals.
It was said that when they launched a mass charge, the thunder of their hooves would shake the earth and swell the rivers, while the shrill howl of their wings would make dragons tremble.
Even the most valorous warriors would find their legs giving way when facing a charge of the winged cavalry, their lives pitilessly harvested by Death.
The current winged cavalry general, Count Leoni Garcia, sat astride his warhorse, gazing northward with a grim expression.
The general appeared to be in his fifties, sporting a neatly trimmed mustache. Clad in armor far more ornate and heavy than that of an ordinary winged cavalryman, he radiated an imposing, dignified aura.
It was said that in his younger days, Leoni had nearly qualified to become a godblood. Alas, after the fragmentation of Holy Fadlan, the chance was lost forever—becoming the lifelong regret of his days.
As a former Holy Fadlan cavalry general, Leoni's martial prowess was exceptionally formidable.
Even the warhorse beneath him was out of the ordinary, said to possess draconic blood. Not only was it extraordinarily strong, but hard, grayish-white scales also grew across its hide.
Within the ranks of the winged cavalry, lances stood like a dense forest in solemn readiness. Battle standards emblazoned with the insignia of the sun and wings snapped in the wind.
Leoni rode his mount around the front line, sweeping a piercing gaze over the cavalrymen. Then he drew the saber at his waist and raised it high.
The bright silver blade gleamed in the sunlight, the intricate patterns along its fuller shimmering with faint light, while the hilt was adorned with silver wings.
This saber had been passed down from the very first general of the Aethel winged cavalry. Forged entirely of mithral, it was extraordinarily precious, embodying the winged cavalry's unyielding conviction of victory.
Now, Leoni intended to use it to rally their morale and reawaken the past glory and faith of the winged cavalry.
"Soldiers, I believe you all know that war is upon us!
"The wicked dragon from the north and his kin are not content with their barren domain. They covet this rich, beautiful land of Aethel, seeking to destroy our homes!
"Can we stand by and watch this happen with our own eyes?"
"No—!"
The forest of lances shook, and battle flags crossed. The cavalrymen let out a roar that shook the earth and sky. Even the warhorses beneath them whinnied continuously, rhythmically stamping the ground with their massive hooves.
*Thump, thump, thump...*
The earth trembled faintly with dull, rolling reverberations. The riders seemed to treat their hooves as drumsticks and the ground as a drumhead, beating relentlessly on this colossal wardrum.
"No! We will never allow such a tragedy to come to pass!"
Leoni flourished his saber in a clean arc through the air, then thrust it straight toward the sky, the tip of the blade seemingly ignited by the sunlight.
"Soldiers, do you see it? The holy sun still hangs high in the heavens, eternal and unsetting! We remain the favorites of His Majesty Amaunator, the noble and proud Fadlan people!
"For a century, it has always been Fadlan conquering other nations—never have we been the victims! Any power that dares provoke our wrath shall meet utter annihilation!
"Remember: so long as the sun remains in the sky, turning according to the laws of the gods—Fadlan shall endure forever!"
"For Fadlan!"
Instantly, an unimaginably fervent cheer erupted from the battle formation, even more thunderous than before, drowning out the clatter of horse hooves.
With frenzied faces, the winged cavalrymen raised their lances, waved their battle standards, and screamed the slogan with all their might: "For Fadlan!"
In this moment, they proudly threw out their chests, as if they had returned to that golden age a dozen years ago when that sprawling empire still dominated the continent and they remained the most honored, confident citizens of all Feanso.
Some even began singing an age-old song—that not even the devils of the Nine Hells dared provoke a Fadlan.
After years of war and strife, the Fadlan of the imperial era had been romanticized time and again, becoming an "ideal realm" in their minds and serving as their spiritual pillar.
For these Aethel winged cavalrymen, recalling past glory and pursuing the radiant light of Fadlan was forever the greatest catalyst, keeping their fighting spirit aflame and making them willing to lay down their lives.
For some reason, the ground began to tremble even more violently. This clearly was not caused by horse hooves—yet caught in the fervor of the moment, the winged cavalrymen did not notice.
Leoni looked upon the fanatical faces of his riders and murmured softly, "Good. Just like this. Never forget... our pride as Fadlan people.
"So what if it's a dragon?
"Throughout the glorious history of the Fadlan Empire, His Majesty Aragorn led us to slay countless overreaching beasts—white dragons, blue dragons... too many to count."
*Buzz—*
Just then, a piercing shriek rang out overhead, shattering Leoni's thoughts. Gruesome shadows cast from high above swept across the distant plains.
*Less than three days have passed... How could they be so fast?*
Leoni hastily looked up, his expression tightening as he gazed toward the sky. Over a hundred wyverns had spread their wings, flying toward them in a wedge formation.
To his astonishment, the edges of these wyverns' wings were fitted with metallic casings that sheared through the air, and they appeared to carry humanoid creatures on their backs.
Furthermore, the monsters maintained an exceptionally disciplined formation—nothing like the simple-minded, chaotic beasts of his memory.
"What is that?"
"Damn it, the Cinder Empire's attack came this fast?!"
"Were those scouts in the north out sightseeing? How could they let them advance this far!"
Watching the flock of wyverns gliding swiftly from the distance, the winged cavalrymen cursed under their breath, yet they did not break formation in panic.
To them, wyverns were troublesome, but hardly an opponent capable of posing an existential threat.
Without lingering on his doubts, Leoni raised his saber and shouted his command: "Careful! Wyverns! Maintain defensive formation and shoot those damn flying lizards down!"
Warhorses whinnied. Coordinating with practiced skill, the winged cavalry shifted formations rapidly, hooves kicking up swirling clouds of dust.
These winged cavalrymen were well-versed in countering aerial assaults, having fought against flying foes such as white dragons, griffins, and devils.
Riders bearing heavy tower shields swiftly spurred their mounts to the very front, forming a tight wall shoulder to shoulder, raising their shields high to ward off diving wyverns.
The second rank of winged cavalry leveled their lances, thrusting them through the gaps between the great shields, ready to impale any swooping wyvern at a moment's notice.
The remaining cavalrymen unslung muskets and bows from their backs, aiming diagonally toward the sky, fully prepared to riddle the reckless monsters with holes.
At the center of the formation, Leoni kept his eyes glued to the flock, only to find that while they were diving a hundred meters in the air, they seemed to have no intention whatsoever of descending to pounce on the ground troops.
Their elongated shadows stretched across the plains, chilling the heart like portents of death.
*Could it be... these wyverns are only here for reconnaissance?*
For some reason, Leoni's heart began to race, an ominous foreboding creeping into his chest.
*Whoosh—*
A piercing roar tore through the air, making Leoni's skin prickle and the hairs on his neck stand on end. His premonition was instantly confirmed!
The wyverns released their talons. Against the blue sky appeared strings of dark dots as hundreds of bombs plummeted in free fall, raining down like a deluge—straight toward the bracing winged cavalry.
*No!*
*Those things are the real weapons! Those cunning wyverns never intended to engage in close combat!*
Leoni's face warped with horror, and he let out a tearing screech: "Scatter—!"
"Run! Run!"
Yet it was already too late! Though the winged cavalry reacted swiftly, spurring their horses to gallop away, they were still no match for the speed of the falling bombs.
*Boom!*
In an instant, deafening blasts ripped through the air. Pillars of fire erupted skyward, tearing the earth into countless fragments.
Immediately following, a chain of thunderous explosions bloomed one after another, engulfing the tightly clustered winged cavalry. Shrapnel, severed limbs, and minced flesh scattered in every direction.
Thick smoke rolled and dust choked the air. Beneath the glare of fire and the shroud of smoke, everything around them blurred into chaos.
"It's burning!"
"Ah! My leg!"
"I can't hear! I can't hear anything!"
Under this sudden onslaught, warhorses neighed in panic, and the winged cavalrymen wailed and screamed, stripped of their former valor.
Among the wounded, some had lost arms and legs, some had half their skulls sheared away by shrapnel, and others caught fire completely, burning alive in their saddles.
Having never endured such a strike, this single round of bombardment alone inflicted nearly two hundred casualties upon the winged cavalry.
Meanwhile, the wyverns deftly climbed back into the sky, wheeling around to prepare for the next run.
Seeing his winged cavalry suffer such devastating losses, Leoni's eyes went bloodshot, his smoke-blackened face twisting with fury.
He roared in rage: "Damn monsters! You will pay for this with your lives!"
Leoni spurred his mount into a mad gallop, pursuing the wyvern flock.
Eyes crimson, he snatched up a lance planted in the earth, drew his arm back behind his head, and hurled it with every ounce of his might, as though venting all the suppressed fury in his chest!
*Whoosh—*
The lance ripped through the air, soaring nearly a hundred meters high like a comet blazing across the firmament, plunging straight toward the flock.
"Aargh!"
A brief shriek drifted down from the sky as an unfortunate wyvern rider was impaled by the lance and tumbled from the heights.
Watching the falling wyvern, Leoni ground his teeth and snarled, "Never... provoke a Fadlan!"
The battlefield was deteriorating into utter chaos. Under the menace from above, the winged cavalry dared not mass together, scattering aimlessly across the field.
Suddenly, Leoni froze. He realized the ground was trembling unnaturally, emitting a deep, heavy rumbling. But the winged cavalry was not charging en masse, so how could...
Leoni realized with a start that this tremor was not caused by his riders at all!
The vibrations intensified, rattling the pebbles on the ground, and the rumbling grew heavier and heavier.
Panicked, Leoni whipped around toward the source of the noise. In an instant, his expression froze.
"By His Majesty Aragorn..."
Billowing smoke blotched out the sky. On the distant horizon appeared colossal beasts of iron and steel, speeding toward them like moving mountain ranges bearing down to crush everything, sending tremors through the river behind them.
These battle-hardened winged cavalrymen, having barely escaped death moments before, now cried out in disbelief once again.
"Gods above!"
"By Amaunator... can they fly too?"
"Katepa is over a hundred kilometers away! How did these things get here?!"
They assumed they were witnessing a miracle of war, unaware that this was the result of tank echelons coordinating with "aircraft" to rapidly penetrate deep into enemy territory.
Leoni could not help murmuring to himself: "When the winged cavalry launches a mass charge, the thunder of their hooves shakes the earth and swells the rivers, while the shrill howl of their wings makes dragons tremble..."
These were the very words used to describe the winged cavalry, words that had always filled him with boundless glory and pride.
Yet Leoni realized in terror that at this moment, those sentences fit these enemies far better.
For they were indeed making the earth and rivers tremble.
In the past, he would have faced them boldly without hesitation, even leading a charge, because behind him stood the mighty Fadlan Empire.
Yet now, he actually hesitated.
Without the backing of the Holy Fadlan Empire, could they truly defeat the Cinder Empire and hold North Aethel?
Leoni, who had always been a steadfast Fadlan loyalist, now felt utterly lost. His lips parted slightly, and the hand gripping his saber trembled, his palm slick with cold sweat.
"Can we... truly win this war?"
Chapter 609