The red clay border of the Dragon Sovereignty was a wide, flat basin flanked by jagged obsidian ridges. It was a perfect battlefield for an imperial legion—flat enough for heavy cavalry charges, wide enough for a ten-thousand-man infantry line to deploy without crowding.
Prince Kenneth sat atop his white warhorse at the rear of the First Legion. His heavy gold armor gleamed under the grey, ash-choked sky, and his face was a mask of cold, bureaucratic certainty. Ahead of him, row after row of imperial vanguard infantry stood with their massive rectangular tower shields locked together. Behind them, two hundred Royal Circle mages adjusted their pristine silk robes, their hands already glowing with the structured, rhythmic incantations of imperial fire and earth magic.
"A boy playing king," Kenneth growled, his voice carrying through his brass speaking trumpet. "Forward ranks! Advance the line! Tear down their banners!"
With a synchronized, thunderous roar, the ten thousand soldiers of the First Legion began their march, their heavy boots shaking the red clay.
A mile across the basin, standing on a low obsidian ridge, Kaelen watched the steel wall approach. He wasn't wearing an imperial uniform, nor a king's robe. He stood clad in his dark dragon-hide brigandine, his hands resting casually on the hilt of his black obsidian blade. Behind him, the eight hundred warriors of the Dragon Vanguard stood loose and unformed, looking more like a crowd at a tavern than a defending army.
"They look very organized, Kai," Jax whispered, his knuckles white as he held his short iron-scale swords. "I really hate organizations."
"Don't worry, Jax," Kaelen smirked, his blue eyes flashing with a dangerous, multi-colored light. "We're about to make it very messy. Sylvia, signal the sky."
Sylvia raised a hand, and a dense spike of black shadow-mana shot straight into the clouds.
High above the basin, hidden in the thick sulfur fog, three hundred griffin riders from the Sky-Crest Citadel tilted their wings and dove. They didn't carry spears or lances. Each griffin carried a pair of heavy wicker baskets packed with crude, black clay flasks filled with volatile volcanic oil from the Iron-Grip Foundry.
"Archers! Protect the sky!" Kenneth bellowed, spotting the descending shadows.
The imperial rear ranks instantly tilted their longbows upward, releasing a cloud of thousands of black-feathered arrows that hissed through the air like an oncoming storm. At the same time, the Royal Circle mages raised their staffs, channeling massive, multi-layered barriers of compressed air and fire to incinerate the incoming riders.
But Kaelen didn't give them the chance.
*ROOOOOOOAR—*
The clouds literally tore apart as Kuro, the Shadow Dragon, materialized directly between the griffin riders and the imperial army. His eighty-foot span of webbed shadow-wings uncoiled, blotting out what little light remained in the basin.
The dragon opened its skeletal jaw and let out a low, submissive hum that vibrated the very teeth in Kenneth's skull.
*ANTI-MAGIC VACUUM.*
An invisible wave of absolute void-mana rippled across the imperial lines. The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic. The glowing barriers of the Royal Circle mages flickered and violently dissolved into nothingness. The incantations died in the mages' throats as their inner cores were violently dragged toward the vacuum. Even the wind-enchanted arrows shot by the archers lost their trajectory, tumbling harmlessly through the dead, heavy air like dry leaves.
"What is happening?!" Kenneth roared, his horse rearing in absolute panic as the heavy weight of the void pressed down on the legion's morale. "Mages! Report!"
"Our mana... it's gone, Your Highness!" a high-mage shrieked, clutching his useless staff. "The sky is dead!"
Before the legion could adjust to the sudden loss of magic, the griffin riders swept over the locked tower shields.
*SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!*
Hundreds of clay flasks rained down on the tightly packed imperial ranks, shattering against the steel armor and wooden shields, drenching the vanguard infantry in thick, foul-smelling volcanic oil.
Kaelen stepped off the obsidian ridge. He didn't blink or slide. He ignited his boots with a maximum-frequency burst of lightning, launching himself straight across the mile-wide basin like a human thunderbolt.
*Lightning Flicker—Triple Flash.*
He vanished and reappeared three times in mid-air, a streak of azure and violet light that defied the vacuum. A microsecond later, he landed gracefully right on top of the front row of Kenneth’s locked tower shields.
He drew the obsidian blade.
*SHING.*
The blade didn't just spark; it roared with the white-hot, volcanic heat of the Ignis Tyrant, perfectly synchronized with his lightning speed. Kaelen swung the blade in a wide, horizontal arc, the superheated edge cutting through three solid steel tower shields—and the arms holding them—as if they were warm butter.
"Hey, Kenneth," Kaelen called out, his voice easily slicing through the screams of the front line as his signature, cocky smirk cut through the soot on his face. "I told Vivienne to tell you to bring extra shovels. Did you forget them?"
He slammed the tip of his white-hot blade directly into the oil-drenched red clay at his feet.
*MAXIMUM THERMAL OUTPUT.*
A brilliant, blinding wave of white-hot crimson fire erupted from the sword, racing through the oil-soaked ranks of the First Legion like wild-fire. Within seconds, the immaculate, organized wall of ten thousand imperial soldiers was transformed into a chaotic, screaming sea of flame and smoke.
Kenneth stared through the smoke at his youngest brother, his golden armor reflecting the ruin of his invincible legion. The fourth prince wasn't playing soldier anymore. He was rewriting the rules of the world.