The plains outside Elysia had transformed into a cauldron of unparalleled destruction. Arin's legions, once a menacing, discipy force, were now a broken, swirling mass, caught in a multi-front assault.
The morning air vibrated with a deafening symphony of battle, the clang of steel, the hiss of elven arrows, the thunder of Valendale's charges, the roars of magical beasts, and the desperate cries of men.
From the city walls, Elysia's defenders poured forth, no longer cowering behind stone, but surging into the fray. Joel led the charge, his voice raw but triumphant, pushing Arin's demoralized vanguard back with a ferocity born of days of siege.
Reyes, a whirlwind of steel, moved with swift precision, cutting down foes, his movements fluid despite his exhaustion.
Daniel's mercenaries, pragmatic and efficient, capitalized on every opening, turning the enemy's disarray into further rout.
