Atop a small hill, some fifty kilometers southeast of the city of Artyn, Basil watched with growing nervousness the enemy's movements. They were beginning to take up positions no more than a kilometer south of his own.

  He stood beside his horse, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The morning air was crisp and the sky completely clear, offering extraordinary visibility of the terrain between the two formations. According to the wristwatch on his wrist, it was shortly after ten o'clock.

  Basil glanced briefly down at the small metal device. He still found it hard to believe he possessed such a thing. It had been a gift from Joel. And from his perspective, this device was extremely delicate… and surely very expensive. Yet it was also incomparably more practical than the watches he had seen in the cities. Those gigantic mechanisms, powered by complex combinations of magic and mechanical gears, were as large as an ordinary trunk and used to occupy plazas or halls in administrative buildings. One of the many creations of the dwarven engineers. Compared to those metal monsters, Joel's small clock seemed almost like an otherworldly relic.

  Basil pushed those thoughts aside and refocused on what mattered. From his elevated position, he could clearly see both the enemy deployment and that of his own forces, who were beginning to take up their defensive positions with remarkable speed.

  More than nine hundred mercenaries occupied the small hill. Following Joel's orders, the deployment consisted of a single defensive line more than two hundred men wide.

  The first rank was almost entirely composed of mystical adepts, accompanied by mystical apprentices characterized by their extraordinary physical strength. They all carried enormous tower shields almost one and a half meters high. When they planted them firmly against the ground, the shields aligned, forming a veritable wall of metal.

  Just behind them was the second rank, made up of the so-called "riflemen." Each was armed with the new projectile weapons, the "NJ20 rifles," improved versions of hand cannons. Those weapons were still a rarity even among the dwarven armies themselves, but Joel had insisted they become the offensive core of the formation. The men who wielded them were the best marksmen available among the mystic apprentices, capable of firing six or seven shots per minute under normal conditions—a rate quite similar to that of an average archer.

  However, their effectiveness depended entirely on the protection of the front line. The tower shields served not only as a defensive barrier. Each one had been manufactured with small grooves along its upper edges, a kind of rest where the riflemen could fit the long barrels of their rifles. From there, they could aim with greater stability… and fire with considerable accuracy.

  Behind them were the third and fourth ranks, composed of the lancers. But they didn't use ordinary lances. The weapons they carried were over six meters long and made entirely of metal, from tip to butt. Heavy and difficult to handle… but devastating when used in formation. Like the riflemen, their role depended on the shield wall in front of them. From behind the metal barrier, and using the same grooves in the shields, they could project their long weapons forward, creating a veritable jungle of steel points capable of stopping any charge.

  The flanks of the formation, meanwhile, were protected by small groups of mystical experts, the most powerful combatants deployed on the front. Their role was clear: to delay any enemy attempt to outflank them and, if the main line were to break at any point, to intervene immediately to close the gap before the formation collapsed.

  Finally, a little further back, scattered along the formation, were the mystic masters. Their role was arguably the most crucial of all. They were responsible for generating and maintaining the anti-magic shields that protected the formation, as well as intercepting any magical attacks the enemy might launch against the troops.

  In regular armies, mystic masters typically served a dual purpose. In addition to protecting soldiers from enemy magic, they also acted as living artillery, unleashing powerful offensive spells upon enemy formations.

  But Joel's strategy was different. This time, magical defense was the absolute priority. And the mystic masters were to concentrate all their efforts on maintaining the shields and neutralizing enemy attacks before they reached the line. Offensive responsibility had been delegated almost entirely to the new mystic artifacts.

  Basil was the sole exception. Because of his affinity with fire, as well as his evidently greater power, Joel had granted him some freedom to employ his offensive magical abilities when a clear opportunity arose. However, his priority remained his defensive role and command during combat. He had to ensure his forces maintained their formation under any circumstances.

  For a moment, as he watched the enemy deploy in the distance, Basil recalled the meeting he'd had weeks earlier with the general in charge of the Artyn garrison. Their direct contact with the Dirmistan army during its first deployment on the frontier.

  It had been a tense conversation. Enemy raids south of the city had already caused too much damage. The trade routes, vital for the flow of goods between the cities of the region, were increasingly damaged. Entire caravans had been looted, supply depots destroyed, and several mercenary companies sent to protect the roads had been completely wiped out.

  The reports the general had received were disturbing. They spoke of enemy groups numbering several thousand fighters. But what was truly troubling wasn't their numbers, but their modus operandi. They appeared approximately once a week. They would swiftly and violently attack a point in the trade network… and then disperse almost immediately, vanishing into the vast territory before any organized force could react.

  The army had tried to hunt them down on several occasions, but without success. Each time troops were mobilized to pursue them, the attackers simply disappeared into the forests or crossed the border. And if the military forces remained too long in one area trying to prevent another attack, the problem simply shifted elsewhere. It was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

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  The general wasn't actually asking for a definitive solution. His expectations were much more modest. All he wanted was to keep the main trade route free of obstructions. If the caravans could travel with relative safety, the rest of the problems could be tolerated.

  But Joel had proposed something different and far more ambitious. His plan wasn't to contain the problem, but to eradicate it. It took him quite some time to convince the others that it was possible. The idea was simple on the surface: lure the enemy toward prey they couldn't resist.

  The company had just over nine hundred mercenaries. And according to intelligence reports, the enemy easily numbered over two thousand fighters, and some estimates suggested their numbers could even approach three thousand. In other words, a vastly superior force. But also a force that relied too heavily on that advantage.

  Joel had therefore devised a carefully calculated strategy. The company's official encampment would remain near the city of Artyn, under the protection of the military garrison. From there, the mercenaries would conduct two- or three-day patrols along the main trade route.

  During these patrols, they would use several specific hills as observation points… and also as places to spend the night. The key was regularity. The movements had to appear predictable and easy to observe.

  Joel wanted the enemy to get used to seeing them there, always patrolling the same routes, always resting in the same places. He wanted them to become so comfortable that they thought they could anticipate their every move.

  Because if the rumors were true—if the Migozyria mercenaries had really been tasked with eliminating their Dirmistan counterparts—then a company like the Valiant Hearts represented the perfect victim. A large and seemingly unsuspecting prey.

  It wasn't long before the plan paid off. Barely two weeks after the patrols began, the enemy finally took the bait. And to no one's surprise, they chose to strike exactly where Joel expected.

  The location was a rather unusual hill. A place that, at first glance, seemed ideal for an ambush. Access was unique: a wide path that ascended only the southern slope, as on the opposite side there was a cliff. A steep drop of more than thirty meters. Enough to seriously injure a mystic adept… and capable of causing significant damage even to a mystic expert.

  From a strategic point of view, it was a terrible place if one wanted to maintain even the slightest chance of retreat. Once trapped there, there would be no escape.

  But that was precisely why Joel had chosen that hill. Because for an enemy confident in their numerical superiority, that place seemed perfect. A spot where their prey would be trapped, allowing for a complete and inevitable victory.

  However, what the enemy didn't understand was that the hill also offered advantages to Joel's company. The height greatly facilitated defense. And more importantly, it considerably amplified the power of the new weaponry Joel had brought to the battlefield.

  From his position on the hill, Basil watched attentively as the enemy forces finished deploying, spreading out on both sides of the only entrance to the hill until they had blocked any possible escape routes. It was a clear maneuver to surround the defenders.

  Even so, this didn't worry the mercenary commander too much. His men were not an improvised group, far from it. The vast majority had spent almost a whole year training under the strict regime imposed by Joel. During that time, they had learned to fight in formation, to maintain discipline in chaotic situations, and above all, to trust the system their leader had designed. Furthermore, they were better equipped than most mercenary companies on the continent. The armor they wore was of excellent quality. And their weapons… their weapons were something completely different from what any traditional mercenary expected to find on the battlefield.

  Basil breathed slowly as he mentally reviewed his own forces. Under his direct command were six mystic masters. Among them was his old companion Calista, whose abilities were already quite renowned even before she became a mystic master herself. The other five men were no less impressive: at one time, they had all been commanders of their own mercenary companies, men accustomed to leading battles and surviving them.

  As for their magical affinities, most possessed relatively common elements. One of them stood out for his electrical affinity. Another, however, had a dual affinity with water and exceptionally developed sensory abilities.

  It was thanks to this last one that they had been able to assess the enemy forces with some accuracy. According to him, there were at least eight mystic masters among the attackers. A considerable number. However, he had also confirmed something that reassured Basil somewhat. There were no mystic grand masters or superior warriors among them. That meant that, in the worst-case scenario, the magical combat would remain within a range that their own forces could handle.

  As he continued to observe, Basil began to study the enemy's disposition in greater detail. And it didn't take him long to identify a pattern. Or rather… the lack of one. From the troop deployments, the differences in armor, standards, and formation styles, it became clear almost immediately that this was not a single, organized force.

  There were at least six or seven different mercenary companies working together. And their coordination left much to be desired. From a distance, it was even possible to see small groups arguing amongst themselves as they finished taking their positions. Some units seemed unsure of where they should be positioned, while others tried to occupy the most advantageous spots at the foot of the hill.

  It was clear that there was no clear chain of command. Each company answered to its own commander, and although they all shared the same objective, their cooperation was clumsy and disorganized. The only real threat they posed was their numbers. Nearly three thousand warriors against fewer than a thousand defenders.

  Neither side even bothered to raise a flag of negotiation. There was nothing to discuss. War horns began to sound at the foot of the hill even before the formations had finished organizing themselves. Their deep echoes reverberated across the plain, announcing that the battle was about to begin.

  It was then that Basil turned his attention to one of the most peculiar elements of Joel's organization: the so-called war band. A group of just over twenty mystical apprentices lined up behind the main formation. Unlike the rest of the mercenaries, they carried no weapons. Instead, they carried rather unusual instruments: drums.

  Most of them carried a medium-sized drum attached to their belts with sturdy straps, allowing them to strike it with two wooden sticks and produce a surprising variety of distinct rhythms. Only four of them carried much larger versions: enormous drums that required special harnesses and produced a deep, powerful sound when struck hard, capable of reverberating for a great distance.

  This unique war band was one of Joel's personal projects. He had trained and equipped them himself. And although many mercenaries had initially considered the idea absurd, the result had proven extraordinarily effective. In the deafening chaos of battle, where screams and the clash of metal could drown out any verbal command, the drums easily drew attention. Especially when all members of the company knew perfectly well what each percussion pattern represented.

  But the drums weren't the only innovation Joel had introduced. Basil raised a hand and briefly touched his ear. There he wore one of the most incredible artifacts he had ever seen. A small object that fit inside the ear, apparently called an earpiece. Both he and the six mystic masters wore one.

  Each earpiece was connected to a small black box hanging from their belts, and with the simple press of a small button on the device, they could all transmit messages that the others would hear directly in their ears, regardless of the distance between them.

  It defied all known logic for Basil. To be able to speak with someone hundreds or thousands of meters away… without any visible magic. Joel had explained it as a type of technological communication, but for Basil, it was still nothing short of a miracle.

  The only limitation was that only one person could speak at a time. If two or more tried to do so simultaneously, they wouldn't be able to receive each other's messages. Even so, the strategic advantage it offered was enormous.

  Basil looked up again at the army that was beginning to move at the foot of the hill. Thousands of enemies were advancing toward them.