The empire's army stood only five hundred meters away from the Tramplin walls.

From this distance, the stone towers looked even harsher, and the cold wind carried the echo of metal being dragged and shifted.

On top of the walls, Tramplin soldiers were busy, running to their posts, shouting orders, pushing their cannons into place.

Every movement showed that they were ready for a siege.

Raven stood at the front of his battalion, his spine straight, shoulders firm.

His breath fogged the air, but his eyes stayed sharp.

On his left, the other two battalions stood with the same disciplined posture.

Three blocks of soldiers, side by side, each one steady as a stone pillar.

In front of them stood the two generals, Vined and Duke Sant.

They watched the massive army with calm, unreadable faces.

Their cloaks fluttered in the cold wind, but their eyes did not move from the walls ahead.

Seventy thousand soldiers stood on the field, arranged in long, solid lines.

Armor gleamed under the pale light, and the quiet clink of metal traveled across the ranks like a slow heartbeat.

The remaining fifty thousand troops waited in the camp behind them, ready to move if things went wrong.

Far above the field, clouds hung heavy.

The weather had already caused delays.

The magic corps and the two additional swordmasters were still on their way, slowed down by the storm that hit the northern pass.

They had sent word that they would reach the battlefield within the week.

Still, the army did not waver.

Raven looked at the walls again. Cannons. Shields. Soldiers lining the top.

The Tramplins were clearly preparing for a long fight. His hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword.

Vined looked over the ranks for a moment longer, then stepped back and made space for his father-in-law to take the front.

Duke Sant moved forward, his cloak swinging behind him in the cold wind.

He wore no armor, just a thick winter coat and the confidence of someone who had survived a lifetime of battle.

His boots crunched against the frost as he stopped in front of the entire army.

"Soldiers," he began, his voice deep and steady. It rolled across the field like a drum.

"Today is the first day of our siege. The cold will bite at you. The wind will slow you. But fear not."

His voice rose, sharp and clear.

Even the Tramplin soldiers on the walls, who had been rushing to prepare their cannons, froze mid-step and looked down.

Duke Sant's voice carried that far.

"As long as you hold on," he shouted, "we will break through and tear down that gate!"

His words hit the field like thunder. Many soldiers straightened without even realizing it. Backs stiffened.

Fingers tightened on spear shafts.

Even the veterans, men who had seen death more times than they could count, felt a spark ignite in their chests.

The old man's presence alone seemed to chase away the cold.

He continued, raising his chin, eyes sweeping over all seventy thousand soldiers.

"We will attack with full strength. Casualties are inevitable. That is the nature of war." His tone hardened.

"But keep them low. Follow the orders of your superiors. Do not get lost in the heat of battle. Do you understand!?"

The answer burst out like an explosion.

"YES, SIR!!!"

The shout rippled through the air so strongly that clumps of snow slid off nearby branches.

Loose stones quivered on the ground. Even the cannons on the walls seemed to hum from the vibration.

In that moment, the entire field felt alive, as if seventy thousand hearts were beating in the same rhythm, waiting for the signal that would turn the quiet morning into a storm.

Duke Sant held the echo of their roar for a moment longer, letting the energy settle through the army like a spark running down a wire.

Then he drew his sword.

The blade slid out with a clean, ringing sound.

Its handle was gold, polished and elegant, and when he lifted it high, the sunlight caught it in a way that made the metal shine like a beacon.

"Soldiers! Raise your weapons!" he shouted.

Seventy thousand soldiers lifted their weapons at once.

A forest of steel rose into the air, swords flashing, spear tips gleaming, axe heads shining, hammer faces catching the light.

The field looked like it was covered with a storm of metal ready to fall.

Vined stepped forward beside him, pulling out his own sword.

He pointed it toward the sky, matching Duke Sant's stance with calm confidence.

Duke Sant then lowered his arm slightly and barked, "Turn! Face the enemy!"

The army shifted as one. A massive wave of bodies turned, boots pressing into the frozen dirt, eyes locking onto the Tramplin walls.

The enemy's cannons were now clearly visible, their dark mouths aimed down at the field.

Duke Sant's voice exploded across the air.

"To victory!"

The answer came like a thunderstorm tearing open the sky.

"TO VICTORY!!!"

The sound slammed into the battlefield, shaking the ground under their feet.

Duke Sant brought his sword down in a sharp motion. "Charge!!"

And the army moved.

The front lines stepped first, heavy boots crunching through frost.

Then the next row fell in rhythm behind them. At first it was a steady march. The pace grew faster. Then faster still.

Soon the soldiers were running, but not wildly, they kept formation, held the line, stayed close.

No one used mana yet. If even a few did, the formation would break like cracked glass.

So they ran with discipline, twenty thousand in Raven's section, seventy thousand in total, rushing forward like a rising tide ready to smash into the walls of stone and iron.

The siege had begun.

Vined watched the massive tide of soldiers rushing across the frost-covered ground. Their shields were up.

Their weapons were ready.

The roar of seventy thousand boots rolling forward made the earth tremble under his feet.

He stepped closer to Duke Sant and lowered his voice just a little. "Father… should we also attack?"

There was a hint of calculation in his tone. If the Clown stayed silent, this siege would end in two or three days.

The Tramplins had numbers, yes, but they had no grandmaster.

Their walls could slow the empire, but only for so long.

The only real problem was that unpredictable monster who hid somewhere within Tramplin territory.

If the Clown stepped onto the field, the battle could twist into chaos.

Duke Sant didn't answer immediately.

He watched the soldiers sprint toward the walls, watched their formation hold even as arrows began to whistle from the battlements.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the cold wind pushing against his cloak.

After a long moment, he spoke.

"Yes," he said, voice low but firm. "We attack. If the Clown does not interfere, we break through today."

Vined nodded once, the corner of his mouth tightening with focus. "Alright then."

Without another word, he drew in mana.

His boots left the ground as his body lifted smoothly into the air, floating upward like he weighed nothing at all.

He shot forward, sweeping toward the walls at high speed.

Duke Sant joined him a second later. His coat snapped sharply in the wind as he rose, his body glowing faintly with gathered power.

He flew beside Vined, both of them streaking toward the Tramplin fortress.

Normally, no warrior could fly, only mages could shape the air and lift themselves.

But every rule changed when someone reached grandmaster rank.

Grandmasters could rise into the sky the same way others walked up a hill.

They could fight in midair, dive, twist, retreat, and strike again without touching the ground.

That freedom made them terrifying, an enemy who could vanish above you and return in the next heartbeat was far harder to defend against.

As the two grandmasters soared toward the walls, the soldiers below kept charging, unaware that the true storm of this battle was now lifting into the sky.

The cold wind carried both army and commanders forward, pushing them closer and closer to the first clash of steel against stone.

The army thundered forward, but far above them the air was silent, cut by only two shapes.

Vined and Duke Sant stood in front of the wall, floating just beyond bow range.

Tramplin soldiers lined the battlements, but none dared challenge two grandmasters.

Their hands trembled on their weapons, and many stepped back, avoiding the edge as if the very air around the generals burned them.

Vined and Duke Sant didn't even spare them a glance.

Their focus was locked on the gate.

"Vined," Duke Sant said, his voice steady, calm, and absolute. "Destroy this gate."

Vined nodded. He lifted his sword, letting the cold wind wash over him. Then he spoke a single word.

"Darkness."

The world around his blade rippled.

A heavy black aura gathered over the metal, thick like ink spilling through the air.

It swirled and twisted, pulling in the light around it. In the white, snow-covered field, the contrast was violent.

A sword of pure night held in the middle of winter light.

The destructive power pressed outward, making even the stone of the wall tremble.

The Tramplin soldiers who had been watching from above flinched and backed away, some stumbling as they tried to put as much distance as possible between themselves and that blade.

Vined drew his arm back, preparing to strike.

Then—

"VIIIIINED!!!"

The scream tore through the sky, raw and soaked with hatred.

Vined's body tightened instantly. His senses flared.

He didn't recognize the voice, but a cold shiver dug under his skin.

Before he could react, a blazing firestorm erupted above his head, hot enough to melt frost in a heartbeat.

He didn't have time to dodge.

He swung.

The darkness on his sword tore upward.

BOOM.

The two powers crashed together.

The explosion ripped through the air like a thunderclap.

Flames twisted. Darkness shredded. The blast scattered the snow below into a stormy whirl.

Vined's slash broke through the fire, slicing it apart. But even as the attack cleared, his expression stayed tense.

Who was that?

It wasn't the Clown. He would've felt that twisted mana anywhere.

This was someone else, a grandmaster he hadn't sensed before. Someone hidden.

The smoke rolled away… slowly revealing a figure standing in the air.

The man stepped out of the fading fire, his clothes scorched at the edges, his hair wild, his eyes burning with hatred.

"Long time no see, Vined."

The voice struck something deep in him.

Vined's breath froze in his chest.

His eyes widened, shock tearing through every layer of composure he had.

"…Zaphir?" he whispered.

______

Author's Note:

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