Laurence watched the walls of Vayllen City with a deepening frown.

  The duchy's mages were striking the main gate in three rotating divisions, each retreating only when their mana ran dry. For two relentless days, the assault had not ceased. They allowed the defenders no time to breathe, no chance to recover. Though layers of protective magic reinforced the stone, the barrier was beginning to fracture under the constant bombardment.

  Once the wall fell, the knights would advance.

  And steel, not sorcery, would decide the city's fate.

  Laurence recalled the reports from his embedded spies. Three large-scale enchantments had been cast within the city—area spells that strengthened the defenders while weakening any invading force. His objective was clear: breach the city, deploy the most capable units to eliminate those spells, and clear the way for the Douglas army to complete its campaign without unnecessary losses.

  The Douglas forces stood apart in both legacy and preparation. Their weapons, armor, and magical artifacts were of exceptional quality—heirlooms and innovations forged since the kingdom's founding. For generations, the dukes of Douglas had been raised in war and strategy.

  Count Denisse, by contrast, was only three generations into nobility. His army was numerous, but numbers could not compensate for inexperience—or for the absence of a true martial tradition.

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  Laurence turned slightly.

  "Are the soldiers prepared?"

  General Aleph bowed his head firmly. "Yes, my lord. We await the wall's collapse. The moment it falls, the order to advance will be given."

  "Inform the units advancing with me," Laurence said. "Tell them to ready themselves."

  A flicker of unease crossed Aleph's face. His voice lowered, just enough to betray concern.

  "My lord… I ask that you reconsider. Please remain at central command. There is no need for you to place yourself in danger. The men will perform their duty well."

  Laurence did not look away from the crumbling gate.

  "I've already told you. Sofía will remain in command. I will not stand idle while the enemy stands before me."

  Aleph hesitated. "Then allow me to accompany you."

  Laurence shook his head.

  "No. Stay where you are needed. Besides, if something were to happen to me, you would never see your dream fulfilled—Lusian becoming the next duke. Was that not what you urged so strongly before?"

  Aleph straightened, respectful but resolute.

  "My lord, I spoke those words only to bring you back to reason—to ensure that your most capable son would be named heir."

  A faint, knowing smile touched Laurence's lips.

  "I know. Just hold the rear lines and resolve any problems that arise."

  Aleph bowed once more before returning to the command tent, where Sofía awaited. She studied his expression and arched an eyebrow.

  "From that look on your face… he didn't listen, did he?"

  "No, my lady," Aleph replied with a quiet sigh. "The duke insists on taking the vanguard and placing himself at risk."

  Sofía crossed her arms, her gaze drifting toward the distant wall where light and fire battered stone.

  "Don't worry about him. He is more than capable of protecting himself. And you assigned the best troops to guard him."

  Her eyes hardened.

  "Let's focus on ending this war as quickly as possible."