The Yarzat lines descended like a black tide, no gallant trumpet, no soaring banners, just the sheer, dreadful rhythm of boots on earth and the grim silence of men who knew their trade.
The First , the most veteran of the legions, led the charge with mechanical purpose, their formations fluid and coiled like a serpent about to strike.
Just paces before contact, a sudden cry broke from their line, not a war-cry but an order.
"First volley!"
Like breath expelled from a great beast, hundreds of javelins snapped through the air with a low, buzzing hum. They did not scatter wildly but flew in precise arcs. The Herculeian front, still patching gaps and elbowing into vague positions, received the volley not with shields raised and braced—but with disjointed chaos.
