Prince Tyrone rode atop a brown steed, clad in a close-fitting breastplate forged of fine iron. The armor was sculpted to resemble muscles and adorned with patterns on the chest, both for decoration and to protect vital areas.
A lengthy procession followed him, their hands gripping a variety of weapons. Most lacked armor, wielding short knives and short swords, along with wood staves and spears tipped with blade edges. Only a few soldiers donned exquisite armor, with finely crafted swords at their waists—they were the nobles or citizen militia of Danschel.
The army was a formidable force of three thousand strong. Though they could not face the enemy head-on, as a vanguard whose task was to sow chaos, they were more than sufficient.
Prince Tyrone turned his head to gaze at the soldiers marching in a single-file formation, his heart inevitably beating with intensity.
