In the moonlit night, a crow flies over the battlefield, sensing the banquet that is about to be served to them.
On the ground below, seventy thousand troops are charging three thousand.
Shouts and cries fill the air, the ground itself shakes with so many feet stomping it.
The giant tidal wave crashes onto the pebble that stands in their way. But no new sound arises, no clash of steel against steel. Both magic hurled and bodies in movement pass straight through the defending soldiers, who vanish in the air.
On the farthest side of the battlefield, at some distance over the hill, the defender army showers spells and projectiles on the crusaders.
Aurea's illusions and the portals did their job creating a ruse.
The exasperated shouts and sighs that could be heard from the invaders were drowned by the death cries of ten thousand men.
:::
PoV: Aurea
"Yes, target the weaker units first! Go for the foot soldiers who aren't protected!"
