The Saint bit her lips until they bled.
Her eyes oozed with rage, but behind the fury, there was that cold terror she could no longer hide. Her riders had screamed, her infantry had raised their banners as if to defy the heavens… and now, everything was breaking apart.
They had charged too soon. Without orders. Without formation.
Thousands of bodies rushed down the hill in a chaos unworthy of a holy army. Breastplates clashed, lances tangled, and the white sacred banner snapped in the wind like a sail torn away in the middle of a storm.
Behind them, the priests chanted at the top of their lungs, vain prayers spat into the blizzard. Their voices broke, swallowed by the screaming of men and the din of steel.
