Meanwhile.
Tybalt Northern Border.
The Turka captain stood tall on a crumbling section of the Tybalt wall, staring at the Armand soldiers who had just landed from their strange flying craft. They were positioned a fair distance away, across the open, scarred field that separated the two forces.
The captain gritted his teeth, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
They're outnumbered! And yet… what is this feeling?
The Armand soldiers numbered only about 200. His own force had over 10,000. He had 50 cannons, plenty of the newly purchased magic bows, and more than 2000 archers at his command.
And yet… those flying machines. That huge, hovering iron monstrosity looming behind the soldiers now standing calmly in formation.
Their weapons look like advanced versions of our musketeers' gear… But that thing that shot down our cannonballs earlier, that beam of light… what was it? Do they have many of those, or just one?
