30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

The banners of Bellacria lined the horizon. Opposite the vast plains, the encampments of Albina and Equitania stood in defiance.

The distance between the two camps barely fell outside the maximum range of cannon fire. It was too far for infantry to advance, yet close enough for cavalry to engage immediately.

A keen observer could see the enemy flags even from this distance. By simply identifying the noble emblems, scouts could assess the scale of the enemy forces, returning periodically to report on the enemy’s deployment.

It was akin to a powder keg. With the slightest sound of cannon fire, this place would become a colossal coliseum—a kind of place where the only means of communication would be blood, steel, and gunpowder.

The gathering of each nation’s maximum military strength implied that the outcome of the holy war would hinge upon this single engagement. Each commander had been tirelessly preparing for the battle since their encampments were set up, working through the nights for flawless combat readiness.

Tension hung like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment.

– Clatter, clatter, clatter.

A group of horsemen crossed the hills of the plains, waving a white flag.

“Envoy from Bellacria!!”