The First Battle

#### Part 1: The Calm Before the Storm

The morning sun beginning its ascent over the rugged horizon bathed the eastern fortress in warm hues of gold. Yet, despite the beauty of dawn, an ominous tension filled the air, thick enough to cut with a sword. For **Rael Lunaris**, the weight of the impending conflict pressed heavily on his shoulders. It was the third day since he had taken command at the eastern border, and only now had the forces of the **Caldris Coalition** begun to unveil themselves—an overwhelming **60,000** soldiers strong.

Rael stood atop the ramparts, his gaze fixed upon the distance, where banners billowed in the wind, each representing one of Caldris’s seven great merchant families. The coalition army advanced with heightened fury, accompanied by their cherished elite—the highborn nobles eager to bask in the warmth of glory they sought to claim for themselves. **Lady Isolde Gildren**, the ingenious commander from House Gildren, led them, her reputation echoing around the kingdom at only **25 years old**. Also present were four grandmasters, lending to the lethal gravity of their experience, as they trained an eagle-eyed focus upon Rael's men.

A deep sigh escaped Rael’s lips. *This will not be an easy battle.* He tightened his grip on the battlements, feeling the cool stone beneath his fingertips, grounding himself in the reality of leadership.

“Your Highness,” a voice broke through his contemplation. It was **Bennir**, the stalwart Grandmaster and a pivotal figure among Lunaris’s ranks. “The Coalition approaches with ferocity.”

Rael turned to face his advisor, noting the grave lines etched across Bennir’s face, a testament to the myriad battles he had fought in the past. “What are your thoughts, Master Bennir? Can we withstand them?”

Bennir shook his head. “Unlike most grandmasters, who combine skill with raw talent, most of the the Coalition knights and grandmasters relies heavily on their **mana stones** and elixirs to achieve breakthroughs in rank. While they are formidable, they lack the seasoned experience and skill of someone like i. I believe if me and Rowan were faced with the four of them though victor might be not easily attainable we could —hold steady without suffering severe casualties.”

But no matter how promising that sounded, Rael could feel the ground shifting beneath their feet as the uncertainties of war crept nearer. Amid the rallying of soldiers below and the preparations for battle whispering through the fortress walls, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that fate often played cruel tricks just a few months he died a gruesome death and he had thought his life as rael might be a peaceful life but he now finds himself on the battlefield once more.

Before Rael could respond, a messenger galloped up the road, calling for his attention. It was **Duke Robert Taldor**, a reliable ally whose reputation preceded him. “My prince!” the messenger announced, breathless from his ride. “Duke Robert and his forces approach but will arrive no sooner than the day after tomorrow.”

That news prompted a flicker of hope in Rael’s heart. “We must use our time wisely,” he said, glancing back to the horizon where the Coalition’s formidable army awaited. They would not sit idle for long. “

“Your Highness,” Bennir began carefully, “might I suggest we fortify our defenses in a way that can draw the Coalition into traps while limiting exposure? I believe tactical brilliance will be key.”

Rael contemplated the battlefield before him—the Coalition, with its grandmasters and noblemen eager for glory, would not simply roll over. Yet if they could lure them into the right formation—a trap of sorts—the tides of battle could be shifted. “Then let us formulate a plan. We must act decisively now.”

#### The Genius of Strategy

Back within the fortress, Rael with bennir gathered border advisors, grandmaster Rowan, Lord Braden, Ella, and the masters knights among them to discuss their strategies. Maps of the terrain sprawled across a large table, and thoughts flowed like ink written into the night.

“It’s clear we cannot engage in direct confrontation,” Rael stated, determination ignited in his eyes. “Not against an army that dwarfs our own and possesses the likes of four grandmasters. Therefore, we shift the focus from a siege defense to one of cunning offense.”

“Bennir and I can lead the frontal assault,” Lord Rowan offered, confidence lacing his poised features. “Our knights will hold steadfast while reinforcing our positions. Meanwhile,apart from the main army we have two thousand royal knights at our disposal. It would be advantageous to have them pursue guerilla tactics—attacks to disrupt and draw the Coalition’s strength.”

Rael nodded. “Exactly.but my plan differs abit from yours lord rowan I propose that Damian, Lord Braden, and Elsa take this elite force of two thousand royal knights to strike at their main camp. We target the Coalition's leaders among the battle, particularly those who are but soft spoiled heirs and second sons of the Coalition seven greatfamiles.we are outnumbered and capturing them will be our greatest advantage.”

“Are you sure, Rael?” asked Elsa, concern brushing over her brow. “The Coalition’s forces will certainly retaliate if they feel threatened. We could place ourselves in even greater peril.”

“We must risk it, as difficult as it may seem,” Rael replied, determination etched across his features. “lord bennir and Rowan will draw out the grandmasters, it will lessen the pressure on our main forces. With the Coalition distracted, each of their noble heirs can be captured—they lack real strength and only know of the privilege of wealth. This is our chance to destabilize their command central.”

“Clever thinking,” Lord Braden observed. “We can create a diversion, redirecting their attention while striking where it seems least expected.”

As plans took root, the room transformed into a hive of strategy and ambition, outlining the precarious paths their forces would navigate.

#### Warmongering Tensions

Days converged into fleeting moments, and soon night blanketed the fortress once more. As raindrops pattered against the stone, Rael stood at the edge of the ramparts, peering into the stormy distance. The solemn nature of war fell heavy upon his brow—and although preparations buzzed in the fortress below, the gravity of their choices lingered in the air.

“Are you prepared, my prince?” a voice interrupted his contemplation. It was **Damian**, his loyal cousin. The sharpness of concern lay in the crease of his brow.

“Prepared or not, we charge into the unknown,” Rael replied, stuffing the weighty thoughts aside.

The clatter of hooves and echoing footsteps filled the courtyard, knights adorned in armor moving to their assigned stations, while murmurs of excitement and dread hung thickly among them. The winds of change swept through the air like whispers of long-lost spirits before war.

“Do you think the Coalition will anticipate our counter moves?” Damian asked. "They seem relentless... and perhaps foolishly arrogant.”

“Let them come,” Rael said, an iron determination settling across his features. “Their arrogance will fuel our advantage. They don’t realize that beneath the guise of wealth and power lies fragility.”

“Then I shall rally the men, readying them for our tactical strike,” Damian replied, the fire of resolve flickering in his eyes.

As he descended into the courtyard, Rael’s gaze remained set on the horizon, the encroaching storms of war gathering at their doorsteps. The Coalition’s forces, grand in their numbers and brimming with confidence, would soon crash against the steadfast walls of Lunaris. But tactics were born from the mind and sharpened by experience—the calm before the storm, one that spoke of impending thunder and the promise of rain.

And yet, amidst the uncertainty of impending conflict, hope burgeoned. For within the hearts of every knight, every soldier, lay the belief that their purpose and resolve would kindle a fire that could change the course of history.

*Tomorrow will mark the dawn of our first battle,* Rael thought, steeling himself against the cold touch of anxiety. *But we shall not go gently into this fray. Not while I still stand. We will rise against the tide*.