The army outnumbered the Godlings at least two to one.
Good odds.
In the unified mind of the werewolves, a plan crystallizes as they charge. No chaotic rush. No blindly attacking the nearest Godling. Instead, they would encircle one Godling—werewolves and the other close-combat races, taking turns attacking while Elves hung back, finding sightlines for the killing shots.
But first, the strongest one must find out how strong the Godlings are.
One must first find out if they truly have a chance.
'This is our first war in the name of the Clarentium Empire,' Mavok thought inside. He was galloping like a murderous beast while his gaze fixated on a particular Godling that was also doing the same. 'The first war to make an impression on the Royal Black Prince after our kingdom has been burdening him with troubles.'
An intense burn of determination spread across his chest, making him move faster.
"Indirect Moon Ability: Savage Impulse!!"
