The clash of steel and spells rang across the battlefield. Men shoved, slashed, and grappled in tight formation, their boots slipping on blood-soaked dirt.
Shields shattered. Blades scraped against armor. Guttaral cries of help mixed with the desperate screams of pain. Bodies collided, fell, and were then trampled. The air stank of sweat, blood, and dust.
Everywhere, men fought at arm's length, faces contorted with rage or fear, the melee surging like a chaotic tide with no clear line between living and dying.
In a Magus army, warfare operated on a completely different scale than in conventional mortal forces.
A single Magus could alter the battlefield, unleashing elemental spells, wide-area attacks, barriers, curses, or support magic that shifted momentum instantly. Their individual power was equivalent to dozens, sometimes hundreds of ordinary soldiers.
