West of Solfea.
This was where the forces of the Hyades Republic had gathered.
The moment word of the Demon Empire's advance reached them, the Republic did not hesitate. Legions were mobilised, banners raised, and an iron tide of soldiers marched straight toward Solfea. They came not as mere allies, but as a bulwark—steel and will made manifest—reinforcing the defences of House Solaris.
At their head stood the Grand Marshal of the Hyades Army, Gerrick Ironblood.
Before him stretched a vast battlefield waiting to ignite, where thousands of demons clawed and surged like a living storm at the edge of Solfea's borders.
Their howls carried on the wind, a constant reminder that war was no longer approaching—it had arrived.
Gerrick stood firm, unmoving as a mountain, yet far from calm. His muscles twitched beneath his armour, every fibre of his being screaming to charge forward, to meet the enemy head-on and drown the field in blood and steel.
But he did not move.
