The entire city wails in flames, black smoke entwines like a giant serpent around the crumbling spires.
Amidst the chaos, a unique army marches in formation through the streets that have turned into ruins.
The knight leading the way holds high a banner embroidered with a golden lion, followed by soldiers in shiny blue armor, chest plates engraved with a winged falcon, their faces beneath the helmets like stone carvings, indifferent to the fallen corpses along the path.
At the center of this elite force, a middle-aged man clad in marshal armor rides on a six-legged warhorse with a body of black scales.
As his gaze casually sweeps past the curled, charred corpses by the roadside, a faint and elusive smile curves his lips.
"Your Majesty, remnants of the Fourth Prince's forces still resist stubbornly in the eastern district." The general beside him reports quietly.
