The ruins of the Williams Family estate had never been so alive. Hidden beneath the shattered stone halls, deep in underground bunkers and reinforced chambers, 1,500 soldiers moved with precise, silent efficiency.
Their armor hummed softly, energy coursing through reinforced circuits. Each suit was a marvel: nearly indestructible, agile, and capable of wielding dual heavy machine guns on the back without hindering movement.
Michael stepped into the main training chamber. His golden hair glinted under the dim lights, one eye burning gold, the other red. The scar running from his right eyebrow down to his cheek made him look like a predator surveying his prey. But these weren't prey—these were his soldiers. His army. His family in steel and skill.
"Line up," he commanded, his voice calm but filled with authority.
In perfect synchronization, the soldiers formed ranks, their eyes hidden behind reinforced visors. They carried advanced rifles, pistols, grenades, and artillery supplies. Engineers and weapon specialists moved to the edges, ready to repair or upgrade anything in real time.
Michael walked slowly down the lines, scanning, analyzing. Even without magic, he could see every weakness in formation, every advantage in positioning. His eyes, trained by years of earth battles and the memories of his family's fall, missed nothing.
"This is not just combat," he said, stopping in front of a squad of 50 soldiers. "This is preparation for a war that no one else can imagine. The invaders we face are not human. They are precise, ruthless, and unrelenting. We cannot afford mistakes."
He raised his hand, and a holographic display appeared in the air—a 3D map of the lands stolen by the invaders, marked with ruined fortresses, poisoned rivers, and enemy outposts.
"Tomorrow, we reclaim what is ours," Michael continued. "And I will not lose a single soldier. We strike fast, strike smart, and strike deadly."
The soldiers watched in awe, not just at his words, but at the calm, unshakable certainty he radiated. Michael's reputation, even unseen, was already cementing their loyalty.
Two hours later, the training began. Soldiers ran drills, each movement synchronized with mechanical precision, the suits enhancing every motion. Michael demonstrated advanced formations, tactical maneuvers, and combat simulations. Even simple actions—ducking behind cover, firing dual weapons while advancing—became fluid, deadly, and near impossible to counter.
The engineers tested small drones that could reconnoiter enemy positions, and the weapon specialists loaded prototype grenades and artillery shells designed for maximum efficiency.
Michael observed everything, noting every detail. His mind worked like a machine, analyzing probabilities, strategies, and weaknesses in the enemy formations. He did not need magic to dominate the battlefield—he had knowledge, preparation, and a silent, deadly army at his command.
By the time dusk fell, the soldiers had completed a full day of intensive training. Michael stepped back, looking at the ranks before him. They were ready. Every man and woman had been imbued with modern knowledge, enhanced physically, and trained mentally. All that remained was the first strike.
But Michael paused. He walked to the holographic map again, tracing the route to the lands that were once his family's. The invaders had fortified these territories, but Michael's army was not ordinary. Every soldier was a force multiplier. Every weapon designed by the system, tested in secret by him, was ready.
"This is only the beginning," he muttered. "By the time we finish, Drazyria will remember the name Williams. And no one will ever doubt the might of this family again."