The Swedish coalition came for blood. The family of the Noble whose neck Bilal had snapped spent two years gathering allies, paying off mercenaries, and uniting a massive army.
For six grueling months, the valley of Axiomra was a meat grinder.
Bilal did not fight them in open fields. He used modern attrition warfare. He poisoned their wells. He used the "False Road" swamps to drown their heavy infantry.
His crossbowmen fired from the high ground and vanished into the trees. He was winning every tactical engagement.
But war is a poison that infects the mind. After six months of constant victories, Bilal's paranoia was replaced by a dangerous, intoxicating arrogance.
He started to believe his own myth. "I am a modern man," he thought, looking at his unbreached stone walls.
"They are just primitive barbarians. I am untouchable. This is like a movie, and I am the main character."
That arrogance would cost him everything.