Chapter 485 - Dance of The Decoys (4)

Lyan's army surged forward, each file of infantry moving in perfect lock-step cadence so precise that the thud of boots on wet earth sounded like one colossal heartbeat. Fog twisted around their shins, drawn apart by their passage the way surf parts around a prow; every man knew his place in the rhythm, every woman felt the invisible thread that tied spear to shield to the soldier beside her. Above them the River Fort brooded, torch-light staining its battlements the color of old rust. From a distance it might have seemed silent and impregnable, yet Lyan tasted disarray on the air—shallow horn‐calls that faltered mid-note, the unpracticed clash of dropped weapons against stone. The Varzadians were already rattled. They just didn't know why.