The Whiteheaven Imperial Army had assembled two hundred thousand of its finest knights. Before the grandeur of Thalvion Gate, the thunder of war and looming intimidation began to shake the very soil of Smokeland. War drums echoed like a roaring storm from the bowels of the earth, wrapping the air in a thick shroud of tension. Giant catapults, steel battering rams, and siege engines continued to arrive—casting looming silhouettes of war against the pale mist of dawn. All eyes were fixed on one point: the legendary gate of the Doliex nation.
Inside the fortress walls, however, the Doliex sentries displayed a chilling calmness. No panic. No fear. The knights sat, sipping their drinks and eating their meals as if war was merely part of their daily routine. Their composure was, in fact, even more terrifying.
"Ready the Drak'Vhorr arrows and deploy the Arthemiron cavalry breakers!" shouted Gubel Veynor, the gate's commanding officer, his voice loud and resolute.
"Yes, Commander!" the squad leaders replied in unison.
Thalvion Gate stood like a god of metal: rising seventy meters high and stretching two hundred and fifty meters wide. Its walls were made of impenetrable Lovarian steel, perched between two deathly ravines that made any frontal assault a suicidal fantasy. It was the only entrance to Smokeland—and the only place where destruction waited for the foolish.
Though the Imperial Army carried what was claimed to be the most powerful force in the past two centuries, before the might of Thalvion Gate… they looked like toys. Once again, the shadow of Doliex strength loomed like an untouchable phantom.
"All weapons and troops, prepare to attack!" yelled Eryndor Frostwind, his voice soaked in arrogance, eyes glowing with a confidence so blind it failed to recognize the strength before him.
The first blast struck. Toxic explosives, firestones, and massive metal arrows began raining upon the walls of Thalvion. But… nothing moved. No cracks. No shattered steel. The wall stood firm, like an ancient mountain defying the heavens.
Some projectiles that managed to pass the towering wall had already been anticipated by the Doliex archers, who moved faster than shadows.
"The Empire has begun its assault!" Gubel Veynor's voice boomed through a magical amplifier mounted atop the watchtower. "We give one final warning—there's still time to retreat! Lord Eryndor the mighty… this is the impossible gate, one even the gods fear to touch!"
"You have two hours to withdraw your forces from within the Drak'Vhorr's firing range. Whatever siege weapons you bring will be obliterated if they remain in that zone. Remember, your soldiers will die in vain. To avoid a one-sided massacre… pull your forces back!"
Yet Eryndor remained silent. His gaze was sharp, cold, overflowing with pride and burning ambition.
"Eryndor!" barked Thaldrim Covarthis, growing agitated. "I warned you! A direct assault on Thalvion Gate is suicide! We must lure them out first! I still have five thousand loyal Doliex assassins—they're en route to Smokeland to open the gate from the inside."
"We don't have that kind of time, Thaldrim!" Eryndor snapped, his voice erupting in rage. "If we don't press them now, we'll never win this war! Power doesn't wait for the weak!"
"My lord!" interrupted Jolloy Lancabe, the Imperial Master Strategist. "Thaldrim is right. We can't win by wasting all our ammunition at the start just to bluff a steel wall!"
Eryndor clenched his fists, his eyes blazing.
"You think we have months? Three? Six?! That's madness! We'll drain our entire war reserve! And now—now!—we're forced to stand before this iron wall… because of this bastard," Eryndor glared at Thaldrim, "...who ruined our original plan and led us straight into this pit of hell!"
The sky darkened—not from nightfall, but from the thickening clouds of war. The atmosphere before Thalvion Gate turned into a silent terror. Atop the walls, thousands of Doliex archers aimed their bows. Behind them, the Drak'Vhorr and Arthemiron stood at the ready.
Three seconds… two… one…
Time marched toward a hell that might never be undone.
"Fire the Drak'Vhorr! Destroy every piece of siege equipment within range!" Gubel Veynor's voice thundered, shaking the watchtowers of Thalvion Gate.
"But General… the Elders have warned us not to use it unless the situation is truly dire," said Malgris Faelin, captain of the right guard, his face taut with hesitation.
"Is this truly the right decision, General?" added Mordin Katoki from the left flank, his eyes narrowing toward the battlefield beyond the gate. "This strike… will bring massive death to the enemy."
Gubel shot them both a fiery glance, his gaze burning like freshly forged steel.
"Our duty is not to wait for death to come knocking! Our duty is to guard this gate… to protect this nation! If we falter, if we let them keep striking without a response, our chance will be gone forever!"
He paused. The thunder of imperial weaponry still rumbled in the distance.
"We do not wait until our comrades fall one by one to act! The time is now. The time to retaliate! The time to show the Empire that we, the Doliex, will never bow!"
Silence fell. Then—
"So be it…" Mordin Katoki finally murmured, exhaling deeply. "If that is your will, General."
"I await your command, General!" shouted Malgris Faelin, his hand gripping the release lever for Arthemiron and its crew stationed within the massive weapon.
Atop the walls of Thalvion Gate, the two legendary weapons of the Doliex began to stir. The Drak'Vhorr, a colossal war arrow, stood like an ancient titan of destruction—its frame forged from blood-dark Lovarian steel, gleaming under the sunlight. A fifteen-meter-long projectile, forked at the tip and coated in poison and flame, was already loaded in the launch chamber.
On the other side, the Arthemiron—the obliterator cavalry launcher—began to tremble. The clash of metal and the flare of ignitions rang out around it, shaking the air as if the earth itself held its breath.
"Countdown! Five... Four... Three... Two... ONE!"
"FIRE!!!" shouted Gubel, his arm thrusting toward the battlefield still swarming with Imperial troops.
In an instant—
WHOOSH!!
CRAAACK—BOOOOMMMM!!!
Ten colossal arrows streaked through the sky with terrifying speed, tearing through the air like thunder ripping the heavens apart. Explosions roared, shaking the ground. Shards of steel struck shields, walls, and Imperial war machines. Launch towers, siege wagons, cavalry formations—gone! Split apart. Engulfed in flames. Blasted into the dirt.
Screams. Panic. A mist of blood cloaked the battlefield.
Another wave followed, this time from the Arthemiron itself.
WUUUUNG!!
BRRRAAAAMMMM!!!
The Imperial forces didn't even have time to scream. An entire assault unit obliterated. Two towers crumbled. Several front lines were incinerated by magical embers embedded in the Doliex arrows.
"MY GOD!! WHAT IS THAT?!"
"TAKE COVER!! GET DOWN!!"
"THIS ISN'T A HUMAN WEAPON!!"
Atop the wall, Gubel stood tall, the wind catching his war cloak, his hair whipping in the air.
"That... was only the first warning," he muttered coldly.
Meanwhile, on the Imperial side, Eryndor stood frozen, his face pale.
"What... what was that...?" he murmured in disbelief. "Impossible..."
"That was... Drak'Vhorr," Thaldrim said quietly, bitterly. "A weapon so feared, even legends choose silence."
"We... we need to pull back," Jolloy whispered.
"Silence!" Eryndor snapped, though his voice had lost all firmness. "We... we must..."
But his thoughts collided with reality: ten thousand soldiers, gone in a single shot.
That monstrous weapon loomed above Thalvion's wall—Drak'Vhorr, the giant ballista, unleashing arrows fifteen meters long, forged from pure Lovarian steel, capable of piercing the hardest iron. One volley could launch ten bolts, and with a single command, thirty could be unleashed in a storm of destruction, pulverizing everything in their path.
For the first time in history—this weapon had been unleashed in battle against the forces of the Whiteheaven Empire.
The first blast erupted like the sky had been torn open. Screams of panic, the clatter of crushed armor, the shrieks of dying horses split the air. In moments, dozens of Imperial siege engines were wrecked. Towers collapsed, wheels scattered, and the soldiers manning them were torn apart in clouds of dust.
"Pull everyone back! PULL ALL TROOPS out of that weapon's range!" Eryndor cried, his voice trembling, eyes wide as he watched a chaos beyond imagination unfold.
The battlefield fell into silence... only the trembling clinks of fear and gasping breaths remained.
Never—in three centuries of the Whiteheaven Empire's reign—had such a war erupted. And now, the Empire's parade-trained, formally disciplined troops stood shaking before the face of real war.
Their resolve... fragile.
Their toughness... unproven.
The Doliex forces were a different breed. True heirs of war—they had long served as the Empire's hand of annihilation. They had crushed wild tribes, silenced rebellions in lonely mountains and terrifying seas, and guarded trade routes from assassins across all ports of Whiteheaven. Born on battlefields, raised by blood.
And now... true war had arrived at their gates.
At the frontlines, fifty thousand mounted Doliex knights stood ready under the command of Brando Velary—the Iron Youth of the Velary clan, now the proud leader of Smokeland's elite cavalry.
"Velzhar! Kravenoth! Vaedros! Khyron! Solvaris! Thundrek! Dazareth! Xarvos! Zendaris!" Brando shouted, summoning the elite regiment leaders, each commanding five thousand riders.
"Take your lines! Arrowhead formation! Spread wide, dominate the valley, and break the enemy's center!"
Hooves thundered. The ground shook.
Brando raised his spear high, his eyes blazing—not with rage, but with pride and unshakable will.
"We are a great people! A mighty nation! No one has ever stood before us in open battle without trembling!"
His voice echoed across the field.
"But today—the Empire dares to send its legions, surrounding our homeland! They stand proud at our gates, thinking we will bow!"
He drew a deep breath and roared:
"I don't care what clan you're from, how grand your history is, your mission, or whose name you wear on your emblem! Today... is about one thing: Our homeland!
Smokeland!
Freedom!
We are the Doliex—and we will not yield! Not now! Not ever!"
Cheers and war cries erupted from the Doliex cavalry. Spears rose, banners unfurled, and their hearts beat as one—with the fury to crush anyone who dared trespass upon their ancestral soil.
"Commander! The enemy is raising a flag—it might be diplomacy... or a declaration of open war! Thaldrim is there!" shouted a scout, pointing toward the horizon.
Gubel Veynor, commander of the gateguard, narrowed his eyes.
"Just as we predicted... it's a request for open war. They want us to come out and fight on their terms... and we shall grant it!" he muttered, grinning.
"Now! Signal the cavalry. We begin open combat, as Thaldrim desires!" he commanded.
"Yes, Commander!" the soldier replied, raising the war scarf—a signal to the cavalry.
A loudspeaker from the gate tower blared, its voice echoing to the enemy lines.
"Open battle... just as you asked, Thaldrim!" Gubel's voice rang out, sharp and defiant.
In the Imperial ranks, Thaldrim grinned.
"See... as I said. The Doliex are proud and arrogant. They'll open their own gates."
"Deploy our strongest fighters now!" Eryndor ordered.
"No, my lord. Send the weakest first... force them out!" Jolloy advised sharply.
"Right, we need bait. There must be a sacrifice," Thaldrim added coldly.
Eryndor paused, then altered his command.
"Send in our thirty thousand weakest troops. If they can't hold... let them retreat in disarray."
The Imperial troops began advancing toward Thalvion's gate.
"Commander! They're approaching—thirty thousand of them!" a scout reported.
"Good. Open the gates. Doliex cavalry—charge!" Gubel ordered with fire in his voice.
Brando Velary mounted his horse.
"Commander, they're just bait. I'll make them regret ever being born."
"Troops! Arrowhead formation! Forward!!" Brando thundered.
Thousands of horses surged through Thalvion's massive gate, forming a razor-sharp arrowhead that plunged straight into the enemy's center. The Imperial forces formed a crescent, hoping to trap and crush the Doliex in a tightening grip.
But it didn't take long. The Imperial frontlines were broken through in an instant. They were no match. The Doliex forces swept them mercilessly, cutting deep into the rear ranks.
"Curve left and right—now!" Brando shouted, signaling with a crimson flag.
The cavalry split like two blades of a sharpened sword. Swiftly wheeling from behind, they struck from an unexpected angle. Instantly... the enemy formation shattered into pieces.
Seeing his army crumble, Eryndor flew into a rage.
"Fire the launchers! Level everything!"
"But sir! Our troops are still on the field!" a soldier cried, panicked.
"They're already dead! Now or never! Launch everything!!"
Two hundred and ten thousand Imperial soldiers moved as one, shaking the earth beneath them. The giant catapult units unleashed massive projectiles toward the heart of the battlefield.
One explosion after another rained down without mercy.
The Doliex troops instantly formed a loose mesh formation—spacing out between warriors to dodge the incoming blasts. Meanwhile, the Imperial army was torn apart by its own onslaught.
Bodies were hurled through the air, screams echoed—total chaos.
"Fall back! Retreat to the wall! Formation... CRANE!" Brando roared.
The Doliex forces shifted into the Silver Crane Formation—a dignified retreat mimicking the outstretched wings of a crane. They stepped back gracefully, in perfect sync, but with blades ever ready to strike down anyone who dared approach. The spacing between their ranks formed a curved line—elegant, yet lethally precise.
"Block their way back! Don't let them reach the gate!!" Eryndor barked, ablaze with fury.
The Imperial troops gave chase, overconfident, recklessly charging too deep.
They had no idea... they were being lured into a trap.
"Stop, Eryndor! They've passed the line! Pull back your men!" Thaldrim warned.
"No! Fifty thousand of them can't all get through at once. We'll crush them from behind right now!" Eryndor said with certainty.
But he was dead wrong.
Instead of charging through the gate, the Doliex forces wheeled around once more!
They intercepted the Imperial troops who had pushed too far in. With a lethal tactic, they now attacked from the rear, all while remaining in the looming shadow of Thalvion Gate.
And in the distance… another elite Doliex unit emerged.
The freshly arrived Imperial forces were now completely trapped.
But then... something happened that no one could have foreseen.
Without warning, the wide plains before Thalvion Gate—seemingly just ordinary terrain—began to tremble. The shaking intensified, followed by a deep rumble of grinding metal and clashing stone from beneath the earth.
"What is that?!" a Doliex soldier shouted, eyes wide in shock.
Suddenly… the ground behind the Imperial troops cracked open!
A massive mechanism activated, splitting the land in two.
From below, a towering wall of black steel surged upward—sealing shut and enclosing the entire Imperial force in the middle!
The wall rose seventy feet high. Thick, immovable.
Siege towers, war machines, and catapults were crushed or buried by the colossal structure erupting from the ground—as though the earth itself swallowed them whole.
"What the—?! What's happening?!" cried one of the stunned Doliex knights.
The entire Doliex force froze. Even Gubel Veynor—who had guarded Thalvion Gate for decades—had never seen the mechanism activated before.
"By sky and stone... we've had this all along?" Gubel murmured in disbelief.
.
"Brother... we need to test the strength of our Doliex warriors—let them fight first," said Veynor Lauxi to his sibling, Grand Elder Veynor Grauri, who stood calmly atop the watchtower.
But the Elder replied, voice low and cold, "There's no time to watch them bleed. The Empire has too many soldiers... too many resources. But one great surprise—just one—will make them think a thousand times before striking again."
And just as he said...
Drak'Vhorr and Arthemiron—the Doliex weapons of mass destruction—roared back to life!
Fifteen-meter-long steel arrows launched from beyond the walls, piercing through the Imperial armor, driving into the earth, obliterating everything in their path.
Each thunderous impact echoed across the valley.
"Destroy everything!! Show no mercy!" cried Mordin Katoki, commander of the gate's left flank.
At the same moment, Brando Velary's cavalry charged in—slaughtering the remnants.
No pity. No pause.
Their swords, spears, and arrows became instruments of execution.
Screams filled the air. The ground turned crimson. The sky darkened.
One hundred and fifty thousand Imperial troops...
Gone. Trapped. Flattened. Buried.
And as the sun dipped below the western horizon, the massive wall slowly receded back into the earth, leaving behind one of the most brutal sights the Guava Valley battlefield had ever witnessed.
The heads of the Imperial commanders were severed and mounted—on Doliex blades, spears, and arrows.
Thalvion Gate had triumphed.
Utterly.
Horrifically.
Unshakably.