A Beckoning Battle

The air before sunrise was fresh, filled with a subtle hint of dew and the bracing chill of the winter breeze. Andre came out of the Reaping place, feeling a peaceful sensation coming over him. The ceremony had exhausted him, resulting in a satisfying fatigue afterwards. However, hidden underneath the exhaustion, a tight knot of tension had formed. Today was the day.

He put on his chainmail chest plate, feeling the unfamiliar weight rest comfortably on his shoulders. The crest of the 10th Legion, a phoenix engraved in the metal, shimmered softly in the dim light. He fastened his reliable sword, Voidbane, to his back, feeling the comforting worn leather grip under his hand. A brief look verified that the dimensional ring was safely on his finger, hidden beneath a well-used leather glove.

He completed his readiness with a worn-out viking helmet, its horned peak creating a shadow over his serious face. A shield secured to his left arm complemented his outfit, with armored pants being the final touch.

Coming out of the barracks, he saw Corvus walking back and forth by the stables, with Res and Marcus on either side. Their typically lively expressions were marked with a serious resolve that matched his own.

Corvus, with his emerald Mana Arc glowing softly, turned around and a slight smile appeared on his lips. "Are you ready, Andre?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Elder Corvus," Andre responded confidently.

Corvus gave a brief nod and guided them towards a row of robust mountain horses, their shiny dark coats reflecting the early morning light. Andre identified the horse designated to him - a mighty animal with a flaming mane and wise brown eyes.

A quiet buzz of movement emanated from the gathered soldiers. Hundreds of experienced warriors, each carrying the burden of the upcoming fight. They were a group of 543 individuals who possessed formidable strength, but Andre knew the odds were stacked against them.

With the sky displaying shades of orange and red as the sun rose, Corvus got on his horse while his voice could be heard clearly over the increasing noise.

"Brothers and sisters," he boomed, his voice resonating with power, "today we ride not just for glory or revenge. Today, we ride for freedom. For the liberation of our fallen kingdoms. For the future of Decaoria!"

A cheer broke out among the gathered soldiers, resonating through the valley like a war chant. Andre felt a rush of adrenaline flowing within him. There was fear present, a snake twisting in his stomach, but it was overshadowed by a fiery resolve. He was ready to fight. He would stand up for his family, his friends, and the very freedom he cherished.

He looked at Anya, who was standing with a group of women saying goodbye to their sons and husbands. They looked into each other's eyes and communicated silently. A brief moment of terror, a call to be careful, a strong desire for his return.

He lifted his hand in a trembling salute, a slight gesture of comfort. As a tear streamed down her face, he noticed a glimmer of pride within it - the pride of a mother bravely sending her son off to battle, a son who would never retreat from a challenge.

Andre took a final, deep breath before urging his horse to move ahead. The earth trembled under the pressure of countless hooves as they journeyed towards the Ironclad Duchy, approaching the Supreme Dungeon for a crucial battle that would decide the destiny of their world. The decision was final. There was no going back. The battle for Decaoria begun.

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As they rode into the Ironclad Duchy, the once frosty hills gave way to a harsh mountain terrain, the path a treacherous series of switchbacks that snaked across rocky slopes and granite cliffs. The clouds were as grey as gossamer and a cold wind blew.

All of a sudden, Corvus stopped, putting up a hand to request quiet. The sound of conversation stopped abruptly, giving way to a tense quietness. The atmosphere, once filled with the sounds of hooves and muscles under strain, grew dense with a chilling presence. Andre recognized the feeling from his past - a cold, oppressive darkness that gripped at his senses.

"Undead," Corvus muttered, his voice low and grim.

As if on cue, a chilling battle cry pierced the air, resonating along the mountainside. From the crest of the hill a group of gigantic figures appeared, their shapes moving clumsily and hideously. Undead giants, their bodies now rotting flesh over brittle bone, moved down the hill with a snarling group of Ogres and Orcs, their decaying flesh teeming with maggots. It was a horrifying reality, a direct insult to existence.

Andre's blood turned cold, yet fear was swiftly overshadowed by a rush of determination powered by adrenaline. This was it. The first test of their mettle.

Andre yelled and acted without waiting for instructions. He urged his horse on, riding down the hill towards the oncoming swarm of undead. Marcus and Res quickly reacted in the same way and were closely following him.

Andre drew Voidbane, the familiar weight of the sword feeling re assuring in his hands.

The first Ogre, a massive creature with one shining eye, rushed towards him, emitting a disgusting odor of decay and the awful stench of death. Andre narrowly dodged the decaying fist of the creature and counterattacked with his sword. The blade made contact with skin, producing a disgusting squelching sound. Black Ichor splattered on Andre's chest armor, yet he hardly noticed the force. He dodged to the side, blocking a rough axe swung by an Orc with a fierce growl.

The battlefield erupted into a disorderly brawl. Andre battled fiercely out of desperation, his actions a quick blur of steel and sweat. Voidbane sang its lethal melody, cutting through both skin and bone effortlessly. Marcus, with his fathers sword, twirled around the massive creatures, his nimbleness challenging their slow movements. Res, her twin daggers moved with incredible speed, defended the front against the attack, her daggers creating a path of blood as it moved past.

They fought like cornered wolves, their skills honed to razor sharpness by months of rigorous training. Yet, the tide seemed to be turning against them. The sheer number of the undead was overwhelming, their relentless assault pushing them back towards the precipice.

As Andre's resolve started to weaken due to despair, a sudden burst of power emerged from Corvus. The Elder, covered in a green light, slammed his fist into the ground. A chilling phenomenon unfolded from the core of the mountain as the earth trembled. Huge sharp rocks that appeared to be sculpted from the mountain suddenly rose from the earth, impaling the unaware undead. Giants were halved, their loud roars abruptly silenced. Ogres folded beneath the earth's heavy burden, their bodies skewered on a macabre forest of rocks.

The remaining undead, their numbers greatly reduced by the attack, faltered momentarily.

But the brief respite was shattered as a bone-chilling shriek pierced the air. A figure unlike anything Andre had ever seen emerged from the crest of the hill – a skeletal dragon, its rotting wings casting a monstrous shadow over the battlefield.

Andre stared at the abomination, a knot of fear tightening in his gut. This was no mere ambush. This was a calculated attack, and the dragon was its harbinger. They had just stepped through the front door of hell.

"By the Divines…" Andre choked out, a wave of primal fear washing over him. This wasn't a fight they were prepared for.

Corvus, however, stood unflinchingly, his emerald Mana Arc blazing with renewed intensity. "Hold your ground!" he roared, his voice a beacon of defiance amidst the terror. "We face a new challenge, but we will not falter!"

Corvus lifted his hand, letting out a battle cry that reverberated throughout the valley. The ground beneath the dragon twisted and seethed. Colossal blades emerged from the ground with a horrifying sound of tortured metal. They flew up, piercing into the bony frame of the dragon with a horrifying crunch.

The dragon let out a furious screech, a noise that grated on Andre's sanity. Its huge wings flapped, causing a storm of dust and debris to soar through the air. The ground shook while the creature struggled to shake off the blades.

Corvus, not bothered by the dragon's efforts, went for his weapon. He pulled out a longsword from his cloak, which sparkled with a mystical emerald light. The sword was incredibly light in his grip, but emitted a powerful energy that made the surrounding air snap.

"For Decaoria!" Corvus said as he let out a loud cry as he ran towards the injured dragon. He became a blur of emerald light, leaving behind a path of glowing sparks.

Andre was amazed as he observed the Elder climbing the dragon's side with agility that seemed impossible, defying gravity. In an instant, he swiftly approached the bony neck with a graceful and deadly whirlwind of movements.

The clash of Corvus' emerald blade against the dragon's bone was a thunderous clash. Sparks showered down as the Elder parried a ferocious swipe from the dragon's massive claw. Corvus retaliated with a flurry of strikes, his blade carving through the dragon's ribs with a sickening crunch. Andre could see one thing on Corvus's face. A smile.

Fueled by anger and suffering, the dragon writhed and contorted in an attempt to shake the Elder off its back. With one last, frantic push, it crashed its form into the side of the mountain, causing the earth to shake. Corvus struggled to maintain balance as he clung dangerously to a shattered rib cage for a moment.

But then, something incredible happened. The emerald light surrounding Corvus pulsed with renewed intensity, pushing back the flames. The Elder emerged from the inferno, seemingly unharmed, his eyes blazing with an even fiercer fire.

With one last deafening cry, Corvus propelled himself into the air. His green sword, shining brightly, came down with the strength of lightning. He split the dragon's skull in half with one quick movement. The skull fell off first, then the rest of the body, crumbling into a pile of noisy bones.

Silence enveloped the battlefield. Andre remained in place, shaking, with his lungs desperate for oxygen. Looking around, he observed the scene of complete destruction.

The first surprise attack was intense, but the battle against the skeletal dragon felt like something from a terrifying dream. However, they managed to endure.

Corvus, breathing heavily but otherwise uninjured, stood in the middle of the destruction. The emerald Mana Arc he possessed gradually disappeared, enveloping him in the soft light of the evening sun as it began to set. He faced them, a smug grin appearing on his mouth.

"That," he croaked, his voice fatigued yet unwavering, "was not what I planned for today. Nevertheless, we remain triumphant.

The remaining Initiates let out a cheer, although it was rough and uneven.

They had witnessed the power of their Elder, a power that defied logic and reason. But more importantly, they had witnessed his courage, his unwavering determination to protect them. In that moment, Andre wasn't just looking at Corvus, the enigmatic leader. He was looking at a beacon of hope.