Prince Spencer was a whirlwind of fury, his one good eye burning with determination. "You want Wyfn-Garde?" he shouted as he cleaved through two Foolerian soldiers in one swing.
"Then fight for it, you cowards! Or are you only brave when facing children and farmers?"
Warren, his cousin who was also at war with them looked at him with a toothy grin, blood smeared all over his face.
The Wyfn-Garde soldiers rallied around their leaders, pushing the Foolerian forces back step by step. Though they were battered and weary, they refused to break.
Among the Foolerian ranks, whispers spread like wildfire: We can't win. Not against him. Not against the demon.
By the time night began to fall, Fooleria's once-mighty army was in disarray. Soldiers fled in droves, their morale shattered by the sheer will and might of Wyfn-Garde.
Alaric stood at the heart of it all, his armor drenched in rain and blood, his sword hanging loosely in his grip.