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The command to advance was given. They were to march into the lightning-struck, fire-scorched, earth-rending, air-boiling tempest, a realm where only death awaited. Anyone who valued their life couldn’t help but recoil.
"We’re to charge there?"
"This is insane!"
"We’ll all be killed!"
The soldiers trembled in terror. The knights, forcing composure, did their best to rally them.
"Trust in the archmage!"
"She will protect us!"
"Would she have given such an order otherwise?"
Of course, the knights were afraid too. But they had their own convictions. It was an order that defied all logic. And precisely because it did, it had to mean there was some unthinkable, miraculous twist waiting.
After all, the one who gave the command was none other than the very person who had summoned this apocalypse!
"Have faith!"
"Lady Elezar will not let us fall!"
The knights took the lead, and the soldiers followed behind.
"Ye-yeah! No way the Archmage would march us straight to our deaths!"
Surely there had to be a reason—a purpose—for ordering them into what could only be death. Thus, the army marched toward hell. And soon, the front...
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