The battlefield trembled beneath the weight of Valgamt’s advancing forces. Emmet and his group stood ready, their positions spread across the uneven terrain. From their vantage point, the glow of magical energy among the enemy ranks became apparent. Nobles clad in fine robes and polished armor strode alongside the disciplined soldiers, their hands crackling with arcane power.

  These spellcasters, while not as powerful as Tabitha, still posed a significant threat. The air shimmered with their summoned fireballs, ice shards, and protective barriers. They chanted in unison, their magic blending seamlessly with the rigid discipline of the Crown’s Wrath.

  Emmet watched them intently, his mind racing. “They’re better coordinated than I expected,” he muttered.

  Tabitha, standing at his side, narrowed her eyes at the enemy casters. “They’re relying on rote magic, nothing creative or adaptive. That’s their weakness. But it’s also why they’re dangerous in a group.”

  Doramm stood like a dark tower behind them, his skeletal frame emanating an unsettling glow. “Let me carve through their ranks,” he rumbled. “Their magic will falter when faced with fear.”

  Emmet nodded. “You’ll have your chance. But first, we need to break their formation.”

  The Crown’s Wrath advanced in a tight phalanx, their shields locked and their spears bristling like the spines of a massive beast. Behind the front lines, the spellcasters prepared their barrage. Fireballs began to soar through the air, their fiery trails illuminating the battlefield like falling stars.

  “Shield wall!” Emmet shouted.

  A shimmering barrier erupted in front of the group, Tabitha’s magic flaring to life. The fireballs slammed against the barrier, their explosive force sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Tabitha grimaced but held firm, her hands glowing with raw power.

  “They’re testing us,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “And they’ll find us ready,” Emmet replied.

  He raised his spear, the tip glowing faintly with a golden light. With a sharp motion, he pointed it toward the enemy line. His serpent summon surged forward, its massive body weaving through the chaos with terrifying speed. It crashed into the phalanx, scattering soldiers like leaves in a storm.

  Doramm followed close behind, his massive blade cleaving through shields and armor with unnatural ease. The death knight was a force of nature, his strikes leaving trails of dark energy that lingered in the air.

  The nobles rallied quickly, their chants rising above the din of battle. A trio of them stepped forward, their combined magic forming a massive spear of ice. They hurled it toward Doramm, its razor-sharp tip aimed at his exposed ribs.

  Doramm raised his sword, the dark blade absorbing the impact of the ice spear with a resonating clang. He staggered slightly but remained unbroken, his glowing eyes locking onto the casters.

  “You’ll need more than that,” he growled.

  Tabitha stepped forward, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. A burst of blue fire erupted from her palms, streaking toward the spellcasters. They scrambled to erect shields, their barriers shimmering under the intense heat.

  “You think your borrowed power can stand against me?” Tabitha called out, her voice ringing with authority.

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  One of the nobles, a young man with a sneer on his face, shouted back. “We are the blood of the empire! Your tricks mean nothing!”

  Tabitha’s eyes narrowed. With a flick of her wrist, she intensified the flames, shattering their shields and sending them sprawling.

  While his summons and Tabitha occupied the bulk of the enemy’s attention, Emmet moved with purpose. He darted through the chaos, his spear a blur as he struck down enemy soldiers. His serpent coiled and lashed beside him, its fangs dripping with venom that left its victims writhing in agony.

  He reached a group of spellcasters near the rear, their attention focused on maintaining a magical barrier over their comrades. Emmet’s spear struck with precision, breaking their concentration. The barrier flickered and fell, leaving the soldiers vulnerable.

  A noble woman with a crown-shaped sigil on her robes turned to face him, her hands crackling with lightning. She unleashed a bolt directly at Emmet, the air around him sizzling with energy.

  Emmet rolled to the side, the bolt narrowly missing him. He lunged forward, his spear aimed at her chest. She conjured a blade of pure energy, parrying his strike with surprising skill.

  “You fight well for a commoner,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

  “And you talk too much for a corpse,” Emmet shot back, twisting his spear to disarm her. He followed up with a swift strike, the blunt end of his weapon knocking her unconscious.

  The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos. Emmet’s group, though smaller in number, fought with a ferocity born of necessity. Doramm’s relentless assault broke the enemy’s vanguard, while Tabitha’s magic kept their spellcasters on the defensive.

  The serpent wreaked havoc in the rear ranks, its massive body constricting groups of soldiers and crushing them with ease.

  Valgamt, observing the battle from his horse, scowled. “These savages fight like demons,” he muttered. He raised his sword high, signaling a charge.

  The remaining soldiers surged forward, their formation less disciplined but no less dangerous. Emmet’s group braced themselves, their resolve unshaken.

  As the lines clashed again, Emmet found himself face-to-face with Valgamt. The noble dismounted, his massive sword gleaming in the firelight.

  “You’ve caused enough trouble,” Valgamt said, his voice cold. “This ends now.”

  Emmet raised his spear, meeting Valgamt’s gaze. “You’re welcome to try.”

  The two warriors clashed with a ferocity that drew the attention of those around them. Valgamt’s strikes were powerful and precise, each swing of his blade forcing Emmet to dodge or deflect.

  Emmet countered with speed and cunning, his spear darting like a viper. He landed a shallow cut on Valgamt’s arm, but the noble barely flinched.

  “You fight well,” Valgamt admitted. “But skill won’t save you.”

  “It’s saved me before,” Emmet replied, his movements never slowing.

  The duel raged on, neither man willing to give an inch. Around them, the battle began to turn in Emmet’s favor. Tabitha unleashed a torrent of fire that forced the remaining spellcasters to retreat, while Doramm’s dark energy sapped the strength of the soldiers around him.

  Finally, Emmet saw his opening. Valgamt overextended on a swing, leaving his side exposed. Emmet thrust his spear forward, the blade piercing the noble’s armor and driving him to the ground.

  Valgamt coughed, blood staining his lips. “This… isn’t over,” he rasped.

  Emmet pulled his spear free, his expression grim. “It is for you.”

  With Valgamt defeated, the remaining soldiers of the Crown’s Wrath began to scatter. The field fell silent save for the groans of the wounded and the crackle of lingering flames.

  Emmet surveyed the battlefield, his chest heaving with exertion. They had won, but the cost was heavy. The dead and dying lay scattered across the field, their sacrifices a stark reminder of the world they were fighting to rebuild.

  “We move forward,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of their shared losses. “This was just one battle. The real fight is still ahead.”

  Tabitha placed a hand on his shoulder, her magic already healing the wounds of those who remained. Doramm stood silently, his blade resting in the dirt as the dark energy around him began to fade.

  The path to reclaiming the lost lands was far from over, but Haven’s warriors had proven their strength. For now, they had earned a moment of respite.