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Even some of the Veynar elders and commanders were puzzled. "Shouldn’t they be close by for support?" one elder asked, looking toward Veylara.

Sol’s voice grew firm, cutting off the discussion.

"No. Keep them far back in the reeds. That is my instruction. If your riders can’t keep them quiet while the field is peaceful, they’ll just cause panic among our recruits when the true horde roars. Move them now."

Chief Vane, who had been watching everything from the back with a cold expression, slowly raised his hand to stop his men from arguing further. "Do as the general says," Vane said smoothly, his voice calm. "Move the hounds to the southern reeds."

The riders turned their whimpering mounts around, somhow guiding them into the thick, yellowing stalks far away from the pass.

Sol watched them leave, completely satisfied. He had his own reasons for this. No matter what, he didn’t trust the Zharun at all.

If they turned on the Veynar mid-battle, their mobile cavalry unit would be positioned too far away to do any real damage. It was a simple precaution, but in a battle this large, it could save the whole army.

With the hounds out of the way, the army began to move into its final positions.

Warchief Veylara gave a single, sharp nod to her warriors. The battle-hardened Veynar warriors glided up the steep trails of the slate cliffs with total silence, their bodies quickly disappearing beneath the shamans’ layered camouflage.

Chief Vane waved his hand, leading his thousand leather-armored warriors toward the secondary ridges further down the pass. His thirty-three captains moved their blocks into a separate cluster, staying completely isolated from the Veynar positions just as Sol had ordered.

The clearing was finally empty again.

...

On the other side of the mountain pass, the three hundred young Veynar recruits waited anxiously.

The barren wasteland stretched endlessly around them, silent and unforgiving. The sun beat down mercilessly, turning the cracked clay into a furnace.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours.

The distant rumble they had heard earlier had faded, leaving only the oppressive silence and their own racing hearts.

They didn’t know what was happening on the other side.

Some of the bolder ones stood up, pacing nervously.

"We should go check it out," one whispered urgently. "What if Lord Sol and the others are being attacked by the Coalition by surprise?"

"Yeah," another agreed, gripping his spear. "We can’t just sit here like cowards while they fight alone!"

But a third recruit, a slightly older boy with a determined look, shook his head.

"Lord Sol ordered us to remain here," he said firmly, though his voice trembled slightly. "We should stay. If we go, we’ll only be a burden."

The group fell into uneasy silence. The words hit hard.

One of the youngest recruits, barely fifteen, looked down at his shaking hands.

"He’s right... we aren’t strong like Lord Sol. We’d just get in the way. We’d be crushed like insects."

The realization washed over them like cold water. They were young, inexperienced and most importantly weak, very weak.

In a real battle against thousands, they would be nothing but meat for the enemy’s blades. The helplessness of their situation crashed down on them all at once.

"We’re useless right now," one muttered bitterly. "Just bait..."

The painful truth sank in deeper with every passing second. They had trained for years, dreamed of becoming great hunters and warriors like their fathers and mothers, but here they were ... sitting in the dirt, waiting for someone else to fight their battles.

The difference between them and Sol was like night and day. He moved like a force of nature, cutting through enemies with terrifying ease, while they could barely hold their spears steady without shaking.

He faced Layer 3 monsters without flinching, while they would probably freeze or run at the first real clash.

A girl with a cute bubbly face, buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"I feel so pathetic," she whispered. "We’re supposed to be the future of the tribe... but we can’t even protect ourselves. If Lord Sol wasn’t here, we’d already be dead."

The words struck like arrows. The group sat in heavy silence, the weight of their own weakness pressing down on their shoulders like an invisible mountain.

Shame burned in their chests. Frustration clawed at their throats.

They had always thought they were ready.

They had trained hard, hunted small beasts, dreamed of glory. But today, facing the reality of war, they saw the truth.

They were weak.

Painfully, humiliatingly weak.

"We’re just... children playing at being warriors," one boy said quietly, voice cracking. "Lord Sol is carrying all of us on his back. If he falls... we fall with him."

The helplessness was crushing. They wanted to be useful. They wanted to fight. But they knew, deep down, that rushing in now would only make things worse. They would be a burden. Dead weight. The kind of weakness that got people killed.

The fear was still there, thick and choking, but now it was mixed with a deep, burning shame and a quiet, painful resolve. They wanted to change. They needed to change.

Just then, they saw Sol coolly rushing down the pass.

Even though his speed was super fast, it felt like he was just casually walking. His black Rockhorn armor gleamed under the sun, his posture relaxed and confident, as if he had simply taken a short stroll instead of crossing a battlefield.

The recruits’ eyes widened in awe and relief.

Seeing him return so calmly, so effortlessly, a spark of determination ignited in their chests like a flame in the dark.

"We have to get stronger," one whispered fiercely, clenching his fists. "We can’t be a burden to him ever again."

The others nodded, their fear slowly transforming into a quiet, burning resolve. They would train harder. They would fight smarter. They would become warriors worthy of following a man like Sol.

Sol stopped in front of them, his expression calm as ever.