Part One Hundred Twenty-Six — The First Wave

What follows is the account eventually pieced together from everyone who actually stood on that field — Enzo's own measured retelling, Eris's careful precision, the elite trio's shared memory of a day none of them are likely to forget.

　They found Myrath's army arrayed across open plains two days' march from Horizoncrest's border — a genuinely staggering sight, fifteen thousand soldiers stretched in disciplined formation, banners bright with the kingdom's own confident crest, the front ranks bristling with casters already visibly preparing their signature spellwork.

"That's a lot of people," Luke said, quiet, some of his earlier confidence visibly tempered by the sheer physical scale of what actually stood before them.

"It's a lot of people about to learn something considerably unpleasant about their own assumptions," Eris said, steady, already moving into position at the group's front.

She's terrifying, honestly, when she gets like this, Enzo thought, watching her settle into readiness with total, unshaken calm.

　King Rathbon himself rode at the army's center, visible even from a distance by the elaborate crown that caught the morning light with obvious, deliberate ostentation.

"They haven't slowed their advance," one of the elite trio's subordinates reported. "No apparent intention to negotiate before engaging."

Of course not, Enzo thought, grim. Kings who've never lost a fight rarely feel the need to talk first.

　The first wave came without warning — ten thousand casters unleashing level eight explosive spellwork simultaneously, a barrage that darkened the sky itself with condensed, weaponized mana, the kind of attack that had, by every historical account, ended entire opposing armies in a single devastating exchange.

"Now," Eris said, calm despite the approaching wall of destruction, and activated the barrier she'd spent weeks quietly perfecting.

　Null bled outward from her position, cold and absolute, meeting the incoming wave of condensed explosive mana with the same fundamental incompatibility that had already defeated every ordinary force it had ever encountered.

　The explosion, when it struck the barrier, simply — stopped.

　Dispersed into harmless, drifting smoke and dust, the devastating spellwork unmade before it ever reached anyone standing behind Eris's steady, unwavering line.

It worked. It actually worked, at this scale.

　The dust cleared slowly, revealing Horizoncrest's entire assembled force still standing, entirely unharmed, exactly where they'd been before the attack.

　Myrath's own front ranks erupted into premature celebration, entirely unaware that their strongest opening assault had simply failed to land at all.

"They think they've won," Celica said, disbelieving. "They can't even see we're still standing."

"The dust's still settling," Elva said. "Give it a moment."

　The celebration died the instant the smoke fully cleared — fifteen thousand soldiers staring in stunned, disbelieving silence at an enemy force their strongest possible attack hadn't managed to so much as scratch.

This is the exact moment Ashford's own army felt, probably, Enzo thought, watching the visible confusion ripple through Myrath's disciplined ranks. Right before everything they believed about their own strength started properly falling apart.

　Horizoncrest's own forces held their position rather than immediately pressing the advantage, exactly as Enzo had instructed — no unnecessary aggression, restraint held firmly in place despite the obvious tactical opening a full counterattack might have offered.

"Hold," Enzo called, his voice carrying easily across the field. "We're not here to slaughter people who came expecting an easy victory. Let me try what Kai actually asked for, first."

　He stepped forward, alone, unhurried, closing the distance toward Myrath's own confused and increasingly uneasy front lines with the calm, measured confidence of someone entirely unbothered by the fifteen thousand soldiers currently reassessing whether victory remained as certain as they'd assumed only moments earlier.

Let's see if reason actually stands a chance here, before this has to become something considerably worse.

　He raised a hand, requesting parley, and waited to see whether King Rathbon's own pride would allow him to actually hear it.