The air trembled with the low growl of engines, the distant rumble of artillery warming up, and the metallic chorus of soldiers preparing for the largest confrontation of the war.

From the ridge overlooking the field, Noah watched the horizon turn pale gold.

His reflection in the tinted glass of the Atonement command bridge looked older than the last time he'd seen it — shadows carved deeper beneath his eyes, lips pressed into a faint line that neither hope nor dread could move.

Below, the Northern Army spread out in disciplined formations: shield lines gleaming like a wall of ice, mana cannons dug into trenches, banners snapping in the wind. Every soldier stood silent, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Across the field, the Central-South coalition mirrored them — an ocean of white, their banners crowned with the insignia of the St. Eldred Church.

It would be the first true large-scale battle since Durnholde.

Noah adjusted the strap of his long blazer and stepped down from the bridge, boots echoing sharply against the metal walkway.

"May," he called through the radio, voice steady,

"begin aerial positioning. Keep the bombardment altitude above two thousand meters. No direct descent until I give the signal."

A crackle followed, then Captain May's calm reply, her voice low and measured.

"Understood, Commander. Targeting coordinates locked. The sky's yours."

"Ren?"

"Supply caravans are rotating eastward," came Colonel Ren Harven's tired voice from the logistics outpost

"We've fortified our flanks with reinforcements from the 8th division. Ammunition will hold for six hours if we don't waste a single shell."

"Good," Noah said quietly.

---

The first cannon blast tore the silence apart.

Flames erupted across the plain, the ground shaking as dozens of artillery rounds carved molten scars into the earth. The Northern cannons fired in perfect rhythm — thunder rolling across the valley. Dust and smoke blanketed the field.

Then the Southern horns answered.

From the opposing ridges, the Holy Knights of the South surged forward, white armor glinting like shards of sunlight. Mana-forged lances erupted into golden flame as they galloped, the holy sigils on their chestplates flaring with divine radiance. Their voices rose in synchronized chants — a prayer that distorted the very air.

"First line! Shields up!" Noah shouted.

The Northern infantry snapped into formation, interlocking shields as firelight reflected off the steel edges. The first impact came like a meteor — the charge of the Holy Knights slamming into them with explosive force. Metal screamed against metal.

One knight's sword cleaved through a Northern spear, bursting into a shower of sparks, only for the knight to be struck down by a hammer from the side. Soldiers shouted, their cries muffled beneath the roar of battle.

From above, May's aerial bombers swooped down like hawks. Blue runic circles ignited beneath their hulls as mana bombs plummeted to the ground — detonations painting the field in alternating bursts of azure and orange.

"Adjust trajectory by fifteen degrees!" she yelled to her co-pilot as the airship lurched. "Their cavalry's adapting to our fire patterns!"

Lightning crackled from the enemy's mages below, lashing upward, striking one of the airships through the wing. The vessel spiraled, smoke trailing like a dying comet before it steadied again.

May gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her temple. "Not today." She adjusted the lever, pushing the engines harder. The Aquila rose, defying the smoke.

---

Meanwhile, on the ground, Noah had descended.

He moved like a dark flame through the chaos, cutting through the melee with precise, surgical strikes. His spear hummed with runic resonance as it met enchanted steel. Each motion of his arm was measured...a calculated sweep here, a parry there.

Soldiers moved around him like a tide, but his presence cut a clear path.

A Central soldier lunged from the side, aiming for his throat. Noah turned the spear aside with a flick of his wrist, shifted his stance, and drove his elbow into the man's chestplate.

The soldier stumbled back then crumpled as Noah's spear pierced through the narrow slit beneath his pauldron.

Predict the next breath, not the next step.

That was the first rule he'd ever learned in the span of a few months

Behind him, Ren barked orders to the engineers over the comms.

"We need the secondary supply line NOW! If those flame mages breach the west trench, we lose the whole flank!"

Explosions punctuated his words, shaking the makeshift bunkers.

Sweat streaked his face as he pored over maps, marking positions even as the room trembled from distant shockwaves.

Outside, the world was chaos.

Northern soldiers charged again — shouting as their boots trampled over blood-soaked mud. Spears thrust. Shields broke. A warcry erupted across the line:

"FOR THE NORTH!"

Draven's counter came from the sky.

A blinding flash — and suddenly, the Holy Knights descended from the sun.

They had used mirrored shields, reflecting sunlight and illusions of flight. The glare made them invisible until the moment of impact.

"Above us!" someone screamed.

They fell like comets, swords burning white.

One Northern division was annihilated in seconds. The impact sent dust and blood flying, bodies twisting in the heat.

The shockwave threw Noah back several feet.

He hit the ground hard, coughing, dirt in his mouth.

Through blurred vision, he saw the knights in immaculate formation, led by one with a crimson-edged sword and black hair scorched by sunlight.

The second-in-command.

Noah stood, gripping his spear tightly, the veins in his hand pulsing with effort.

He met the knight's charge head-on.

Their blades collided, the impact ringing through the air like a bell.

The knight pressed forward with divine strength.

Noah yielded slightly, then redirected the force, spinning to deliver a cut across the man's side. Sparks scattered, their faces inches apart.

He twisted the sword and broke the lock. The knight stumbled back — only for a bombardment round to strike behind him. The explosion swallowed him whole.

The heat washed over Noah's face, his eyes reflecting orange flame.

---

By midday, the battlefield was an open wound. The plains no longer had color — only red, grey, and black.

The ground steamed with a metallic scent that stuck to the lungs.

May's voice crackled through the radio, strained but steady.

"Commander, this is the last of our munitions. We can hold the sky for ten more minutes, no longer."

"Understood," Noah replied, wiping blood from his cheek. "Pull back to high altitude after that. I'll cover the withdrawal."

Ren's voice came next, half drowned by background explosions. "Ground logistics are gone. We're fighting on borrowed time, Noah."

Noah inhaled slowly, glancing at the smoke rising from both sides. "Then let's make every second count."

---

When the sun began to sink, the battle finally slowed. The world dimmed, shadows lengthening across the plains. Neither side had gained an inch. Both had lost too much.

Central's army began its retreat at twilight — organized, deliberate, not defeated. The Northern lines didn't pursue. They stood where they were, exhausted, bleeding, their boots sunk into the ruins of what had once been grass.

Noah stood at the center of it all.

The wind carried the smell of iron and smoke. He could still hear the shouting, the thunder, the screams that didn't stop.

Around him, medics ran. Soldiers called names that no one answered. The sky burned orange, then dimmed to grey.

For the first time since the war began, both sides withdrew simultaneously.