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The Holy War(2)

Franz’s POV

The sun reflected off the ivory-white tiles of Lion’s Street in Ampere Seale. Charles Mann, a former archbishop of Ampere Seale, once described it as: “ A street that shines as bright as the snow and is like a ladder leading to the clouds.”

Four hundred and sixty-five years ago, the White Lion Legion was assembled by King Erik on this street - and now they once again had appeared here.

Their spears shone, and their armor was covered with snow.

“Never rest until the enemy is dead.”

Sir Franz stood at their temporary base, gazing at the rows of silver spears visible on the other end of Lion's Street. The corners of his mouth dropped slightly and a cold stare appeared in his eyes.

Why do we need to fight the White Lion Battalion?he thought, suddenly remembering Callun’s failure. He slowly raised his right hand, and formed a fist.

Callun was nothing more than a useless prick.

“Never rest until the enemy is dead”; this was always the White Lion’s motto in war. “No matter who your opponents are, victory shall be ours! ”

Sir Franz looked up at the White Lion’s battle flag. This was a fortress built upon the blood of their enemies as well as their own.How could any young man understand this?

There will never be an army in this Kingdom that’s strong enough to take on the White Lion Legion. And not just this kingdom; no other kingdom’s armies are strong enough either. Nor were the armies of our predecessors. To deny that is to betray our history.Sir Franz thought, remembering about the faces of his comrades who died back in the November War.

Their deaths must not have been in vain.

He wanted to prove that the White Lion Legion would always stand up against any enemy for this land. That people’s fates would not be decided by the past.

Not everyone has to live a life for their beliefs. It’s a proud thing to be alive. And in history, only those who were strong enough could speak for themselves,he thought.

“On your mark...” The wind brought along a northern accent.

The White Lion Legion’s infantry took a step forward. One by one, they raised their longbows that gleamed brightly under the sun, forming a blinding panel of light.

The commander squinted his eyes to estimate the distance of their enemies.

The archers of the White Lion Legion controlled their breathing, adjusting their heartbeats to a specific rhythm.

Finally, the commander nodded his head.

“A hundred steps. No wind-”

Sir Franz raised his hand high like a flag, and swiped down fiercely. “Fire!”

Three hundred archers of the White Lion Legion released their arrows at the same time. Then, they slowly turned sideways, pulling out another arrow from their quiver.

Just an instant later,

Arrows flew like locusts in the sky.

Brendel’s POV

The young knights from Royal Cavalry Academy tracked the arrows as they flew, and began to shift their positions in the formation.

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