One week later.
Arjam Northern Gate.
"Alright everyone!!"
The second son of the Garka Household stood atop a crate, one foot raised like a conqueror, his voice booming across the assembled troops.
"Today, we CRUSH the Turka dogs!!" he shouted, puffing his chest. "How dare they march into Arjam and challenge our authority!? They dare to fight my father for this land?!"
He gestured wildly at the plains ahead.
"We are the GARKA household! We do NOT fear them! And now that I've brought 10,000 troops with me, added to the men already stationed here, this day will be THEIR END!"
"YES, YOUNG LORD GARKA!!" the army roared in unison, spears raised, shields clashing.
Chest swelling with pride, the young noble smirked. "Everyone! Prepare ranks! Move in formation! Show them what Garka steel looks like!"
"We move on my command!"
Meanwhile, not far across the battlefield, the opposing army lined up under a different banner.
