The battlefield of Ashfeld does not know the concept of silence. Even when the steel stops clashing, the air is thick with the scent of ozone, wet earth, and the metallic tang of blood.

waits in the tall grass, his blade a sliver of light. To him, the war is a dance of discipline against chaos, a high-definition struggle to maintain honor in a world that has forgotten its meaning.

stands at the edge of the Citadel Gate, his breath visible in the morning chill. He isn't fighting for a king anymore; he’s fighting for the man to his left, whose shield is splintered but held high.

Which (Knights, Vikings, Samurai, or Wu Lin) should be the focus?

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