The sound of five hundred heavily armored soldiers marching through the snow was deeply intimidating. It was a rhythmic, pounding drumbeat that commanded absolute respect from anyone who heard it.
CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.
General Iron stood behind his massive front line, his weathered face set in a mask of pure tactical certainty. He had just offered the olive branch. He had given this arrogant, ragged Drifter a chance to walk away with a fraction of the loot. But the idiot had refused his goodwill!
"Shield Wall! Advance!" General Iron's voice boomed across the icy canyon.
CLANG!
Five hundred heavy steel shields locked together in perfect, terrifying unison. The Iron Covenant moved as a single, unstoppable organism. The jagged spikes protruding from their vanguard formed a moving barricade of death. They didn't break into a chaotic sprint like the frat boys in the Golden Lions. They marched. Slow, steady, and inevitable.
