The Duke was here.
Thaddeus moved like a storm incarnate.
His sword was a blur, crackling with raw mana, each slash sending arcs of energy tearing through the creatures as though they were nothing but mist. Every strike carried precision—cutting through hardened flesh, severing limbs, erasing anything that stood in his way.
And the soldiers—
They followed him.
The knights regrouped, shields raised, formations tightening. The mages rallied, their spells intertwining in devastating waves of elemental fury.
They were no longer just surviving.
They were winning.
Thaddeus did not stop. His blade flashed, a crescent of storm energy carving through the air, slicing through a massive serpent-like horror that had lunged toward one of the ships.
A sickening howl erupted as the beast collapsed into the water, its body disintegrating into black ichor.
The Duke turned, his sharp eyes sweeping across the battlefield. He could feel it.
The fight was shifting.
The tide was turning.
But—
