The dust from the long march clung to Kael's boots as his army approached the gathering spot.
The scene before them was unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
Tents sprawled across the rolling hills like a sea of banners, each bearing the sigil of a noble house.
Columns of soldiers marched in synchronized rhythm, their armor gleaming under the midday sun.
The thunderous sound of hooves echoed as cavalry units drilled in the open fields.
Smithies hammered tirelessly, while supply wagons trundled through the maze of camp roads.
Kael pulled his destrier to a halt at the crest of a hill, his officers gathering around him.
Gerald and Alexander flanked him, their expressions unreadable as they took in the sight below.
"Three hundred thousand," Gerald murmured, his tone equal parts awe and unease. "This is not a muster, it's a war machine."
Alexander nodded grimly. "The King has not called for such numbers since the old wars. He means to break the enemy, not merely repel them."
