The ground groaned.Not cracked. Not split apart. It groaned, deep and low, as if the land itself were alive and already regretting the nightmare about to trample across its back.A heavy tremor rolled through the battlefield. At first it was distant, almost subtle. Then it grew stronger. Strong enough to rattle armor plates. Strong enough to make teeth chatter inside clenched jaws.Dust lifted from the earth in thin sheets.Men froze.Then the sound came.“ROOOAAR!”Eleven Imperial Mammoths surged forward at the same moment.Not one after another. Not in a staggered line. They charged together, perfectly synchronized, like an army that needed no orders.It was the kind of sight that robbed soldiers of breath.Each step struck the ground with the force of a collapsing tower. Twenty two massive legs crashed down in merciless rhythm, sending shockwaves outward in widening circles. Stones leapt from the soil. Loose earth erupted into the air. Within seconds, a wall of gray dust swallowed

The name Tiger Guard was never meant to impress anyone.It was not chosen for poetry, nor for pride. No bard had whispered it into existence, and no noble had polished it to sound heroic. The name existed for one reason only.It was a warning.Once the Tiger Guard moved, they did not stop. They did not slow down. They did not reconsider. They charged, hunted, and pursued like a tiger that had already chosen its prey and decided there was no other path left in the world. Retreat did not exist for them. Doubt was something other men carried.The Tiger Guard existed to destroy.Beneath the Dragon Banner stood a thousand men.They stood close, shoulder to shoulder, boots pressed into blood-soaked earth. No one spoke. No one shifted their weight. Their breathing was steady, measured, almost unnaturally calm. It was the kind of calm that only came from years of drilling and from seeing death so often that it stopped being shocking.A thousand breaths rose and fell together.A thousand heart

he moment the Roman gladiators waded into the river, the warriors of the Nami Sea Clan knew something had gone terribly wrong.It was not fear at first. It was instinct.The Lannon River churned violently as nets burst upward from beneath its surface, spreading wide like vicious flowers in bloom. One followed another. Then another. Soon there were too many to track. They overlapped and tangled, each knot placed with care, each line designed to trap, tighten, and pull a struggling body into helpless stillness.The fishmen charged anyway.They roared and surged forward, driven by numbers and confidence, believing sheer force would carry them through. It lasted only seconds. Nets snapped shut around limbs and torsos. Powerful bodies twisted in panic. Arms locked. Gills flared as breath failed. Thin strands of wire bit into flesh, slicing deeper with every desperate movement.The river filled with confusion and blood.The gladiators did not panic. They never did.They moved with calm, rut

Chapter One: When Eagles Met Dragons“Publius!”“Quintus!”“Aulus!”Marcellus’s voice rang across the battlefield, sharp and unyielding. It cut through the noise like tempered steel meeting stone. Calm, controlled, and heavy with authority. Every man who heard it straightened without thinking.The three centurions of the Senate Eagle Banner Legion stepped forward at once. No hesitation. No need to confirm the order. They had served together long enough to read intent from a breath, a pause, a single word.These were not men who needed to be reminded of loyalty.They embodied it.A few swift hand signals followed. Short commands barked without emotion. That was enough.Three thousand legionaries surged into motion.There was no roar, no wild shouting. At first, it was almost quiet. The kind of quiet that came before something terrible happened. It felt like watching a massive engine come alive, each piece clicking smoothly into place.The Eagle Banner infantry advanced nearly three hun