Roshar was a warrior, a battle-hardened soldier who had repeatedly fought and nearly died for the Moshar Duchy.
Born in the slums of a small city under the Moshar Duchy, Roshar was the child of a woman abducted by highland barbarians. Because of his origins, he was frequently bullied and from a young age, he was exposed to the dark and treacherous nature of humanity.
His life took a turn when he was spotted by the young Duke of Thorns, who was passing through and brought him back to the main city of the Moshar Duchy. After undergoing rigorous training, Roshar became a warrior.
Out of gratitude to the Duke of Thorns, Roshar always charged to the forefront in every battle for his country, fearless of death and undeterred by pain. Through trials of blood and fire, he grew into the strongest warrior of the Moshar Duchy.
He was known by many names: the Iron Helmet, the Thorn General, the Moshar Direwolf. These titles came with both praise and criticism.
Roshar favored the title "Moshar Direwolf," earned during a battle where he decimated an army of ten thousand.
His prowess was only surpassed by a few high-ranking mages in the Moshar Duchy, but now he was the strongest there, as the duchy no longer had any high-ranking mages.
Originally, the Moshar Duchy had three high-ranking mages.
One died in the war against the Volker Duchy, a battle that had secured a crucial victory for Moshar.
The other two met their ends on the Northern Ice Plains beneath his feet.
"If Morton managed to kill two high-ranking mages, he either perished with them or was close to death."
Roshar knew this, but his heart was heavy.
Rumors had circulated that Morton, in his early years, had a powerful best friend, likely a mature silver dragon disguised as a human who had headed to the Northern Ice Plains after leaving human society.
Given Morton's resolute flight to the Northern Ice Plains and the confirmation of a dragon's involvement via divination spells, the truth of the rumor seemed highly plausible.
This two-thousand-strong army was composed of the Moshar Duchy's elite warriors, assembled specifically for dragon-slaying.
Even knowing that their foe might be a mature silver dragon, with minimal chances of success and a likely fatal outcome, Roshar followed the Duke of Thorns' orders and led his troops to the Northern Ice Plains in a desperate gambit.
Attacking a mature silver dragon was risky. Should they succeed and the deed became known, it would surely provoke the wrath of the metallic dragons.
But the Moshar Duchy was desperate.
The duchy was in a precarious crisis, with no room to consider the future.
War is a double-edged sword.
The ongoing battle in the south was long and grueling, with smoke and devastation widespread.
Not only were the Volker Duchy and Moshar Duchy involved, but other opportunistic forces, driven by hunger, greedily eyed each participant.
With no high-ranking mages left and having recently suffered heavy losses, the Moshar Duchy, once a formidable foe, had become vulnerable, a tempting target for all.
Worse still, despite the horrific sacrifices, they had failed to secure the most valuable spoils of war from the Volker Duchy, possessing the treasure mountain but unable to access its riches.
If they couldn't retrieve what Morton had taken, the Moshar Duchy would lose its only chance to turn the tide.
The best outcome would be a steep decline in national power, but more likely, they would end like the Volker Duchy—completely obliterated in the chaos of war, their people left destitute and scattered.
To avoid this dire situation, the Moshar Duchy assembled an elite force to risk it all on the Northern Ice Plains.
"Mature silver dragon."
Roshar looked up at the increasingly heavy snowfall, his mood somber.
He felt uneasy.
Though he had never seen a mature silver dragon, the Moshar Duchy had once paid a high price for the assistance of a seventy-year-old young red dragon in battle, securing a crucial victory in a high-stakes confrontation.
Roshar had witnessed that red dragon, its aura of heat and danger chilling to the soul.
The biting wind carried thick, feather-like snowflakes that smashed against Roshar's rune-flashing armor, blocked from reaching his skin.
Despite the harsh weather and fierce blizzard, the human army did not slow down, pressing forward solemnly with the aid of magical equipment and spellcaster support.
The war in the south continued.
Should anyone realize how vulnerable and weakened the Moshar Duchy was during their absence, and if they failed to return from their mission, the duchy's fate
was clear.
As time passed, the human army ventured deeper into the Northern Ice Plains, the Dragonback Mountains behind them fading into a shadowy outline, the white expanse filling their vision.
Roshar's expression was grave behind his metal helmet, revealing only his eyes.
For some reason, his unease deepened.
His experiences in countless battles had taught him to trust his instincts. On the battlefield, where thinking could cost you your life, instincts often saved it.
"Could the mature silver dragon have already noticed us?"
Roshar furrowed his brow.
"No, given a silver dragon's nature, even if it knew why we were here, it wouldn't concern itself too much unless we attacked first."
As the leader of this military expedition, the hope of the Moshar Duchy, Roshar felt an immense pressure, as if a mountainous burden weighed upon his shoulders.
After some thought, Roshar summoned the highest-ranking spellcaster in the army.
A seasoned fifth-ring mid-level mage.
This mage, specializing in protective spells, had fought alongside Roshar many times, saving each other's lives on numerous occasions.
"Kopophiel, I'm feeling uneasy. You have stronger mental powers as a spellcaster; do you notice anything unusual?"
Kopophiel, dressed in a thick yellow robe with flecks of white in his beard, appeared around sixty but was vigorous and healthy. The cold wind was blocked by a magical barrier around him, unable to touch him at all.
Looking around with eyes flashing with magical light, Kopophiel then shook his head and said, "No."
He paused, his expression darkening slightly, "But I share your unease."
"It feels like an invisible crisis is approaching, and we know nothing about it."
Thinking further, Kopophiel cast a spell that emitted a ring of magical ripples, enveloping each knight.
A faint magical glow covered them, enhancing their resistance to unexpected magical attacks. The effect wasn't strong, but it covered a large area and lasted a long time.
After casting the spell, Kopophiel pulled a magic crystal from his space ring to quickly replenish his spent magic, maintaining his peak condition.
However, their sense of unease didn't diminish despite the protective spell.
They exchanged looks, each seeing the heavy concern in the other's eyes.
Roshar was a warrior, a battle-hardened soldier who had repeatedly fought and nearly died for the Moshar Duchy.
Born in the slums of a small city under the Moshar Duchy, Roshar was the child of a woman abducted by highland barbarians. Because of his origins, he was frequently bullied and from a young age, he was exposed to the dark and treacherous nature of humanity.
His life took a turn when he was spotted by the young Duke of Thorns, who was passing through and brought him back to the main city of the Moshar Duchy. After undergoing rigorous training, Roshar became a warrior.
Out of gratitude to the Duke of Thorns, Roshar always charged to the forefront in every battle for his country, fearless of death and undeterred by pain. Through trials of blood and fire, he grew into the strongest warrior of the Moshar Duchy.
He was known by many names: the Iron Helmet, the Thorn General, the Moshar Direwolf. These titles came with both praise and criticism.
Roshar favored the title "Moshar Direwolf," earned during a battle where he decimated an army of ten thousand.
His prowess was only surpassed by a few high-ranking mages in the Moshar Duchy, but now he was the strongest there, as the duchy no longer had any high-ranking mages.
Originally, the Moshar Duchy had three high-ranking mages.
One died in the war against the Volker Duchy, a battle that had secured a crucial victory for Moshar.
The other two met their ends on the Northern Ice Plains beneath his feet.
"If Morton managed to kill two high-ranking mages, he either perished with them or was close to death."
Roshar knew this, but his heart was heavy.
Rumors had circulated that Morton, in his early years, had a powerful best friend, likely a mature silver dragon disguised as a human who had headed to the Northern Ice Plains after leaving human society.
Given Morton's resolute flight to the Northern Ice Plains and the confirmation of a dragon's involvement via divination spells, the truth of the rumor seemed highly plausible.
This two-thousand-strong army was composed of the Moshar Duchy's elite warriors, assembled specifically for dragon-slaying.
Even knowing that their foe might be a mature silver dragon, with minimal chances of success and a likely fatal outcome, Roshar followed the Duke of Thorns' orders and led his troops to the Northern Ice Plains in a desperate gambit.
Attacking a mature silver dragon was risky. Should they succeed and the deed became known, it would surely provoke the wrath of the metallic dragons.
But the Moshar Duchy was desperate.
The duchy was in a precarious crisis, with no room to consider the future.
War is a double-edged sword.
The ongoing battle in the south was long and grueling, with smoke and devastation widespread.
Not only were the Volker Duchy and Moshar Duchy involved, but other opportunistic forces, driven by hunger, greedily eyed each participant.
With no high-ranking mages left and having recently suffered heavy losses, the Moshar Duchy, once a formidable foe, had become vulnerable, a tempting target for all.
Worse still, despite the horrific sacrifices, they had failed to secure the most valuable spoils of war from the Volker Duchy, possessing the treasure mountain but unable to access its riches.
If they couldn't retrieve what Morton had taken, the Moshar Duchy would lose its only chance to turn the tide.
The best outcome would be a steep decline in national power, but more likely, they would end like the Volker Duchy—completely obliterated in the chaos of war, their people left destitute and scattered.
To avoid this dire situation, the Moshar Duchy assembled an elite force to risk it all on the Northern Ice Plains.
"Mature silver dragon."
Roshar looked up at the increasingly heavy snowfall, his mood somber.
He felt uneasy.
Though he had never seen a mature silver dragon, the Moshar Duchy had once paid a high price for the assistance of a seventy-year-old young red dragon in battle, securing a crucial victory in a high-stakes confrontation.
Roshar had witnessed that red dragon, its aura of heat and danger chilling to the soul.
The biting wind carried thick, feather-like snowflakes that smashed against Roshar's rune-flashing armor, blocked from reaching his skin.
Despite the harsh weather and fierce blizzard, the human army did not slow down, pressing forward solemnly with the aid of magical equipment and spellcaster support.
The war in the south continued.
Should anyone realize how vulnerable and weakened the Moshar Duchy was during their absence, and if they failed to return from their mission, the duchy's fate
was clear.
As time passed, the human army ventured deeper into the Northern Ice Plains, the Dragonback Mountains behind them fading into a shadowy outline, the white expanse filling their vision.
Roshar's expression was grave behind his metal helmet, revealing only his eyes.
For some reason, his unease deepened.
His experiences in countless battles had taught him to trust his instincts. On the battlefield, where thinking could cost you your life, instincts often saved it.
"Could the mature silver dragon have already noticed us?"
Roshar furrowed his brow.
"No, given a silver dragon's nature, even if it knew why we were here, it wouldn't concern itself too much unless we attacked first."
As the leader of this military expedition, the hope of the Moshar Duchy, Roshar felt an immense pressure, as if a mountainous burden weighed upon his shoulders.
After some thought, Roshar summoned the highest-ranking spellcaster in the army.
A seasoned fifth-ring mid-level mage.
This mage, specializing in protective spells, had fought alongside Roshar many times, saving each other's lives on numerous occasions.
"Kopophiel, I'm feeling uneasy. You have stronger mental powers as a spellcaster; do you notice anything unusual?"
Kopophiel, dressed in a thick yellow robe with flecks of white in his beard, appeared around sixty but was vigorous and healthy. The cold wind was blocked by a magical barrier around him, unable to touch him at all.
Looking around with eyes flashing with magical light, Kopophiel then shook his head and said, "No."
He paused, his expression darkening slightly, "But I share your unease."
"It feels like an invisible crisis is approaching, and we know nothing about it."
Thinking further, Kopophiel cast a spell that emitted a ring of magical ripples, enveloping each knight.
A faint magical glow covered them, enhancing their resistance to unexpected magical attacks. The effect wasn't strong, but it covered a large area and lasted a long time.
After casting the spell, Kopophiel pulled a magic crystal from his space ring to quickly replenish his spent magic, maintaining his peak condition.
However, their sense of unease didn't diminish despite the protective spell.
They exchanged looks, each seeing the heavy concern in the other's eyes.
