Rights

A fierce battle was currently underway in the vast barbarian plains. One side consisted of a few hundred barbarians including the elderly and children, everyone capable of holding a weapon engaged in battle to try and break their way out of the encirclement. However, the small tribe was no match for the 2,000 or so people surrounding them.

The aggressors didn’t really look like an army; they were a mix of different races using all sorts of weapons and not even in a standard uniform. It looked like they’d been put together in haste, but the battle flag flying amidst their core was one that struck terror into the hearts of every local of the barbarian planes— the Apocalypse Tree, the standard of the Crimson Duke.

Somehow, despite the chaotic mix of soldiers, the army was surprisingly competent. The soldiers had great chemistry and were arrayed in neat formations that cut off all routes of escape, the spearmen...