Barbarian Hunter
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The clash of steel echoed across the frozen plains as the barbarian horde descended like a storm. Warriors, their faces smeared with ash and blood, fought with a ferocity born of desperation. The kingdom’s soldiers, though outnumbered, held the line, their shields locked against the relentless tide. Each breath hung in the air like a ghost, the cold biting through armor as blades shattered and men fell. This was not a battle for glory—it was a fight for survival, where every heartbeat could be the last. Thunderous war drums drowned the screams of the fallen, the stench of sweat and iron clinging to the air. King Aldric’s cavalry charged, hooves churning mud and snow, lances piercing the chaos. Axes met swords in a deadly dance, splintering shields and bones alike. No quarter was given; the earth itself seemed to hunger as it drank deep the crimson toll. By dusk, only the crows remained victorious, their cries a grim hymn over the carnage.
