The rebel forces of Serbia and Bosnia had long been aware of the emperor's approaching army. Though their ranks were initially thrown into confusion, they quickly reorganised, steeling themselves for what they knew would be a battle for survival.
"Hold firm, my brothers!" roared one of the noble commanders, his voice ringing across the encampment. "We have over ten thousand men ahead! Even if they fail to halt the enemy's advance, they will at least buy us the time we need to prepare—"
Before he could finish, a sharp voice interrupted him from the watchtower.
"Smoke and dust on the horizon!" the scout cried out, his hand trembling as he pointed. "Men are approaching!"
