Volume 4 The Dawn of Cataclysm
Chapter 265 Assigned Roles
After spending some time among the upper branches, Leo and Elna returned to the floating carpet and let it drift away from the great tree. The golden glow slowly faded behind them as they flew toward the edges of the Shadowland, where its distorted sky blended into the borders of the Kingdom of Magic.
Even with the carpet moving at high speed, the distance was vast. Hours passed in steady flight, the landscape below changing from luminous forests to darker, rougher terrain scarred by old battles.
From afar, Leo's gaze narrowed. Ahead, spread across a wide plain, stood a massive encampment. Rows of tents filled the area, crude but sturdy, surrounded by fires and heavy wooden structures. Large figures moved between them, broad shoulders, thick arms, and towering frames that left no doubt about their race.
Elna followed his line of sight. "What are they?" she asked.
"Orcs," Leo answered without hesitation.
Her expression tightened. "Are we going to attack them?"
Leo shook his head slowly. "It's their main camp. There could be S-rank fighters among them." His eyes hardened. "But I'm not going to leave them free to move either."
With a subtle motion of his hand, the carpet shifted course, circling the encampment from above and staying just outside the range of sight. They descended behind a nearby hill, using the terrain as cover.
Leo stepped forward and raised his hand. A sphere of creation formed before him, humming softly as it expanded. The ground below trembled, stone grinding against stone. In seconds, figures began to rise from the earth itself.
Rows of warriors emerged, shield bearers in the front, sword fighters behind them, and archers forming disciplined lines at the rear. Their bodies were carved from solid stone, etched with simple but functional armor. When the last one took shape, an army of nearly four hundred stone soldiers stood silently, awaiting command.
Leo exhaled slowly. His mana was still recovering; this was his limit for now.
Without lingering, he dismissed the sphere and returned to the carpet. They rose again, passing over jagged mountains and leaving the Shadowland behind. Ahead of them, the air grew clearer.
Their destination lay beyond the horizon, Aclisa, the capital of the Kingdom of Magic.
...
Rokk Doombone had been assigned to defend the camp near the border of the so-called Kingdom of Magic, while another chieftain led the offensive force. The thought still burned in his chest.
He growled low in his throat. That duty should have been his. He had fought more battles than Forcar Stoneshatter could count, survived ambushes, sieges, and blood-soaked retreats. Yet here he was, guarding tents while another orc chased glory.
Rokk crouched beside the fire, watching thick cuts of monster meat slowly cook over the flames. The fat hissed and crackled, its smell heavy in the air. Just as he reached for his axe to turn the meat, a horn blast shattered the camp's rhythm.
Rokk froze. That horn meant only one thing.
"Enemy," he snarled.
He rose in a single motion, axe already in his grip, and scanned the horizon. To the northwest, over the low hills, figures were moving, too orderly, too silent.
An army of stone marched toward them.
For a heartbeat, Rokk stared. Then excitement surged through him. He threw back his head and released a thunderous howl, a call that rolled across the camp like a shockwave. Every orc knew that sound.
Within moments, warriors poured from tents, weapons in hand. Lines formed quickly, nearly a thousand orcs gathering in front of the encampment, snarling and stomping the ground. There were no bows among them. Orcs fought face to face. Warriors formed the bulk of the force, backed by mages and necromancers whose magic twisted the air.
As the stone soldiers drew closer, the orcs roared. Some shouted in excitement, others in instinctive challenge, but fear crept beneath it all. The enemy did not answer. They did not slow. They did not breathe.
They were not alive.
Rokk raised his axe. "Mages!"
At his command, fireballs streaked through the air, dozens of them, followed by shards of ice and bursts of pure magic. The spells struck the stone army in explosive flashes, shattering several soldiers outright. But many kept advancing, cracked and burning, forcing the mages to spend more mana just to bring one down.
Rokk's scowl deepened.
"Necromancers!"
The ground split open as undead clawed their way free, rotting soldiers and beasts stitched together with dark magic. They surged forward in a wave meant to stall and exhaust the enemy.
The stone archers responded at once.
They knelt in unison and loosed their arrows skyward. The stone shafts fell like rain, smashing through bone and rotting flesh. Most of the undead collapsed before reaching the front line. Those that survived met stone shields and blades and were crushed without ceremony.
Rokk clenched his jaw. This tactic usually worked. Living enemies tired and hesitated.
These did neither.
"Mages!" he shouted again.
The orc mages shifted their casting. Flames wrapped around the warriors, forming blazing auras that hardened into shields and flowed into their muscles. Strength surged through the ranks. Feet dug into the ground. Breath grew heavier, faster.
Rokk lifted his axe high and let out another howl.
"Charge!"
The orcs thundered forward.
Stone arrows flew again, but shields absorbed most of the impact. The few arrows that struck bare skin failed to pierce the thick hides of the warriors. Seconds later, the two forces collided.
Stone met flesh. Shields crashed. Axes rose and fell.
The battle had begun.
...
In the Kingdom of Light, Liam led Luciana through the familiar halls of the Paladin Association. The corridors were quieter than usual, tension still lingering after recent events. Knights and clerics paused as they passed, some recognizing Liam, others casting wary glances at the woman walking beside him, her presence calm yet unsettling.
They soon stood inside Captain Edmond's office. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating shelves lined with records, maps, and holy symbols that had not yet been taken down. Luciana sat across from Edmond, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed as if this were a casual visit rather than a turning point for the kingdom. She had already explained the Creator's intentions and their mission. Now she waited.
Edmond leaned back in his chair, fingers pressed together, eyes narrowed in thought. After a long moment, he spoke.
"So," he said slowly, "you are angels of the Creator, and you've come here to carry out his will?"
Liam nodded once, his expression steady.
Edmond exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "You don't understand the situation here. The people are still fighting among themselves over faith. We spend most of our time suppressing the remaining followers of the previous god, trying to keep the streets from tearing themselves apart." He looked directly at Luciana. "And now you want me to introduce another god to them? That isn't possible."
Luciana did not flinch. Her voice remained even. "This isn't about what you think is possible. It's about what is necessary."
She paused, then added, "Call a meeting. All the captains, and the bishop as well. Let me speak to them myself."
Edmond closed his eyes for a brief second, then opened them again. He knew what that would mean, arguments, resistance, maybe even open defiance. Changing the faith of a kingdom in three months bordered on madness.
He sighed deeply. "Very well."
…
In the northern kingdom, Marco walked alongside Arthur and Briva through the narrow streets toward Edgar's blacksmith shop. The familiar clang of metal rang out long before the forge came into view, each strike stirring mixed emotions in Marco's chest. Leo had already told them the truth about Edgar, who he was, and whom he had once been. That knowledge only sharpened Arthur's desire to meet the man.
For Marco, the feeling was complicated. This was his first true mission under the Creator's banner, something he had dreamed of. Yet the excitement came with a quiet sadness. Edgar had taught him a lot. And Marco knew, deep down, that there was still much he had yet to learn from the old blacksmith.
They stopped in front of the workshop. Marco raised his hand and knocked before pushing the door open.
Heat and the scent of iron washed over them. Edgar stood near the anvil, hammer in hand. He looked up at Marco first, then shifted his gaze to the two figures behind him. When his eyes settled on Arthur, they narrowed slightly. This was the second time an S-rank tied to Marco had stepped into his forge.
"Why is the pope's son here?" Edgar asked, his voice calm, unreadable.
Arthur met his gaze without hesitation. "Apologies for the intrusion. I asked Marco to bring me. I wanted to see the teacher of a god with my own eyes."
Edgar snorted softly. "And? Disappointed?"
Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again, a faint smile on his face. "No. You're just a man. Like the rest of us."
For a heartbeat, a trace of a smile touched Edgar's lips before vanishing as if it had never been there. He turned his attention back to Marco.
"You look like you're holding something in," Edgar said. "Spit it out, kid."
Marco lowered his head. His fingers tightened at his sides. After a moment, he lifted his gaze and met Edgar's eyes. "Master… I can't come here anymore. I have to leave the city."
Edgar studied him. "Your training isn't finished."
"I know," Marco said quietly. "But I don't have a choice."
Silence stretched between them. Then Edgar sighed. He walked to a small cupboard in the corner of the shop and pulled out a thin bundle of papers, Tied with a thread. He crossed the room and tossed it onto the table in front of Marco.
"Train using that," Edgar said. "I figured you'd leave before I was done with you, so I prepared it in advance."
Marco's eyes widened. He picked up the papers and flipped through it. Every page was filled with notes, stances, breathing methods, strike patterns, everything he would have learned from C-rank all the way to A5. His throat tightened.
He closed the book and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master."
Edgar waved him off. "Go. And try not to become like that bastard."
Marco bowed again. Without another word, he turned and left with Arthur and Briva.
As they walked away, the steady sound of hammer striking iron echoed behind them, following Marco down the street long after the forge disappeared from sight.
…
Just as Leo departed, Paul gathered the others and took command. There was no hesitation in his movements, no wasted words. The shadowland was no longer a place they could afford to leave unattended, and every member had a role to play.
He divided them into three groups, each with a clear purpose.
The first group consisted of Arlasan and Loidon. Their duty was to remain in the city and act as its shield. They would oversee its defenses, train new recruits willing to join the guard, and ensure that order remained steady while the stronger forces operated elsewhere. Beyond that, Paul gave them a quieter but no less important task, to keep a constant watch on the newly formed city meant for Mr. Sage and his people. Trust was fragile, and vigilance was necessary.
The second group was formed by Orane, Vanessa, and Liane. Their role was reconnaissance. They would patrol the outskirts near the orc camps, careful never to draw too close or provoke a large-scale clash. Information was their priority, numbers, movement, patterns. However, Paul made one exception clear, if they encountered a small, isolated group of orcs, they were free to strike swiftly and disappear just as fast.
The final group was Paul himself, along with Alina and Dave. This was the strike force, tasked with attacking enemy positions across different regions of the shadowland. Paul chose these members deliberately. Alina would gain firsthand experience fighting under his guidance, growing stronger through real combat rather than training alone. Dave's presence was equally vital; in a crisis, his teleportation could extract them instantly. That safeguard was not only for encounters with orcs, if Mr. Sage turned hostile, Paul needed the ability to return to the city without delay.
With their roles decided, there was no ceremony. Each group moved out with quiet determination, as they began their part in the coming struggle.