The council room smelled of wax and iron. Maps were spread across the oak table, inked lines running like veins over territory. Men in armor argued in low voices. Outside, the capital's banners snapped in a restless wind.
Damian stood near the window, fingers drumming the sill. Rowan and Elara hovered nearby, watching the same distant horizon Damian watched.
"Reports say ten thousand," Rowan muttered, not bothering to hide how grim he felt. "Ten thousand, and something like a commander at their head."
Elara's eyes were cold. "Monsters don't usually gather with discipline. Someone's leading them."
The king's voice dropped like a hammer. "We call on those who can stand. Damian .. As the king of this nation I ask you to fight for this country.
Damian turned. The court's light caught at the edge of his jaw; he looked tired but composed. "I'll fight." He kept the answer short no theatrics, no promises he didn't intend to keep.
You will command the front row of elite royal force.
The AI's voice slipped into his head, clinical and efficient:
[AI]: Enemy cluster detected. Estimated force: 10,000+. Commander-class aura present. Probability of victory with unmodified royal forces: 28%. Recommend tactical insertion and force multiplier application.]
Rowan snorted. "You sound like an oracle now."
Damian's mouth twitched. "I sound like someone who's tired of estimating the dead."
Selena stood at the king's side, fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve. She met Damian's eyes briefly no confession, only worry. Nothing else was said; the court was not a place for half-spoken hearts.
When the war horn sounded at noon, columns formed. The road out of the city was a ribbon of steel and canvas. As they rode, soldiers whispered. Children on the walls watched like they watched games. But the horizon ahead was not a game.
They came upon the fields and the first line of bodies—wolves and lesser demons torn apart. Beyond, the land rolled black with a living tide.
Rowan's voice was small. "It looks like a shadow on fire."
Damian dismounted. He walked forward alone to the ridge and watched the mass. The scent of sulfur and iron blew toward them, thick as fog.
[AI]: Visual overlay - Enemy density: high. Movement vector: directed. Commander signature: strong, adaptive. Stamina projection of hostiles: very high.]
A rider returned breathless. "—scouts say they move like they know formations. They test the flanks first, probing for weakness."
Damian collected himself, then addressed the commanders. "We'll hold here. Place archers in tiers cover the flanks with ballistae. I'll take the vanguard when they break for the walls."
Elara gripped his elbow. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Damian said. "But I will."
They dug lines. They cast wards. They braced.
When the dusk fell, the tide rose.
From the black sea of monsters, the vanguard pressed like a living wave; horns screamed, armor clattered, and the earth shuddered with the march of a thousand feet. Soldiers met them, steel biting flesh and claw. It was bloody, slow work.
Damian moved through the chaos like a pivot point. His spear found throats and bellies; his dual blades when he pulled them, cut arcs that split a line. The soldiers' morale flickered brighter whenever they saw him in the center.
[AI]: Combat efficiency gain with user on-field: +42%. Friend-or-foe identification stable.]
Between downed demons and clotted mud, Damian glanced for the commander. He had to find him; commanders were the spine. Cut it, and the body fell.
The light over the battlefield shifted. A sound rose, a different tone bigger. The monsters pulled back, parting like surf around a reef. Heads turned to the ridge where Hulk of a shadow strode atop a rise, a general the size of a small hill. Horns on his helm were like broken trees, his blade like a shattered moon.
Rowan swore. Elara stepped forward, lips pale.
Damian's spear found purchase in the dirt. "There." His voice was a flat stone.
The general's laugh rolled down the valley. Are you that best warrior of human nation," he said, voice like grinding metal. "Come forward and prove your shape to me."
Damian tightened his grip.
[AI]: Hostile commander detected. Estimated power significantly above local A-rank. Current user level: not yet evolved. Probability of survival with current tactics: 37%.]
The tide's edge surged again. This time, it wasn't just a probing attack; it was a hammer blow aimed at the line Damian had sworn to hold.
Damian turned to Rowan and Elara. "Hold them. Draw them here." He met their eyes no more speeches, only the pact between fighters.
As they rushed, a shadow darker than the rest detached and moved for Damian alone, its pace deliberate, like a predator trusting its reach.