Kar'eth Fortress - Evening of the Seventh Day
The expedition returned to Kar'eth as the sun set.
Fifty soldiers marching through the western gate, carrying the spoils of their hunt.
Berserker hides. Weapons. The head of the Noble they'd killed.
Not enough to tan properly—the time had been too short.
But enough to prove what they'd accomplished.
The walls erupted in cheers as they entered.
"THEY'RE BACK!"
"DID THEY WIN?"
"LOOK AT WHAT THEY'RE CARRYING!"
Arden walked beside Elara, who was steady on her feet now but still pale from exhaustion.
Jeremy rushed up to meet them.
"You're alive! When you didn't return by midday, I thought—"
"We're fine," Arden assured him. "Better than fine. We eliminated the hunting party."
Michel strode forward, grinning widely, holding the Noble's halberd high.
"PEOPLE OF KAR'ETH!" His voice carried across the courtyard.
"BEHOLD! THE BERSERKERS SENT THREE HUNDRED WARRIORS TO HUNT IN OUR TERRITORY!"
He paused dramatically.
"WE KILLED THEM ALL!"
The cheers intensified.
Voss appeared beside Michel, more subdued but equally satisfied.
"Fifty-three confirmed kills. Including one Berserker Noble. One Ironback Ogre claimed by the Berserkers before we engaged. Zero friendly casualties."
"ZERO!" Michel repeated gleefully. "NOT ONE OF OURS FELL!"
Commander Thorne pushed through the crowd, looking exhausted but relieved.
"Report."
"Hunting party eliminated," Voss said efficiently. "The Berserkers were trying to establish foraging grounds in the western valleys. We denied them that option."
"Good. That forces their hand. They'll have to commit to the final assault sooner than planned."
"That was the intent," Arden confirmed.
Thorne studied him for a moment, then nodded approval.
"Well executed. All of you—to the medical ward for examination. Then food and rest."
"But Commander—" Michel started.
"That wasn't a suggestion, Knight-Commander."
Michel pouted but complied.
The soldiers dispersed, heading to their various stations.
Arden helped Elara toward the medical ward.
She was walking steadily now, but he could feel the tremors in her arm.
"You pushed too hard," he said quietly.
"I know. But we won."
"Winning doesn't matter if you destroy yourself in the process."
"Spoken like someone who's never had to fight with everything they have yet."
Arden was quiet for a moment.
"I have. Multiple times. And each time, I nearly died. So trust me when I say—pace yourself. The real battle is still coming."
Elara nodded slowly.
"You're right. I just... when the bloodline activates, it's hard to think about anything except killing."
"I know. We'll work on control techniques. After you've rested."
They reached the medical ward.
Magda took one look at Elara and pointed to a bed.
"Sit. Don't move."
While Magda examined Elara, Arden found himself in the courtyard again.
Michel had displayed the Berserker Noble's weapons and armor for all to see.
Rangers were spreading out four Berserker hides—tough, leathery material marked with corrupted veins.
The halberd, still stained with dried blood, stood upright against a post.
The armor, covered in battle scars and still reeking of War Essence.
Proof of their victory.
Soldiers gathered around, touching the trophies with something like reverence.
"Real Berserker Noble equipment," one whispered.
"They actually killed one..."
Michel was in his element, telling the story with dramatic flair.
"—and then Elara just APPEARED behind three Berserkers, and before they could even turn, her sword—" He made an exaggerated cutting motion.
"—took all three down in seconds! Blood everywhere!"
That wasn't quite accurate, but close enough.
Voss caught Arden's eye and shook his head slightly.
Let him have his moment. The troops need the morale boost.
A ranger stepped forward, examining one of the hides.
"Only four? You said you killed fifty-three Berserkers."
"We were busy staying alive!" Michel protested. "You think I had time to properly skin and preserve every corpse? One Noble's head, one set of armor, four hides, and these weapons are more than enough proof!"
"What's your count now, Commander?" another soldier called out.
Michel grinned wickedly. "Seventeen confirmed kills during the expedition. Including that Noble. How does that compare to Captain Voss?"
"Fifteen," Voss admitted with a casual shrug. "But I was providing cover fire. Support role."
"SUPPORT!" Michel crowed. "I WIN!"
"You stole the Noble's kill from three Wire Knights working together," Voss countered. "That's cheating."
"Strategic opportunity exploitation! Totally different!"
The soldiers laughed, the tension from earlier breaking.
Jeremy appeared at Arden's side.
"Is Elara really okay? She looked... intense. During the battle."
"She pushed her Integration ability hard. She'll recover."
"That ability of hers. It's not normal, is it?"
Arden looked at his cousin carefully.
"What makes you say that?"
"The way she moved. The way she killed. That wasn't technique. That was something else."
Perceptive.
"It's a bloodline ability," Arden said carefully. "Powerful but draining. She's still learning to control it."
"Bloodline..." Jeremy's eyes widened. "Like the old noble houses? The ones with ancient heritage?"
"Something like that. But Jeremy—" Arden's voice became serious.
"Keep this quiet. Bloodline abilities make people nervous. She doesn't need that scrutiny."
"I won't say anything. But Arden... is she safe? To be around?"
"Yes. As long as she has proper support."
"And you're that support?"
"Apparently."
Jeremy studied him for a long moment.
"You've changed so much. Not just stronger. Different. Like you've seen things the rest of us haven't."
More than you know.
"War changes people," Arden said simply. "You'll understand soon enough."
A commotion at the gate interrupted them.
Rangers rushing in, looking panicked.
One of them sprinting directly toward Commander Thorne.
Arden's instincts screamed warning.
He moved toward the group gathering around Thorne.
Arriving just in time to hear the scout's report.
"—pulled back their remaining forces. All of them. Every Berserker within five kilometers of the fortress."
"That's good news, isn't it?" Lieutenant Helena asked.
"No," the scout said, voice shaking. "They didn't retreat. They're gathering. In one massive formation on the northern ridge."
Silence.
"How many?" Thorne asked quietly.
"We couldn't get an accurate count. But Commander..." The scout swallowed hard.
"At least three thousand. Maybe more. And they're building siege equipment. Massive rams. Towers. Everything."
"The final assault," Voss said grimly.
"When?" Michel had lost his playful demeanor entirely.
"Two days. Maybe three at most."
Arden felt ice in his veins.
This is it. The real battle.
"There's more," the scout continued, his voice dropping.
"We felt it again. That presence. Coming from deep in the mountains. Moving toward the Berserker camp."
The temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop.
Veterans who had served at Kar'eth for years went pale.
Some made warding signs.
"What kind of presence?" Thorne demanded.
"Fire. Corrupted fire. And War Essence so thick we could barely breathe when we got close." The scout was trembling now.
"We saw it from a distance. A figure walking through the Berserker camp. And when it passed..." He swallowed hard.
"The Berserkers bowed. All of them. As one."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Commander," a veteran knight said quietly. "That sounds like—"
"Don't," Thorne interrupted sharply. "Don't name it."
But Michel, unfamiliar with northern superstitions, spoke anyway.
"Sounds like what? What are we facing?"
The veteran knight looked at Thorne, who nodded reluctantly.
"The Overlord. But not just any Overlord. If the scout's description is accurate..." He took a breath.
"It's the one the Berserkers call the Flame-Crowned. Their ancient king."
Michel blinked. "Flame-Crowned? I've never heard of—"
"You wouldn't have," Voss interrupted, his casual demeanor completely gone.
"Northern Command keeps these types of records classified. But I've seen the reports. Three centuries ago, a being stole sacred flame from some forgotten god. Used it to transcend his species. Became something... else."
"Something that's never been defeated," Helena added quietly.
Thorne turned to Arden. "Valekrest. The Obsidian Warden you killed. Did he speak of his master?"
Arden nodded slowly, understanding what Thorne needed.
A briefing for Michel and Voss, who'd never faced this threat.
"He did. Called him 'the Flame-Crowned King.' Said he'd ruled these mountains for centuries. That he'd seen empires rise and fall. That no fortress had ever withstood him once he personally led an assault."
"Cheerful," Michel muttered.
"The Warden spoke of him with reverence. Said the Flame-Crowned had transcended the limitations of his race. That he wasn't just a Berserker anymore—he was War Essence given form and consciousness."
"How does that work?" Voss asked, his tactical mind already analyzing.
"War Essence normally dissipates it's frenzy like effects after battle," Arden explained. "It's temporary power drawn from combat fervor. But the Flame-Crowned somehow made it permanent. Internalized it. Became a living conduit for corrupted divine flame."
"Divine flame?" Michel's eyes widened. "Like from a god?"
"According to the Warden, yes. The Flame-Crowned stole fire from some ancient deity. An Outer God, I think he called it. Used it to fuel his transformation."
I've gotten better at bullshitting but at least Commander Thorne is playing along
Thorne nodded grimly. "That matches the old records. Three hundred years ago, a Berserker war chief raided a sacred temple. Stole the Flame of the Outer God from its guardians. The flame consumed him—but instead of dying, he absorbed its power. Became the first and only Berserker to achieve true immortality."
"Immortal?" Michel's voice cracked slightly. "You're saying we're fighting something that can't be killed?"
"No. Just something that hasn't been killed yet." Thorne's jaw set. "There's a difference."
"What are his capabilities?" Voss asked, always practical.
"According to reports from fortresses he's destroyed," Helena said, pulling out a worn journal, "he can create constructs of pure War Essence. Fire that burns through armor. Weapons that materialize from nothing. His presence alone amplifies every Berserker within miles."
"Amplifies how much?" Michel asked.
"Double. Sometimes triple their normal strength."
Silence.
"So we're not just fighting three thousand Berserkers," Voss said slowly. "We're fighting three thousand Berserkers who are all twice as strong as normal. Led by an immortal fire god."
"When you say it like that, it sounds bad," Michel tried to joke.
No one laughed.
Arden spoke up. "The Obsidian Warden said something else. He said the Flame-Crowned's only weakness was his pride. That he views combat as sacred. That he won't use his full power against opponents he considers unworthy."
"So if we seem weak, he holds back?" Voss's eyes gleamed. "That's exploitable."
"Maybe. Or maybe he just crushes us without effort." Arden met his gaze. "The Warden also said his master had never faced a serious challenge in two hundred years. That he'd grown bored. Started seeking worthy opponents."
"Great," Michel muttered. "An ancient immortal fire god who's bored. This keeps getting better."
Thorne addressed the assembled commanders.
"EMERGENCY MEETING! COMMAND CENTER! NOW!"
Officers rushed toward the command center.
Michel fell into step beside Arden as they walked.
"So. Just to confirm. We're about to fight an immortal Berserker king who stole divine fire and has never lost a battle in three centuries."
"That's accurate."
"And our plan is...?"
"Kill him anyway."
Michel laughed—sharp and slightly hysterical. "I like your confidence. Completely unjustified, but I like it."
The command center was packed within minutes.
Thorne stood at the map table, looking older than Arden had ever seen him.
"Let's review what we know. For everyone's benefit." He glanced at Michel and Voss. "Especially our reinforcement commanders who haven't faced this threat before."
Helena opened her journal. "The Flame-Crowned Overlord. First appeared approximately three hundred years ago during the Northern Purge. A Berserker war chief who raided the Temple of an Outer God and stole their sacred flame."
"The flame should have killed him," Thorne continued. "Instead, he internalized it. Became the first Berserker to achieve what they call 'Eternal War State.' His War Essence never depletes. Never fades. It just burns, constantly, fueled by divine fire."
"He's led six major assaults on northern fortresses over three centuries," Helena read. "All six fortresses fell within a week. Average casualties: ninety percent of defenders."
"Cheerful statistics," Voss muttered.
"His abilities include fire constructs, War Essence amplification for all Berserkers in range, and reportedly, the ability to literally burn souls." Helena looked up. "Though that last part might be legend."
"It's not," a Kar'eth veteran said quietly. "My grandfather fought him. Sixty years ago at Blackstone Keep. Said he watched the Flame-Crowned point at a knight, and the man just... burned. From the inside. No fire. No visible flame. Just burned until there was nothing left but ash."
Silence.
"So," Michel said slowly. "We need to avoid being pointed at."
"Among other things," Thorne agreed.
Arden spoke up. "The Obsidian Warden gave me more intel before he died. The Flame-Crowned's strength comes from the stolen divine flame. It's not his natural power—it's external. Which means it can be disrupted."
"How?" Voss asked immediately.
"I don't know exactly. But the Warden seemed concerned when I mentioned purification abilities. Suggested the Flame-Crowned avoids certain types of magic."
I might be a talented liar
"Purification..." Helena's eyes widened. "Holy magic? Divine blessings?"
"Possibly. Or anything that counters corrupted essence directly."
"We don't have priests," Thorne said flatly. "No holy magic users in the garrison."
"But we have Integration abilities," Arden continued. "Some of which might counter corruption. Shadow magic disrupts War Essence—I proved that against the Obsidian Warden. And Elara's bloodline ability..." He hesitated.
"What about it?" Michel asked.
"It's designed to kill corrupted beings. Ancient bloodline. Titan-slayer heritage. When she used it against the Berserker Noble, her sword cut through War Essence like it wasn't there."
I'll take responsibility for it sorry Elara
Thorne leaned forward. "You're suggesting she could hurt the Flame-Crowned?"
"Maybe. If we can get her close enough."
"That's a big if," Voss noted. "An immortal fire god probably doesn't let people just walk up to him."
"Which is why we need a strategy," Arden said. "We can't win through attrition. Can't outlast him. Our only chance is a decisive strike. Cut off the head, the body dies."
"Assassination," Michel concluded.
"Controlled assassination," Arden corrected. "With full tactical support."
He moved to the map table.
"Here's what I'm thinking..."
Twenty minutes later, the plan was laid out.
Risky. Borderline suicidal.
Required perfect coordination, timing, and a lot of luck.
But it was the only strategy that gave them a chance.
"A strike team," Thorne summarized. "Twenty soldiers. Penetrate the Berserker lines during the main assault. Reach the Flame-Crowned directly. Engage him while he's focused on the siege."
"And hope Elara's bloodline and my shadow abilities can actually hurt him," Arden finished.
"That's..." Helena searched for words. "Insane."
"Yes," Michel agreed cheerfully, his manic energy returning. "But it's the good kind of insane!"
Voss was more thoughtful. "The timing has to be perfect. If we move too early, he'll see us coming. Too late, and the walls will be breached."
"We wait until he commits," Arden said. "Until he's personally engaged in breaking our defenses. That's when his attention will be divided."
"And that's when we strike," Michel finished, grinning. "I volunteer for the strike team."
"Both of us do," Voss added. "Fire and shadow duo. Might as well make it legendary."
Thorne assigned teams.
Ten Knights. Michel's best close-combat specialists.
Five rangers. Voss's most skilled marksmen.
Three Kar'eth veterans who knew the terrain.
Arden and Elara, if she volunteered and recovered in time.
"Two days," Thorne said. "Maybe less. Use that time wisely. Rest. Prepare. Make peace with whatever gods you believe in."
The meeting dispersed.
As commanders filed out, Voss pulled Arden aside.
"That plan requires you to use your shadow transformation."
"I know."
"Which leaves you vulnerable afterward. Against an immortal fire god."
"I know that too."
"You're betting everything on this working."
"Do we have another option?"
Voss was quiet, then shook his head. "No. We don't."
That night, Arden stood on the northern wall.
Watching the ridge where the Berserker army gathered.
Their fires burned brighter than before.
Organized. Purposeful.
An army preparing for its final assault.
And somewhere beyond those fires—
A presence.
Ancient. Malevolent. Patient.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord.
Waiting.
Jeremy appeared beside him.
"Can we really win?"
"We have to."
"But can we?"
Arden was quiet for a long moment, watching those distant fires.
"I don't know. The Flame-Crowned is stronger than anything we've faced. Smarter. More experienced. He's been waging war since before the Empire existed."
"But?"
"But he's also arrogant. Thinks himself untouchable. And that arrogance might be the opening we need."
They stood in silence.
The fortress settling into tense preparation.
Soldiers checking weapons.
Rangers counting arrows.
Knights practicing formations.
Everyone knowing what was coming.
Everyone preparing in their own way.
And beyond the northern ridge, an ancient evil stirred.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord.
The monster that had never been defeated.
The enemy that would determine whether Kar'eth stood or fell.
The fires burned through the night.
Promising the end of all things.
Unless eight hundred desperate soldiers could find a way to stop it.