The commanders gathered in the war room before sunrise.
No one had slept.
How could they, knowing what dawn would bring?
Commander Thorne stood at the map table, his face carved from stone.
"Casualty report from yesterday's assault. Eighteen dead. Forty-seven wounded. Twenty-three of those wounded are combat-ineffective."
He moved markers on the map.
"The Flame-Crowned probed our defenses. Tested our response times. Identified our strongest sections and our weak points."
Why is this bastard so passive
"Today he'll exploit those weaknesses," Voss said grimly.
"Exactly. Today won't be a probe. It'll be a full assault with three thousand Berserkers." Thorne's hand rested on the enemy position markers.
Will it though?
"Our current strength: seven hundred and sixty combat-effective soldiers. Rangers, knights, infantry. Against three thousand War Essence-enhanced warriors led by an immortal fire god."
The silence was suffocating.
"We can't win through attrition," Helena stated what everyone knew.
"If we continue along this path, we will be annihilated. We need to retreat and reorganize."
"Never!" Thorne's voice cracked like a whip.
Several Kar'eth veterans echoed him immediately: "We cannot abandon our fortress!"
Voss stepped forward, his usual casual demeanor replaced by tactical intensity.
"Commander, I understand the symbolic importance of Kar'eth. But there's nothing to be gained by our complete destruction. If we fall back to the southern fortifications, regroup with potential reinforcements—"
"And where do we retreat to?" Thorne interrupted, his voice sharp.
He gestured at the map.
"Do you know why Kar'eth was built in this specific location? This is the only pass the Berserkers can use to march south out of the Blade's Edge Mountains."
His finger traced routes on the map.
"If the Flame-Crowned breaks through here, he can go anywhere. Southwest to the farming provinces. Southeast to the mining territories. Directly south to the heartland. Six provinces border these mountains. None of them have the military strength to face three thousand Berserkers."
Voss's jaw tightened.
"If Kar'eth falls, we don't know which direction he'll march. We can't predict where to concentrate defenses. We can't organize evacuations. We can't prepare counter-measures."
"Exactly," Thorne said grimly. "If we retreat, we condemn tens of thousands of civilians to death. Maybe hundreds of thousands."
Michel had been silent until now.
Unusually serious.
"So we hold until we all die? That's the plan?"
"That's our duty," a Kar'eth veteran said flatly.
"This fortress has stood for two hundred years. We've held this pass against impossible odds before. We'll do it again."
"Have you ever—" Michel started, then stopped himself.
His eyes swept the Kar'eth veterans.
Saw the resignation in their faces.
The acceptance of their fate.
They've been fighting alone for so long. Holding this pass. Bleeding and dying while the rest of the Empire forgets they exist.
"You brought us a legion to aid you this time," Thorne said with a bitter smile.
"Two, in fact. The Knights and the Rangers. That's more reinforcement than Kar'eth has seen in decades."
The reinforcement commanders fell silent.
Understanding, perhaps for the first time, how isolated this fortress had been.
How long these soldiers had stood alone against the northern horrors.
"Damn it!" Michel suddenly swore, slamming his fist on the table.
"DAMN IT ALL!"
Everyone stared at him.
The usually cheerful commander looked furious.
"You've been fighting here for decades. Generations. While nobles in the capital throw parties and argue about succession rights. While merchants count profits and ignore dispatch reports from the north."
His voice rose.
"You've been BLEEDING for the Empire. And no one cares. No one remembers. Until it's too late and they send us here expecting us to fix everything!"
Arden watched Michel carefully.
That's real anger. Not his usual performance.
"I apologize," Michel said after a moment, his voice controlled again.
"That was unprofessional."
"It was honest," Thorne replied quietly. "And appreciated."
Silence stretched.
Then Voss spoke.
"If we're not retreating. If we're holding until the end. Then we need a different strategy. Because passive defense against three thousand Berserkers will just get us all killed slowly."
"What do you suggest?" Thorne asked.
Voss looked at Arden.
"Tell them your plan. The one you've been developing."
All eyes turned to Arden.
He took a breath.
"We can't win through attrition. Can't outlast them. Our only chance is a decapitation strike."
"Kill the Flame-Crowned," Thorne said slowly.
"Yes. He's the lynchpin. His War Essence amplifies every Berserker. His tactical genius coordinates their assault. His presence sustains their morale." Arden moved to the map.
"Cut off the head, the body dies. Kill him, and the entire Berserker force collapses."
"How?" Helena demanded. "He's surrounded by thousands of warriors. We can't reach him."
"We charge," a new voice said.
Everyone turned.
Roy Voss stood straighter, his casual demeanor completely gone.
His eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
"We charge straight through their lines. Break through to the center. Kill the Flame-Crowned before his army can respond."
"That's suicide," Helena said flatly.
"It's tactical suicide," Roy agreed. "But it's our only option. The Flame-Crowned won't expect it. He thinks we'll defend passively. Wait for him to break our walls."
"Which is exactly why we do the opposite," Michel finished, understanding dawning.
"We hit him first. While he's still organizing his assault."
Thorne was quiet for a long moment.
"How many soldiers would this require?"
"Two hundred," Roy said immediately.
"Our best knights. Fifty from the Wire Knights. Fifty from my eastern rangers. The hundred remaining Kar'eth cavalry."
"That's a quarter of our combat strength," Helena protested.
"Committed to an insane charge through three thousand enemies."
"Yes," Roy said simply. "But if it works, we win. If it fails..." He shrugged.
"We were going to lose anyway. At least this way we die fighting."
"I volunteer to lead the vanguard," Roy continued.
"I'll open the path. My fire constructs can clear a corridor through the Berserker lines."
"The Wire Knights will form the main assault force," Michel added immediately.
"We'll follow Roy's opening and drive straight to the Flame-Crowned."
"I'm going too," Arden said.
"No," Thorne started.
"Yes. The strike team needs someone who can fight the Flame-Crowned directly. Someone with abilities specifically designed to counter War Essence." Arden met his gaze steadily.
"That's me. My shadow Integration can disrupt his power. And Elara's bloodline can cut through corrupted essence."
Thorne looked between them.
Saw the determination.
The acceptance of what they were proposing.
"If the charge fails, everyone on it dies. No retreat. No rescue."
"We know," Roy said calmly.
"And the fortress will be left with five hundred and sixty defenders against three thousand Berserkers."
"If the charge fails, the fortress falls anyway," Michel pointed out.
"At least this way we have a chance."
More silence.
Then Thorne nodded slowly.
"Prepare the assault force. Two hundred soldiers. Best knights and cavalry. We charge at dawn."
"One more thing," Roy said.
"When we charge... the gates stay open. No matter what happens. Don't close them until we return or until the Berserkers breach the walls."
"That's—"
"Necessary. If the gates close, we're trapped outside. And our deaths mean nothing." Roy's voice was firm.
"The gates stay open."
Thorne's jaw clenched.
But he nodded.
The meeting dispersed.
Commanders moving to their various preparations.
Roy caught Arden in the hallway.
"A word."
They walked to a quiet section of wall.
"You know this is likely a one-way trip," Roy said without preamble.
"I know."
"And you're still coming?"
"Someone has to fight the Flame-Crowned. Someone who can actually hurt him."
Roy studied him for a long moment.
"You're thirteen years old. You should be training in some academy. Not charging immortal fire gods."
"I should be a lot of things. But I'm here. And I'm the best chance we have."
"No," Roy corrected quietly. "I'm the best chance. You're the backup plan."
Arden blinked.
Roy smiled—sharp and dangerous.
"I'm going to kill the Flame-Crowned. Personally. With everything I have." His mana flared slightly—more power than Arden had ever sensed from him.
"If I fail... then you step in. But I don't plan to fail."
"Roy—"
"I'm not a good person, Arden. I've done things in my career that would horrify most people. Killed more enemies than I can count. Made decisions that sacrificed good soldiers for strategic gains."
He looked out at the northern ridge.
"But these Kar'eth soldiers? They've been bleeding for the Empire for generations. Alone. Forgotten. And I'll be damned if I let them die without giving them a real chance."
"You're planning something," Arden realized.
"I'm planning to win. Whatever it takes." Roy's smile widened.
"Just promise me something. If I don't make it back... tell people I died doing something legendary. Preferably involving fire and explosions. I have a reputation to maintain."
Despite everything, Arden smiled slightly.
"I promise."
"Good. Now go find Elara. She'll want to say goodbye. Just in case."
Arden found Elara in the medical ward.
She was awake, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Looking stronger than yesterday.
"I'm coming with you," she said immediately.
"Elara—"
"Don't argue. My bloodline is designed for this. For killing corrupted beings. I'm coming."
Arden sat beside her.
"If you come, you'll have to use the bloodline. Fully. No holding back."
"I know."
"And I might not be able to pull you back. If things go wrong. If the battle gets too chaotic."
"I know that too." She took his hand.
"But I'm still coming. Because you need me. Because those soldiers need every advantage."
She squeezed his hand.
"Because I'm not letting you die out there alone."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Tell me about the plan," Elara said finally.
Arden explained.
The charge. The assault force. Roy leading the vanguard.
"Roy's planning something," Arden concluded.
"Something big. I can sense it. His mana signature keeps fluctuating—like he's preparing a massive technique."
"Will it be enough?"
"I don't know. The Flame-Crowned is ancient. Powerful beyond anything we've faced."
"Then we'll just have to be more determined than he is."
That evening, two hundred soldiers assembled in the courtyard.
Fifty Knights in full armor.
Fifty rangers, lightly armored for mobility.
One hundred Kar'eth cavalry on northern warhorses.
Every soldier knew this was likely a one-way trip.
Every one volunteered anyway.
Roy stood at the front, checking his equipment.
His sword gleamed. His armor was reinforced.
Fire constructs already flickering around his hands—phoenixes made of flame.
Michel appeared beside him.
"Ready for your dramatic heroic sacrifice?"
"I prefer 'legendary tactical strike resulting in decisive victory,'" Roy corrected.
"But yes. Ready."
"Good. Try not to die. I've grown fond of our partnership."
"Fire and sword duo. Going out in a blaze of glory." Roy grinned.
"Sounds about right."
They clasped arms.
"If I don't make it back—"
"You'll make it back," Michel interrupted.
"You're too stubborn to die."
Arden stood with Elara, checking their weapons.
His sword freshly sharpened.
Her blade gleaming in the torchlight.
"Whatever happens out there," she said quietly.
"Thank you. For everything. For believing in me. For being my anchor."
"Always."
Jeremy appeared, looking pale.
"I wish I could come with you."
"You're needed here," Arden told him.
"When the Berserkers assault the walls, the defenders will need every sword."
"Come back safe. Please."
"I'll try."
They embraced briefly.
Then Jeremy stepped back, joining the defenders who would hold the walls.
Thorne addressed the assault force.
"Two hundred soldiers. Against three thousand Berserkers. Led by an enemy who's never been defeated."
He paused.
"The odds are impossible. The mission is suicide. And you all volunteered anyway."
"Some of you won't come back. Most of you, probably. But if you succeed—if you kill the Flame-Crowned—you'll save not just this fortress, but six provinces. Hundreds of thousands of lives."
His voice rose.
"You'll be heroes. Legends. The soldiers who did the impossible."
Cheers.
Not confident cheers.
Defiant ones.
"FOR KAR'ETH!"
"FOR THE EMPIRE!"
"FOR THOSE WHO CAN'T FIGHT!"
Roy raised his sword.
Fire exploded along the blade—brighter than before.
"WE RIDE AT DAWN! AND WE DON'T STOP UNTIL THE FLAME-CROWNED IS DEAD!"
More cheers.
That night, Arden stood on the wall.
Watching the Berserker fires burn on the northern ridge.
Roy appeared beside him.
"Can't sleep either?"
"Too wired."
"Good. Use that energy tomorrow. Channel it into focus."
They stood in silence.
"Roy... why are you really doing this? The charge. Leading the vanguard. You could stay back. Let someone else take that risk."
Roy was quiet for a long moment.
"Because I've been a soldier for years. Fought in dozens of battles. Killed hundreds of enemies. And you know what I've learned?"
"What?"
"The best way to win impossible battles is to be more insane than your enemy expects."
He smiled.
"The Flame-Crowned is ancient. Experienced. Tactical. He expects us to defend rationally. Conserve our forces. Wait for reinforcements that aren't coming."
"So we charge straight at him instead."
"Exactly. Be so crazy, so aggressive, so unexpected that even an immortal fire god goes 'what the hell are they doing?'"
Despite everything, Arden laughed.
"That's terrible strategy."
"It's brilliant strategy. You'll see."
Dawn came.
The assault force assembled.
Two hundred soldiers.
Every one knowing this was likely their last sunrise.
Every one ready anyway.
Roy mounted his horse.
Arden and Elara beside him.
Michel leading the Wire Knights.
Kar'eth cavalry formed up behind them.
"OPEN THE GATES!" Thorne commanded.
The massive chains groaned.
The gates beginning to rise.
Inch by inch.
Revealing the snow-covered battlefield beyond.
Littered with yesterday's corpses.
And beyond that—
The Berserker army.
Three thousand strong.
Already forming up for their assault.
"CHARGE!" Roy roared.
And two hundred soldiers thundered through the gates.
Straight toward impossible odds.
Straight toward an immortal enemy.
Straight toward legend or death.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord saw them coming.
Watched from his position at the army's center.
And for the first time in three centuries—
He looked surprised.