They pushed again before noon.
No speeches. No banners snapping in dramatic wind.
No priests shouting about destiny.
Just mud.
And horns.
The ground had dried slightly under the weak morning sun, forming a brittle crust over yesterday's churned blood. It cracked under boots as the human line advanced.
Eiden took position in the third rank.
Not front.
Not rear.
Middle was safer.
Middle meant margin.
In the front, mistakes killed you.
In the rear, collapse crushed you.
The middle gave him two bodies of warning in every direction.
He scanned the terrain immediately.
The shallow depression on the left flank—the one that had nearly swallowed them yesterday—was gone from relevance.
The demons had shifted their entire formation half a width north overnight, flattening any terrain leverage before it could matter.
They adjusted overnight.
Of course they did.
The horn sounded advance.
The human line moved.
The clash came faster than expected.
Not reckless calculated.
Pressure distributed evenly across the entire front instead of probing for weak points.
They were no longer testing for gaps.
They were testing for deviation.
Eiden forced his breathing into rhythm.
Shield spacing.
Blade angle.
Watch for rhythm shifts.
Listen for horn variance.
A horn cut across the field—three short bursts.
Different.
Yesterday had been two.
He did not recognize the pattern.
His stomach tightened.
New pattern.
The demon front line advanced two steps.
Paused.
Then one step more.
A staggered increment designed to interrupt timing reflex.
The soldier to Eiden's right counterthrust too early.
Steel flashed.
Two fingers fell into the mud.
The man screamed, dropped his spear, and was immediately dragged backward by a rear-rank replacement.
No collapse.
Just correction.
The formation closed seamlessly.
Eiden stepped back precisely when pressure peaked—not when instinct screamed, but when distribution shifted.
The blade that followed cut empty air.
Correct.
He did not look for the red-trimmed soldier.
That was deliberate.
Looking confirms awareness.
Awareness invites focus.
Instead, he let his gaze stay low while widening his peripheral attention.
And he felt it.
A subtle rebalancing of weight across the demon front.
Like a conductor adjusting tempo behind an orchestra.
The red-trimmed demon was not at the front today.
He was moving laterally behind it.
Supervising.
Not striking.
Calibrating.
The clash intensified.
"Steady! Rotate shields!" Rynn's voice cut through the noise.
The human front rotated left.
The demons mirrored the motion immediately.
Perfect timing.
Not reactive.
Anticipatory.
Eiden felt something colder than fear settle in his chest.
They're building a model.
Not of him specifically.
Of anomaly.
Every early retreat.
Every half-second deviation.
Every unexplained survival.
They weren't hunting him.
They were smoothing the battlefield until variables disappeared.
The pressure rose evenly instead of skewing.
No obvious trap.
No visible lure.
Just controlled compression.
The horn sounded retreat sooner than expected again.
Short engagement.
Minimal losses.
Both sides withdrew in disciplined sequence.
No breakthrough.
No trap.
Just refinement.
—
The afternoon did not bring celebration.
It brought machinery.
Siege engines creaked forward along the ridge—stone-throwers reinforced with iron braces; pitch-launchers lined with crude metal plating.
Ropes groaned under tension as engineers secured torsion arms into firing alignment.
Men moved with renewed confidence.
"They held shorter today," someone muttered.
"We're pushing them."
Eiden said nothing.
He watched the mages instead.
Distance markers hammered into soil.
Staffs planted in geometric formation.
Attack mages murmuring range calculations.
Too eager.
Too confident.
Yesterday's stability had emboldened command.
That was predictable.
Rynn approached, wiping sweat from her brow.
"They want to escalate tomorrow."
"Of course they do."
"You don't sound pleased."
"We haven't broken them."
She studied him. "You're certain?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Across the field, the demon formation stood unshaken.
No visible reinforcement.
No frantic restructuring.
No hurried barricade construction.
Just discipline.
"They stopped testing weaknesses," he said quietly.
"And?"
"They're testing consistency."
She frowned slightly.
"That's… worse?"
"Yes."
Across the field, movement caught his attention.
The red-trimmed demon stood near a cluster of officers—no obvious insignia, but posture marked authority.
He gestured once.
Small.
Deliberate.
Two fingers.
The demon lines shifted half a rank backward in synchronized motion.
Not retreating.
Resetting range.
Distance calibration.
Eiden's pulse slowed.
They're mapping our forward surge radius.
If siege engines fire tomorrow—
They'll already know the arc.
His head throbbed faintly.
Not from sleep deprivation this time.
From anticipation.
No deaths today.
Clarity intact.
Which meant tomorrow would be sharper.
And sharper meant deadlier.
—
Night fell without further engagement.
Camp activity lowered to a steady hum of maintenance and muted conversation.
Confidence threaded through exhaustion.
"They're cracking," someone near the barricades insisted.
"Tomorrow, we punch through."
Eiden walked toward the edge of camp again.
The field stretched dark between touchlines—two civilizations staring at each other across churned earth.
The red-trimmed demon stood visible even at distance.
Still.
Watching.
Eiden tilted his head slightly.
A small, deliberate movement.
A test.
The demon did not react.
Not immediately.
Then, after a measured pause—
He stepped one pace to the left.
Mirroring spacing.
Coincidence.
Probably.
Eiden felt his heartbeat slow anyway.
This wasn't emotional warfare.
There was no rage.
No hatred in that posture.
It was strategic containment.
He had reduced casualties.
So, the demon had removed unpredictability.
Tomorrow, escalation would come from the human side.
Siege engines.
Mage bombardment.
Ambition.
That was the real instability.
Not him.
Behind him, boots approached.
Rynn again.
"You're doing it," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Staring at them like they're a puzzle."
"They are."
She followed his gaze.
"You think they'll break?"
"No."
"High command does."
"That's worse."
She leaned on the wooden barricade beside him.
Silence settled.
After a moment she asked, "You going to sleep tonight?"
He considered it.
Today had anchored cleanly.
No resets.
No distortion.
If tomorrow collapsed catastrophically—
He would want this day back.
But if he stayed awake too long and tomorrow demanded precision—
He would lose it.
The red-trimmed demon remained motionless in the distance.
Waiting.
Learning.
"Not yet," Eiden said finally.
Rynn nodded once.
"Don't be slow tomorrow."
"I won't."
She walked away.
Eiden remained alone at the edge of camp.
Across the field, the red-trimmed demon turned and disappeared behind the formation.
Not retreating.
Preparing.
Eiden closed his eyes briefly.
Tomorrow would not be repetition.
It would be escalation.
And for the first time since arriving in this world—
He suspected the next death chain would not be accidental.
It would be engineered.