The low hum of the town's emergency beacon reverberated through every street of Greyveil, its tone growing sharper, louder—until it became impossible to ignore.
A crimson flare shot into the sky from the central spire, marking the highest level of alert.
The Tide had reached them.
Within minutes, the entire town came alive, not with calm preparation, but with frantic urgency.
At the town hall, the council had reconvened. The elderly figure of Elder Mordren Hampton, his silver beard swaying slightly with each commanding gesture, stood once again at the head of the five great family elders. Together, they issued an official decree:
"Emergency Mission Activated: DEFEND GREYVEIL."
Reward: +200 sol commision.
All Soul Hunters, Report to Your Assigned Sectors. Immediately.
That one announcement echoed through magical relays and crier calls, spreading like wildfire—and with it came a rush of resolve across the hunter community.
The air thickened with tension. Soul Hunters scrambled through the cobbled streets, some strapping on armor, others downing soul tonics or sorting their beast cores to replenish energy before the battle. Metal clashed, boots pounded, voices roared.
Amidst the madness, civilians—mortals—were being evacuated. Children barely old enough to comprehend war were ushered into the underground shelter tunnels beneath the town.
Newly awakened teens, still years away from their first soul weapons, looked back at the battle-ready hunters with awe—and fear.
But there was no time for awe now.
Every zone of Greyveil—North, South, East, and West—was under imminent threat. The Monster Tide wasn't coming from one side… it was surrounding them.
Atop the fortified city walls, ranged Soul Hunters stationed themselves—archers and elemental gunners all aligning shoulder to shoulder. They checked their sights, murmured spells, and loaded their weapons, and steadying their soul energy to release affinity skills, while waiting for the command.
Behind them, sub-commanders barked instructions. Every click of gear, every charge of soul energy felt like the ticking of a countdown.
Below, on the battlefield's outer edges, the mid-range and close-combat units had taken formation. Veterans of the second and third ranks held the frontlines with hardened gazes. They formed overlapping attack zones—designed to prevent any beast from breaching the line too deep.
Soul Tonics and cores were distributed hand-to-hand like lifeblood, with runners shouting instructions between the ranks.
Farther back, the newly awakened hunters, Kael's generation, stood in tightly organized supply teams. They weren't expected to fight—yet. Instead, they carried medical gear, energy vials, and backup cores. They were to prioritize their survival, then assist others.
Among them, Gareth and Rehn stood firm. Rehn's voice cut through the chaos as he addressed the young ones.
"You are not heroes today. You are lifelines. Move only when ordered. Live—so you can fight tomorrow."
Their words burned into the minds of the fresh hunters.
Every street echoed with a purpose. Every soul, trained or not, played a role.
From the four corners of the town, the fog churned and broke apart, revealing massive hordes of Soul Beasts charging in formation—like nature's own army, with instinctual synchronization.
Then came the command from the Hunter Guild Leader atop the central tower.
"—NOW!"
A blinding volley of spiritual projectiles tore through the fog. Arrows of fire, bolts of ice, shards of compressed air and flashes of lightning turned the first wave into carnage.
But the beasts did not stop.
As the first ranks fell, more came, climbing over their dead without hesitation—lesser beasts, mutated hounds, shadow cats, screeching raptors with eyes glowing red.
The second signal followed.
Mid-range spellcasters and spear-users moved forward, weaving in precision strikes to cut through the tide before it reached the walls.
Explosions lit the field. Screams—both human and beast—filled the air. The ground quaked under hundreds of simultaneous collisions.
Then the third signal.
"Close-combat, GO!"
With battle cries shaking the atmosphere, the frontline Soul Hunters surged, swords flashing, maces spinning, and soul weapons igniting. Lines clashed in brutal, close-quarters combat.
Greyveil was now a battlefield in every direction.
Veteran hunters shouted tactical formations while others broke away to defend collapsing flanks. The beasts were aggressive, relentless… but so were the defenders
The battle waged on.
Though it began with a thunderous clash, the Tide had not relented—and neither had the Soul Hunters.
Hours passed, and the defense lines began to adapt to the rhythms of the battlefield. The lesser beasts were unrelenting, but they were predictable, and that gave the defenders a critical edge.
Among the hordes, a notorious soul beast pack emerged from the fog on the Eastern flank- Fangcloaks, they were panther-like creatures with shifting pelts that shimmered with low-level invisibility. Their agility was unmatched, and their coordinated ambushes had crippled patrols in the past.
But today, they were expected.
"Fangcloaks! Prepare your sight skills and ground control!" one sub-commander bellowed.
Earth Affinity users stepped forward, slamming their weapons to the ground—"Stone Wall!" they chanted in unison. Large segments of the terrain rose up in jagged barricades, cutting off the beasts' momentum and forcing them into narrow channels.
From behind, Wind and Lightning affinity users unleashed razor gales and crackling arcs of electricity through the newly formed corridors—creating lethal kill zones.
"Synchronize your timing!" a second-rank tactician called out. "Don't waste a single burst!"
High above the frontline, Fire affinity hunters conjured molten bursts and hailstorms of flame, launching them into open beast packs while Water affinities provided mist screens and healed overheated allies. The battlefield pulsed with combined elemental chaos—a symphony of survival, power, and coordination.
But even in battle, they couldn't fight forever.
Thankfully, the tide was still composed of lesser beasts—numerous but low in intelligence and power. This gave the defenders the rare chance to rotate in and out of the line, refilling energy, resting sore limbs, and treating wounds.
Behind the lines, the newly awakened hunters moved like nervous bees in a hive. Many had never even held a weapon in real battle, but now they found themselves in roles of vital importance—delivering tonic vials, beast cores, and carrying the injured off the field.
"I need another recovery band here!" one of them cried, sprinting toward a fallen spear-user.
"This one's too injured to move—get me a second-rank caster with Soul Mending!"
Every moment mattered. Their fear didn't paralyze them; it sharpened them. For the first time, they weren't just trainees. They were part of a real war.