The air was thick with moisture and tension.
I stood at the edge of the hilltop, the marshland sprawling beneath me like a rotting carpet. The scent of mud, blood, and rot lingered like a phantom just beyond reach. Smoke curled faintly in the distance—too thin for fire, too heavy for mist.
This was it.
This was where the war began.
Behind me, I could hear them approach.
Shuna stepped up quietly, her breath catching as she looked past me toward the horizon. She didn't say anything, but I could feel the way her aura shifted—something reverent, almost sacred. The way people look at altars or ancient swords buried in stone.
To her, maybe I looked like a hero.
Benimaru stood a little off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable until he smiled softly.
I felt his gaze, steady and loyal. It weighed more than it should have.
And then there was Shizu.
She stood a bit further back, her mask dangling off her belt as she stared up at me with furrowed brows. She didn't speak, didn't scold—but I could see it in her eyes. Worry. Not just for the battle, but for me.
Don't push yourself so hard, she was likely thinking.
Tch.
Too late for that.
I let out a slow breath and tried to keep my face blank, sharp—like I knew what I was doing.
In reality?
I was sweating buckets.
...They're terrifying this close.
What the actual hell, they weren't supposed to be here this soon! I thought I had two more weeks. Two whole-ass weeks to prepare. To train. To buy more time. And now—?
My eyes flicked down to the mass of orcs moving through the marsh, a tide of muscle and meat and desperation. The ground groaned beneath them like it wanted to die first.
Wait… they didn't finish eating the Ogre village. Is that it? They're hunting for more to evolve? That's why they moved early? Shit. Shit shit shit.
I adjusted my cloak.
Tried not to show how tense my hands were.
Then, slowly, I raised them.
From the shadows beneath the trees, a low growl echoed as a portal of swirling black opened just behind me.
A flash of silver fur burst out first—Ranga, eyes sharp and storm crackling around his fangs.
A beat later, an even larger presence emerged, his mane glowing faintly with magicules—Fenral, his body humming with barely restrained energy.
Both wolves stood beside me, one on each side, like twin avatars of death.
"Stand by," I said, my voice steady despite everything burning underneath. "We're not charging yet…"
The wind whipped around us.
The silence before the storm had officially ended.
And I could feel it—
The orcs, as if sensing us… began to charge.
The stillness shattered as a wave of thunderous grunts echoed across the marsh. Mud churned beneath their feet. Spears rattled. Bone axes raised. And then—they came.
A wall of flesh, hunger, and madness surged forward, roaring like an avalanche.
Below the hill, the lizardmen army shifted.
Their movements weren't perfect—but they didn't need to be. Rows of them dropped into formation, spears planted firmly into the mud. Shields braced. Eyes forward.
A phalanx of scales and spears, just as I taught them.
Benimaru beside me exhaled slowly, drawing his blade in a single fluid motion, flame dancing along its edge. Hakuro's stance shifted, two fingers on his hilt, body taut like a drawn bow. Shion cracked her knuckles, grinning wide enough to bare teeth, her weapon already in hand.
They waited for me.
And I gave them what they wanted.
"...Showtime," I whispered, snapping my fingers.
A second passed.
Then the sky cracked.
Black lightning tore through the clouds above, splitting the heavens open. Bolts rained down in jagged arcs—each one guided, each one merciless. They didn't strike randomly.
They struck precisely.
The marsh boiled as the electricity hit the water, forming a cage of lightning that surged through the bodies of every orc wading into the swamp. Screams filled the air as the front line seized up, their limbs locking, muscles spasming violently as magicules burned through them.
I saw some collapse outright. Others twitched, stuck mid-step as the voltage locked their bones in place.
"Begin." My voice rang cold, absolute.
And they moved.
The battlefield had become a furnace in a matter of seconds.
Benimaru stood at its center, his sword dripped blackened flames, its heat warping the air around him. He didn't chase the orcs; they came to him, drawn like moths to the fire—and were consumed just as quickly.
He raised his hand.
A flick of his fingers—and the world ignited.
Spheres of flame spun around him in a spiraling dance, each one hanging weightless before launching forward like meteorites. Each impact bloomed into an inferno, wiping out entire squads in flashes of black-hot destruction. Yet through all the chaos, not a single flame grazed the lizardmen.
Benimaru's voice roared out like a declaration of war. "Let this be the first song sung of his name—the spark that lit a legend aflame!"
Shion was.. well, Shion.
She barreled through the battlefield, her laughter booming as her massive blade swung like a guillotine made of iron and fury. Craters erupted with every step. Orcs shattered beneath her like dry bark.
"For the one who gave us a future worth dying for!" she bellowed, carving a path through the enemy lines.
Mzcore snorted as he ducked a swipe from an axe, barely glancing as he snapped his crossbows up and fired, one after another. His bolts struck with pinpoint precision—through eyes, necks, joints. Targets dropped before they even realized they were dead.
"Tch. So much drama," he muttered, but his lips curved into a smirk. "Still… if there must be a tale, then let it speak of the man whose shadow makes even fate hesitate."
Then, like a blade through silk, Hakuro arrived.
He didn't run. He glided. His footsteps left no prints, his cuts made no sound—just clean, perfect lines that followed a rhythm only he could hear. Heads rolled. Blood sprayed. But it was art, not butchery. Calculated. Composed. Beautiful in its silence.
"The first breath of his reign..."
From above, the skies howled.
Ranga burst forth from the clouds, lightning trailing his fangs. He descended like a god of storms, crashing into the marshland and creating a crater beneath him. Winds bent to his will, cyclones forming at his side and sucking up dozens of orcs—before tearing them apart in mid-air.
"All tremble at the master's command!" his voice thundered through our bond. "The Ruler of Monsters!"
Fenral was the nightmares made flesh.
No growl. No warning. Only a flicker of movement—and the world screamed. He slashed the air and black rifts opened like jaws, devouring everything in their path. Screams died before they could even echo. Orcs vanished, pulled into oblivion, shredded apart by gravity itself.
"Let this world remember," he snarled, his eyes glowing like dying stars, "the one it will kneel to, when all other kings are devoured."
And then there was silence—broken only by the roar of flames and wind.
Shizu stood alone on the ridge, cloak billowing. Her eyes traced every motion, waiting. Calculating. She didn't move until she had to.
Gabiru faltered. An orc general raised its blade.
Too slow.
Shizu's blade caught the moonlight, then caught the general's neck. One flash—and the orc collapsed headless in the mud. She landed beside me again, still and silent. Like she'd never moved at all.
She turned to me. Her mask still on, her blade still bloody."He's the fool who tries to carry the world alone," she murmured. "But maybe... just maybe... he's the only one who can."
"…"
I stared blankly at them.
"…What's that all about," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
They all grinned.
And beyond the broken orc ranks, there he stood.
The source of this chaos. The one radiating hunger like a furnace.
Geld.
The Orc Lord.
I stepped forward, black fire dancing across my fingers like a promise.
"…Let's end this."