The battlefield was silent.
No clash of blades.
No roaring monsters.
Only the soft wind, carrying the stench of blood and burned flesh.
And the sound of people… questioning.
---
> "Why did they stop?"
"Where did they go?"
"Was it really over…?"
No one had answers.
And the silence left behind by the retreating monsters was louder than any scream.
---
Picking Through the Ashes
Hours passed before we dared to breathe normally again.
Troops combed the field, checking bodies for signs of life.
I limped across the broken earth, my sword used more as a cane than a weapon now.
My armor was cracked. My wounds were still mending.
But I had to help.
> "This one's alive—barely!"
> "Over here! He's still breathing!"
> "Get a priest, now!"
One by one, we pulled the survivors out from the piles of corpses.
Some missing arms.
Some covered in blood that wasn't theirs.
Some… broken in ways no healing spell could fix.
---
The Casualty Report
When the sun had finally reached its highest point, a battered knight approached my father.
His armor was scraped down to raw steel.
His eyes were hollow.
But his voice did not waver.
> "Your Majesty… the count is in."
My father nodded, grim.
> "Speak."
> "We went into battle with 2,500 men and women."
"As of now… only 1,700 remain."
"The rest are either dead… or beyond saving."
The words hit heavier than any monster's blow.
No one spoke.
There was no rage.
No shouting.
Just… silence.
---
A Field of Wounds
Back at the main camp, the scene was no better.
Rows of injured soldiers lay on makeshift cots, blood soaking through their bandages.
The scent of herbs and holy water clashed with the metallic sting of blood.
Priests and priestesses were chanting endlessly, eyes glazed from overwork.
Some collapsed from mana depletion while still holding their staffs.
Others sobbed quietly while praying, their hands pressed against gaping wounds that refused to close.
---
I walked past a familiar knight — his leg crushed, tears running silently down his cheeks as he stared at the sky.
Another sat with his helmet in his lap, clutching it as if it were the head of a friend.
The mood was not victory.
It was survival—barely.
---
> "This isn't over…" I whispered.
> "This wasn't even the real threat."
> "They let us live... Why?"
---
Far beyond the forest, in the shadows none could see…
Something watched.
And waited.
---
The sun had already begun to dip toward the horizon.
Its golden light cast long shadows across the ruined battlefield, illuminating broken swords, shattered helmets, and hastily erected medical tents that lined the edge of the capital like bandages on a wounded body.
But beyond that—
Beyond the jagged treeline of the cursed forest—
Still nothing.
---
I walked up the stone steps to the southern wall, clutching the rail as I climbed, my legs aching with every step.
Standing alone at the top, in silent vigil, was my father.
His armor was still stained in dried monster blood.
His cape flapped quietly in the wind.
His sword, the one that cleaved through orcs and ogres alike, rested tip-first in the stone beside him—still unsheathed.
He hadn't moved in hours.
---
> "Father," I said quietly.
He didn't turn.
Just kept watching the forest.
> "They're too quiet," he muttered. "Even monsters make noise when they run."
---
I stepped beside him, leaning on the stone battlement, and stared into the treeline with him.
There was no movement.
No rustle.
No eyes.
No breathing.
Just shadow.
---
> "They retreated all at once," I said. "As if someone gave them a command."
> "I saw it too," he replied. "They weren't routed. They were called."
> "Called?" I echoed, uncertain.
He nodded slowly.
> "Someone or something is controlling them."
He exhaled, finally turning to look at me. His eyes were sharp—tired, but focused.
> "And it wasn't instinct. It was strategy. A mind is behind this."
> "A general?" I asked.
> "Or worse," he said. "A king."
---
Silence again.
Only the sound of the wind scraping across the field of bones below.
---
> "Why would they retreat after nearly breaking us?" I whispered.
> "Because they didn't come to win," he replied. "They came to measure us."
He looked down at the battlefield, the rows of wounded soldiers, the burnt grass, the stained earth.
> "And they found the answer they needed."
---
I clenched my fists.
If that was true… then this wasn't a battle.
This was a test.
And we might've failed it.
---
> "They'll come again," Father said at last. "But next time… they won't leave survivors."
---
After our grim conversation ended, my father finally allowed himself a moment of rest.
Even kings bleed.
Even warriors tremble.
We left the wall for only an hour—long enough to eat, tend to fresh bandages, and let our horses breathe.
But peace is never loyal to the weary.
---
By midnight, the scouts returned.
They were pale. Shaken.
> "The monsters haven't moved," one of them reported, kneeling before my father and me.
"They're camping in the forest... not in formation. Not in hiding."
"They've turned on each other. The injured are being eaten alive."
A grim silence followed.
Monsters didn't eat their own unless they were starving—
Or waiting.
---
Suddenly, the wind shifted.
It was cold. Wrong.
Even the torches lining the wall flickered unnaturally.
Then—
Boom.
A distant, massive step.
Then another.
And another.
---
The clouds above us slowly pulled back, revealing the full moon—pale and sharp like a cold blade in the sky.
Its silver light washed over the cursed forest…
And there—
It emerged.
---
The Drake Appears
A massive creature stepped out from the woods on four limbs.
Twice the size of a war elephant.
Its body covered in deep, jagged black scales that shimmered like obsidian under the moonlight.
Wings tucked. Long tail dragging behind, carving through the soil like a blade.
Its head… was ancient. Twisted horns curved backward like a crown.
The Drake.
A beast of legend.
A monster that had no right to still walk this world.
The moment its full form was bathed in moonlight—
The entire wall broke into panic.
> "A DRAGON!!"
"SOUND THE HORNS!"
"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!"
But the creature did not attack.
It stood. Silent. Still.
Then—
Without opening its mouth—
Its voice echoed in our minds.
---
> "Children of men."
> "You have spilled blood and shattered your own bones to defend this wall."
> "But your defiance is meaningless."
> "When the sun rises—"
> "—if any among you remain in our path…"
> "…you shall be erased."
> "Your kingdoms will burn."
> "Your names shall become ash beneath the skies."
---
The voice was cold. Smooth.
Not a roar — but a commandment.
It spoke not to just one of us, but to all.
Everyone on the wall fell silent.
Even my father gripped his sword tighter, sweat forming beneath his brow.
The Drake's gaze burned into our souls.
And then—
It turned. Slowly.
And vanished back into the shadows of the forest.
---
No one moved for several minutes.
Not even the wind dared to speak.
---