His dream was clear for the first time. He opened his eyes and above him were several wooden planks, through which he could glimpse part of a dirty, damaged mattress bunk bed.
It wasn't the first time memories turned into dreams, but usually they were fragmented, distorted images. This time it seemed his mind was finally starting to stabilize. He followed the line of the dream and stood up. Around him, rows of bunk beds filled the room, where several men slept peacefully. It was easy to tell they were soldiers—not only because they seemed to be inside a warehouse, but also because they wore white undershirts, loose camouflage pants, and by each bed rested two assault rifles as if it were nothing.
Suddenly, with a loud bang, the door burst open. Everyone in the room woke up startled and stood stiffly in front of their bunks.
Daion felt as if he were moving in slow motion.
"Hey," said his bunkmate, a chubby nineteen-year-old with a buzz cut. He opened his mouth, and a distorted sound came out. Daion knew he had just said his name, though his mind had blocked it. "Get up, if the general sees you like that…"
Daion obeyed with a yawn and stood beside him. When he peeked out, the eyes—or rather, the eye—of the general was fixed on him with a glare sharp enough to melt steel. His other glass eye wandered off to the side, which Daion found almost comical.
"Corporal…" again his name came out distorted. "I assume you slept well last night."
Daion sighed, wanting to make a sarcastic remark, but the memory took control.
"No, sir. I slept like a sack of garbage!" he answered. "Sorry for being late."
The general seemed pleased by his response and continued with the morning inspection, going through random bunks, opening drawers, pulling out letters from families, civilian clothes, and hidden food. One poor idiot got caught with a handful of porn magazines and was sent to run around the base in the freezing night at two degrees.
Daion quickly covered his own bed, hoping to divert the general's attention from his bunk—he had no intention of running for his own magazines.
The general reached him, the glass eye rolling up and down before he turned. His blue eye glimmered with amusement.
"I suppose you think you're special, don't you, corporal?" he asked.
"I believe I have… special qualities." Daion knew those words were forced—just the polite way of calling himself an idiot.
"I think so too," the general mocked. The corporals gave forced laughs, as if extra credit could save their grade. "So let me assign you a task worthy of your abilities."
He clapped his hands, the door opened again, and in walked a surprisingly familiar figure.
"Your job will be to guide the corporal—and teach her what it means to be a man of war."
The soldiers muttered among themselves. The same question echoed: A woman?
She stood beside the general, saluted Daion, and smirked. "Try not to waste too much time on your manicure, ladies."
Daion remembered being bored by her insults and annoyed at the idea of guiding a corporal. But in his present awareness, the feeling was completely different. Her blonde hair, her striking body with a subtle neckline highlighting her figure, and her face—without the scar he had seen in earlier visions. Now he was completely sure of what he was seeing.
Standing before him was the same woman he had first seen upon arriving at SteelWall, wearing that same arrogant, mocking expression. The tavern keeper, Selka, extended her hand. Daion responded.
"Pleasure. You can call me Ashley."
A loud crash woke him. He fell out of bed, the tremor making him kick Aelith by accident. Startled, she sank her teeth into his thigh, making him scream as he shook his leg desperately to get the demi-human to let go.
"Let go, you damn idiot!" She struggled, until Daion kicked her off and she released him reluctantly.
He rubbed his leg, trying to ease the pain.
Before he could throw another string of insults at her, another crash shook the place. Daion hurriedly strapped on his armor and left the room. He saw the other Summoned rushing toward the tower's exit in panic. In front of him, Loryn was casually adjusting his rifle and nodded at Daion.
The three of them ran to the fort's gates. Soldiers all around were terrified, without exception. The Summoned were a mixed bag of emotions—fear, excitement, thrill, and even a sense of decay.
The gates swung open with a rumble, and a wave of heat blasted in. Daion immediately recalled the sensation of SteelWall. A flare shot into the night sky, burning it bright. From atop the fortress wall, a soldier shouted with all his might:
"Thaloren is fifteen minutes away—survive until then!"
The moment was so abrupt that Daion barely had time to process what was happening.
When they rushed outside, chaos had already broken loose. The Corrupted advanced. Daion spotted several of those vampiric Corrupted from the first day flying over the field. Some Summoned and soldiers fired from long range to bring them down, but their erratic movements made it nearly impossible.
Out from the trenches leapt a terrible wolf—just as Loryn had called it—that charged straight at Daion. He narrowly dodged its snapping jaws, escaping being crushed by its fangs. With speed, he drove his sword into its ribs, but the beast swiped at him, clawing his arm and throwing him to the ground. It lunged to finish the fight, but Daion hurled his sword; it slashed across the creature's neck, then returned at his call through the gem, slicing its side mid-flight. The wolf howled in agony, and Daion seized the moment to deliver a vertical strike that cleaved the beast in two.
A shriek echoed behind him. One of the vampire-like monsters descended. Daion had already learned how they moved during his first day. He spun around, the beast lunged past him, tearing into the dirt, and he decapitated it with a simple stroke.
He breathed, slightly winded yet astonished at his own improvement. Once, just one of these had nearly killed him—now he cut them down with ease. Looking around, however, he saw that the other Summoned still struggled against them. They were undeniably stronger than him, yet their movements were clumsy, slow, or poorly thought out. He figured that having served in the army in his past life, he'd learned how to keep his body steady under pressure.
Still, one Summoned stood above the rest. Every shot from his rifle blew a head apart. The recoil seemed nonexistent, as he held the weapon with one hand and fired without pause. Bullets pierced through enemy skulls instantly, regardless of distance—saving countless soldiers and Summoned in the process.
God of Inertia… if I'm not mistaken, that means he reduces the rifle's recoil to zero, while maximizing the inertia of each bullet. Damage amplified by sheer speed, with no consequences. Daion analyzed, recalling that as a soldier, he must have once studied these principles to handle firearms properly. That's a true godlike ability, he admitted bitterly.
At that moment, Loryn was without a doubt the most powerful Summoned.
Daion glanced back. Aelith was just sitting in the dirt, idly drawing on the ground with no intention of helping. He even regretted promising not to use the Mark to force her into action.
The battlefield grew more chaotic by the minute. Daion held to the rear, picking off the occasional Devourer that slipped through. If too many passed, they would spill into the untouched regions of the world.
But truthfully, he made no real difference. There were far too many Summoned and Corrupted around, and he even spotted large numbers of Hellseaker, and lowly reptilian Corrupts—though none like the ones that had attacked SteelWall. These were dispatched with relative ease.
The more experienced Summoned also seemed to be handling the situation well. For the moment, Daion was unnecessary.
He advanced a few meters, cutting down any bats or Devourers foolish enough to get close. Then he heard a scream from the trenches. He hurried in and dove straight into it. Inside, he saw a soldier pinned down by a reptilian Corrupt, claws sunk deep into his leg. Daion's blood boiled at the sight, recalling what had happened in the dungeon—when he'd been forced to abandon someone there.
He charged the creature. The Corrupt raised a jagged sword and thrust. Daion dodged, slamming against the trench wall. He had expected this, and with a calculated strike, slashed clean through the Corrupts arm. The beast fell, writhing like a worm, blood splattering the dirt. Daion helped the soldier up, who staggered back in genuine surprise.
The reptile fixed its gaze on him.
"A Summoned so arrogant he plays the hero?" it hissed. Daion smiled, as if to agree.
"With enemies this week, I could fight as a pacifist," he mocked. As expected, the reptile swung diagonally, hoping to secure the hit.
But Daion wanted to try something. He leapt against the trench wall, used it to propel himself over the Corrupt as its blade gouged the earth, landed behind it, and with a swift spin decapitated the creature.
The body collapsed, and Daion wasted no time absorbing it—as he had with the other creatures he had slain. He had to take advantage of every moment on the Frontier; the more energy he consumed, the stronger he would become.
He raised his head over the trench, checking on Aelith. She still didn't care in the slightest, casually crushing Devourers that wandered too close. Daion understood in a way—she was half-Corrupt, and they hadn't enslaved her. Yet he couldn't help but wonder what would have become of her if the Corrupts had kept her.
He had never seen a female Corrupt—or so he believed. And he doubted they were just shapeless creatures with no means of reproduction. They had races, and Aelith herself was the child of one.
His reflection ended when an arrow whizzed past his face, grazing his ear and reminding him what trenches were for.
He ducked instantly and advanced deeper into the circuit. It wasn't much different from a regular trench, though far too narrow to wield long weapons effectively. He suspected they weren't built for prolonged fighting, but rather to advance while firing occasionally. Besides, a gluttonous Corrupt would never fit inside.
Stumbling out into the mud, Daion was immediately met by a Hellseeker's thrust. He barely deflected it with his sword, freezing for a moment as memories of nearly dying to one of them resurfaced. He raised his weapon—when a bullet suddenly blew the creature's brains apart in a violent burst.
Daion turned just in time to see Loryn casually look away and continue his massacre.
He kept fighting, slashing at anything that moved, but more and more kept appearing. He absorbed what he could, but often the Corrupted themselves snatched away the bodies to prevent him from growing stronger.
He glanced up for a moment. A group of Summoned caught his attention—one of them was holding a soldier by the arm, watching as a massive Corrupted approached. It had a stretched, towering frame, with fur so long it dragged across the ground. Its arms were simian in shape, and its face was completely covered in hair, leaving only a narrow slit where a single glowing red eye glared. In its hand, it raised a massive wooden club menacingly.
A couple of the Summoned leapt forward. Their leader did something to the soldier—Daion noticed a glowing seal appearing on the man's back. The Corrupted slammed the ground with its club; the Summoned dodged at the last moment, then shoved the soldier forward before the beast could lift its weapon again. Drawn to the mark, the Corrupted locked onto the stumbling soldier. Its massive club rose once more before it came crashing down in a frenzy. Blood sprayed in every direction, chunks of flesh scattering along with what was left of the soldier. The Summoned used those few seconds to drive their blades deep into the beast's body.
The monster let out a guttural, ear-rattling screech before the leader plunged his knife into its neck. With a heavy thud, the beast collapsed. The Summoned laughed, wiping blood off themselves, and absorbed the creature's remains without hesitation.
Daion approached slightly, and the Summoned turned toward him with a mix of curiosity and smugness.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a fan," the leader joked. He had bluish hair, a plain face, and the only remarkable thing about him were the dangling earrings brushing against his shoulders.
"Why did you do that?" Daion asked. The group exchanged glances. Daion clenched his fist and stepped closer.
They immediately shifted stance, ready for a fight—when the ground began to tremble.
Turning, they saw a horde of Corrupted charging toward them. Even if they were low-ranked, there were far too many to hold back.
Daion ignored the Summoned and raised his sword, wondering if any of his memories held a lesson on how to stop an army outnumbering them a hundred to one. Of course not. All I can remember is how to operate a damn tank… and we don't exactly have one lying around.
Suddenly, the temperature began to rise. Daion felt his coat suffocating him. The Corrupted halted in their tracks, lifting their gazes with unease. Daion already knew what was coming, and once again, he was struck by Thaloren's overwhelming presence.
His eyes glowed with restrained fury. Raising his hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration.
"Chain Reaction."
Around him, countless spheres of fire materialized. His eyes darted rapidly, scanning the battlefield. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the fireballs shot forth.
In an instant, they struck with surgical precision, obliterating every Corrupted that had broken past the fortress's defenses. The creatures fell, burning and twitching, while the Summoned roared with excitement—as if some pop star had just made an appearance.
The soldiers, on the other hand, quickly put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as possible. Second-degree burns were not on their list of desired battle scars.
The Corrupted began retreating, dozens of them fleeing in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for them, they clustered together, and Thaloren decided to erase the entire advance at once.
He raised his hand again, the gauntlet glowing like molten rock. Heat shimmered off the metal as a massive sphere of energy began to form over his palm.
"Double Fusion" he intoned. Daion wasn't sure if he really needed to say it, or if he just enjoyed showing off. Regardless, the sphere launched into the sky.
Daion followed it with his eyes, tracking its parabolic arc. When it fell, he finally understood why the landscape was riddled with craters. A miniature nuclear blast erupted, vaporizing the Corrupted in a blinding flash. A violent shockwave ripped across the battlefield, followed by a towering mushroom cloud. Charred fragments of the monsters rained down in every direction, scorched and torn to pieces.
Daion stood dumbfounded, a massive crater before him. He watched as some of the Corrupted managed to survive, limping away in pain. On one hand, it was stupidly destructive—the Omega energy of those creatures was now unrecoverable, and he wasn't sure how good unleashing explosions like that would be in the long run. But on the other hand, he was fascinated by the sheer display of power, wondering if one day he might be able to do something similar.
The summoned fighters from earlier withdrew without Daion doing anything. The explosion had reminded him that he was still among the weakest of the summoned at the frontier.
Loryn approached him.
"What do you think of your first large-scale battle?" he asked, letting the smoke drift out from his weapon.
"Well, it felt kind of nostalgic, and my body seemed to react on instinct," Daion admitted. He still didn't really know how he was supposed to feel—he had just reacted. His eyes shifted to the side, toward what was left of the soldier crushed on the ground.
"What happened? Don't tell me you got all worked up over some random soldier?" Loryn mocked.
"No. But I did see something that pissed me off."
"I see. Even so, you'd better get used to it..."
"Why?" Daion looked at him, confused.
"Why do you think? This happens every single day." Loryn replied flatly. Daion cursed under his breath before moving on toward the fortress.
He glanced at Thaloren as he descended to the ground, greeted by the free summoned who cheered at their victory. The best way to win a battle when you're outnumbered a hundred to one is apparently to bring someone who can wipe out a thousand, he thought with bitter sarcasm.
"We'll have to stay here for a month, right?" Daion asked, though he already knew the answer—he just wanted to be wrong.
"Yep. It's gonna be a rough month. Still, don't worry, you'll be able to gather Omega energy from corpses. You'll either rank up or die. Not that bad." Daion chuckled slightly.
"Except I also have to find the problem the god mentioned."
"Shit, that's right..." Loryn paused for a moment. "Any idea?"
Daion thought for a while. He had a gut feeling, but he didn't know why.
They reached Aelith, who looked at them with disdain as she gnawed on a broken spear. Daion didn't even bother to scold her for not helping, so she just kept going. Then they heard footsteps, and when they turned, Daion recognized the soldier he had saved. He walked with a limp from the wound in his leg, but his eyes were fixed on Daion.
"Uh..." he stammered. "Thanks for saving me."
"Oh, it's fine." The soldier looked up, confused, as if he'd expected something different. Daion just smiled and glanced at his leg. "You should get that checked out."
"Of course," the man replied, walking away while occasionally glancing back.
"So much distrust," Daion muttered with a sigh.
Stretching a little, he decided to head back to his room to try and sleep some more.
Then, a roar thundered from the distance. It echoed across the valley, so powerful that the shock left behind a ringing in their ears. It was the roar of a beast—deep, savage. Everyone turned toward its source, catching a glimpse of a pale figure far away, too distant to make out clearly. Just as suddenly as it came, the roar began to fade, vanishing into the valley. Not even Thaloren seemed sure about attacking, and in that moment Daion figured he finally had a lead.