The torches of Viscount Dell's army burned like a sea of stars against the black horizon, their glow washing over the wooden palisade of Thornfield's village. The night smelled of sweat, iron, and the smoke of thousands of marching men.
Viscount Dell dismounted from his white stallion, his silver armor shimmering faintly in the torchlight. The velvet of his cloak dragged through the dirt as he strode toward Chief Thornfield, each step deliberate, calculated.
The villagers held their breath from the walls.
Dell stopped before the old chief and let his eyes sweep over the modest defenses. His voice carried, polished with noble command, every word measured to make even silence bend to him.
"Chief Thornfield," Dell said, "you will prepare your people. At dawn, every villager will march. They will not stay here. You will move to the new settlement I have provided."
Chief Thornfield bowed slightly, leaning on his staff. His voice was steady, though weariness lined every syllable.
"We are already prepared, my lord. My people have gathered what little they own. They can leave at your word."
Dell nodded once, pleased. He let his gaze wander the walls, the lanterns, the pale faces peering from above.
"Good. Very good. I expected no less." His tone softened into false generosity, though his eyes stayed cold. "It is… impressive that you survived the swarm this long. More impressive still that the orcs have not yet chosen to visit your gates."
The chief's lips twitched in a bitter smile. "Luck has been our greatest ally, my lord."
Before Dell could reply, the air split.
A streak of silver blurred through the ranks, faster than any arrow. Elite soldiers drew blades instinctively, some even leaping back. Dell himself froze, his hand half-reaching for his sword. By the time his eyes adjusted, the blur was gone and Selvara stood before the chief, tall and unbreathing, silver eyes sharp as knives.
Gasps rippled through the army.
Her voice was quiet, but the weight of it made every man listen.
"Chief. Roderick. The cave has broken. An army of goblins and hobgoblins pours into the forest."
Roderick, standing stiff beside Thornfield, clenched his jaw. His voice cracked with urgency.
"Then it's done. The realm break is complete."
Dell's head whipped toward him. "Tsk... The realm break is complete"
Roderick met his gaze. "It is what we feared. The cave is no longer a nest, it is a gate. It will not stop until the land itself is empty."
Dell's smile vanished. He turned sharply, eyes cutting to his captain.
"Klein."
Captain Klein, a broad man clad in tempered steel, slammed a fist against his chest and barked, "My lord."
"Take the eight thousand east. Now. Stop them before the forest is devoured."
Klein turned, raising his gauntleted hand. His voice thundered across the plain.
"FORM RANKS! EASTWARD MARCH!"
The roar of eight thousand boots shifted like a mountain turning. The columns bent east, their banners snapping against the night wind, and the ground trembled beneath their weight.
Dell turned back but Selvara was gone. No ripple of movement, no trace of her form. She had already vanished into the trees.
For the first time that night, Dell's composure cracked. His lips pulled into a thin line. He looked at Roderick, eyes narrowed.
"You. You come with me. And you will tell me who… or what… that woman is."
Roderick glanced at Thornfield, who only gave the smallest of nods. Then he followed Dell, silent.
---
Among the villagers pressed near the gate, Loid stood with his hood drawn low. His heart raced, but not from Dell's speech or the roar of the marching army. His eyes flickered to the glowing blue screen only he could see:
[ Reputation Coins: 30.40 ]
[ Reputation Points: 806 ]
[ Units Owned: 2 ]
[ System Level: 2 ]
The numbers were rising steadily, like a pulse tied to distant slaughter.
Loid clenched his fists. "Finally eight hundred," he whispered.
The system chimed:
[ Requirement Met. Level Up Available. ]
"Yes." His lips barely moved. The villagers around him muttered prayers, but his voice cut through only for himself.
[ Angela – Level 5 ]
[ Strength: 5 | Endurance: 3 | Agility: 4 | Spirit: 1 ]
He dragged the single glowing point to Endurance. The screen pulsed, and he exhaled in relief.
"Stay alive, Angela and Selvara..."
The system flickered once, then dimmed.
Loid tucked his hands into his cloak and watched the army's torches snake eastward into the forest. His thoughts whispered, faster than he could stop them: The points are climbing too fast. If it keeps up… what happens when I run out of choices?
---
The army advanced.
Eight thousand torches swayed through the trees like a second sunrise. The deeper they pushed east, the more corpses they found. Goblins by the dozen, piled in grotesque heaps, their bodies pierced through cleanly or torn apart in chunks. Hobgoblins lay split in halves, their crude armor peeled away like shells.
Men muttered prayers. Some crossed themselves.
"Gods above," one whispered.
"What kind of blade does this?" another muttered.
The further they went, the fresher the blood.
Then the first goblin skirmish struck, ragged bands rushing from the brush with jagged spears. They died in moments beneath disciplined spears and shields, their bodies trampled under steel boots. But more came, then more, until every flank was tested, and still the column pushed eastward, iron shields battering aside green flesh.
Captain Klein's voice carried above the din. "Hold ranks! Push forward!"
The trees thinned. The roar of the horde grew louder. And then they saw it.
The cave mouth was a wound in the cliff face, spilling goblins like pus from a rotten wound. Hundreds surged outward in waves but standing against them, soaked in blood, were two figures.
Angela and Selvara.
Angela's greatsword swung like a hammer of war, each strike cleaving a dozen goblins apart, her armor glistening crimson, golden sparks bursting beneath her steps. Juggernaut's Rush cracked the ground with every lunge, her voice rising in laughter that made even Dell's soldiers hesitate.
Selvara was a blur, a silver ghost weaving through the horde. Her estoc punched holes through hobgoblins' armor, each thrust leaving crimson tears in the air. Her silver eyes glowed faintly in the dark, her movements too sharp, too fast for human sight. Lightning Veins sparked across her body, each fifth strike stunning enemies long enough for her to pierce their throats.
The elite soldiers of Dell's host stopped in their tracks.
One whispered, "What are they?"
Another breathed, "Probably also elites"
Captain Klein's jaw tightened. "Advance!" he barked. "Support them!"
The front lines surged forward. Shields locked, spears thrust, arrows rained overhead. For the first time, Angela and Selvara fought with a tide at their backs instead of against them.
And then, the elites came.
A hundred men in blackened armor, each one scarred by war, each bearing enchanted steel. Fifty of them raised their hands in unison, voices chanting in the old tongue. Magic surged, flaring with blue, green, red light.
"They are using rank E spells!" Someone shouted.
Flames roared. Lightning cracked. Blades of wind tore through the swarms. A wall of goblins disintegrated in fire and blood, bodies reduced to ash and bone. For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then the cave howled.
More goblins spilled forth. Twice as many. Hobgoblins barreled through, their shields raised, their teeth gnashing. The portal inside churned, vomiting monsters without end.
Captain Klein did not falter. His voice carried like iron.
"Slow advance! Into the cave! Push them back into their hole!"
The army roared as one, steel boots stomping forward. The elites cut a path, Angela's laughter boomed like thunder, and Selvara disappeared into the storm once more.
The battle for the cave had begun.