He stood at the canyon's heart, the F-22 glinting in the distance, his tanks lined in neat rows, his soldiers drilling with rifles at the ready.
But it wasn't enough.
An army of hundreds had won the day. To win the war, he needed thousands.
Daniel set the patch in his palm, breathed deep, and guided the fire again and again.
Squad after squad stepped into existence, rifles in hand, boots pounding the stone. Platoons became companies. Companies became battalions.
By the week's end, over five thousand soldiers filled the canyon, their voices shaking the cliffs when they shouted as one.
But numbers meant nothing without teeth.
Daniel conjured long-range artillery, M777 howitzers lined in rows, their barrels aimed at the horizon. Crates of shells stacked high, waiting.
He created mobile rocket systems — HIMARS launchers bristling with firepower, ready to rain destruction miles beyond sight.
He brought in attack helicopters — AH-64 Apaches, bristling with Hellfire missiles, their rotors growling like predators.
And deep in the canyon, hidden in cavern hangars beside the F-22, he created more jets — F-35s for versatility, A-10 Warthogs for ground support, even bombers capable of flattening entire battalions.
Every night, the canyon sky lit with the thunder of test flights.
His engineers worked ceaselessly, expanding the canyon outward with tunnels and scaffolds.
Walls doubled in height, reinforced with steel and concrete.
Watchtowers bristled with snipers, sensors, and mounted guns.
Barracks sprawled in neat rows, housing thousands of soldiers.
Hangars rose for aircraft. Garages for tanks and trucks.
Command bunkers dug deep into stone, bristling with comms equipment Daniel conjured.
What had once been a hidden canyon was now a fortress-state, buzzing with industry, discipline, and power.
Daniel drilled his new army with merciless precision.
Morning to night, the canyon thundered with live-fire exercises, tanks rolling in formation, artillery practicing coordinated barrages, jets screaming overhead in mock runs.
He split soldiers into divisions: infantry, armor, air, support. He trained medics to field-dress wounds, engineers to repair vehicles under fire, officers to lead men into chaos.
Every order came sharp, every drill precise.
And the soldiers obeyed with absolute discipline.
The Eternal Guild had numbers. But Daniel had numbers and modern war.
Still, Daniel wasn't satisfied.
He conjured anti-air systems in case the Guild tried wyverns or summoned beasts. He created bunkers stocked with food, ammo, and fuel, ensuring his army could fight for months without supply lines.
He even tested experimental weapons — drones buzzing overhead, guided missiles, railguns mounted on canyon ridges.
Every success tightened the noose around the Guild's neck.
One night, Daniel stood on the highest ridge, the canyon below glowing with fires and lights, his army spread like an ocean of steel and discipline.
Five thousand soldiers. Dozens of tanks. Helicopters, artillery, jets, and more.
What had begun as a lone private lost in another world was now an army strong enough to shake kingdoms.
The Eternal Guild thought they ruled with Bronze, Iron, Gold, Diamond, and Red Iridium.
But Daniel Mason had forged something greater.
A new rank. A new order.
And soon, the world would learn what it meant to fight a man who could conjure war itself.
The Guild had fled, but Daniel refused to let them breathe.
Retreat wasn't defeat — it was regrouping, rearming, and returning stronger. He'd seen it too many times. If he waited, they would march on his canyon with ten times the force.
So he wouldn't wait.
He would strike first.
Daniel spread a map across the command table inside the canyon's bunker. Crimson markers showed Guild strongholds, supply routes, and towns under their watch.
Kael leaned over the table, arms crossed. "You would march on them?"
Daniel nodded. "They've got camps scattered across the east. Supply depots. Recruitment hubs. We burn those, we cut their legs out before they can stand again."
Bran frowned, tapping the map with a thick finger. "That means moving thousands of men. Food. Ammo. If we stretch too far, the Guild might surround us."
Daniel smirked faintly. "That's why we hit hard and fast. Not a siege — a strike. We move like thunder, hit them before they can react, and pull back. Make them afraid to march east at all."
Seris sat back, bow across her knees, eyes sharp. "You're making war, not just defense."
Daniel's expression hardened. "That's the only way to survive."
Later that night, Daniel walked the ridge with Kael, the canyon fires glowing below.
"You lead like you've done this before," Kael said.
Daniel's jaw tightened. "I have."
He told him about Earth — about deserts and jungles, about sandstorms in Afghanistan and ambushes in nameless villages. About the men he'd served with, men who became brothers in blood.
"Most of them didn't make it home," Daniel said quietly. "We fought, we bled, and we buried more than we saved. But we held the line. That's what soldiers do."
Kael's voice was steady. "And now you build your army here."
Daniel looked out at the endless horizon. "Yeah. But this time… I won't let them die for nothing."
The next morning, engines roared as Daniel's army moved out.
Tanks rumbled across plains, cannons swiveling.
Helicopters thundered overhead, blades chopping the air.
Columns of infantry marched in perfect lines, rifles gleaming in the sun.
Artillery and rocket systems rolled behind, ready to rain death miles ahead.
From above, the army looked like a steel tide pouring across the land.
Villagers in distant fields dropped their tools, staring in awe as machines from another world rolled past.
And Daniel marched at the front, rifle in hand, his companions riding with him in a Humvee.
Inside the vehicle, Bran shifted uncomfortably as the engine growled. "Strange beasts," he muttered, tapping the dashboard.
Daniel chuckled. "Not beasts. Machines. Back home, we used them everywhere. Transport, supply, war. I spent more time in Humvees like this than in my own bed."
Seris tilted her head. "And your people… you fought always?"
Daniel's smile faded. "Yeah. Seems like it. Different enemies, different wars, but always fighting. We told ourselves it was for freedom, for peace. Sometimes it was. Sometimes… it was just orders."
Kael studied him quietly. "And now?"
Daniel's gaze hardened as the convoy rolled on. "Now it's survival. No orders. No politics. Just us against them."
By sunset, they reached the first Guild outpost — a fortified camp guarding a supply route. Hundreds of soldiers patrolled its walls, unaware of the steel storm about to fall on them.
Daniel raised his hand, radio pressed to his ear.
"Artillery, ready.""Air support, circle.""Infantry, hold position."
The world went quiet.
"Fire."
The horizon lit up as artillery screamed overhead, shells raining down and turning the Guild's camp into fire and rubble. Tanks opened fire, cannons blasting holes in the walls. Helicopters swooped, miniguns shredding defenders.
Daniel charged with his men, rifle barking, companions at his side. Kael smashed through armored knights, Bran swung his hammer like a storm, Seris dropped enemy mages with arrows before their spells could land.
It wasn't a battle. It was annihilation.
By nightfall, the Guild outpost was ash and ruin. Supplies burned, survivors fled, and Daniel's army withdrew in perfect formation.
From the ridge, Daniel watched the smoke rise, his companions gathering around him.
"This is only the start," he said. "They thought I was defending a canyon. Now they'll learn I can strike wherever I want."
Seris glanced at him, voice quiet. "And if they come with everything they have?"
Daniel's gaze turned cold, the fires reflected in his eyes.
"Then they'll see everything I have."
For the next two weeks, Daniel's army moved like a storm.
Convoys rolled out at dawn, tanks rumbling across plains, helicopters swooping low, jets screaming overhead.
One day, they struck a supply depot, reducing mountains of food and weapons to ash under artillery fire.
The next, they ambushed a Guild recruitment hub, scattering fresh conscripts before they ever reached the front.
Later, they smashed a fortified checkpoint, ripping through enchanted gates with tank shells and rocket barrages.
Everywhere they struck, the Guild faltered. Their lines buckled, their supply chains frayed. Rumors spread through villages and towns of an unstoppable army — steel beasts, thunderous weapons, fire from the skies.
The Eternal Guild, for the first time in centuries, was afraid.
But even storms rest.
At night, Daniel sat with Kael, Seris, and Bran around fires on the road, listening to the low hum of generators and the distant clatter of soldiers cleaning rifles.
Bran leaned back, hammer across his knees. "Your men… they never question. Never waver. They obey as if born to it."
Daniel's eyes lingered on the rows of soldiers sitting in silence, eating in perfect rhythm. "That's because they were."
Seris tilted her head. "Do they think? Dream?"
Daniel's jaw tightened. "They fight. They follow. They protect this place because I made them to. Back home… my men had lives. Families. Dreams. They laughed, cursed, made mistakes. These ones…" He paused, voice lowering. "They're perfect. And that terrifies me."
Kael's gaze was steady. "Because they remind you of the ones who weren't?"
Daniel looked into the fire, remembering faces burned into his mind — brothers in arms who hadn't made it home.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Exactly that."
After two weeks of unrelenting strikes, Daniel pulled his army back. Engines roared as convoys poured into the canyon again, supplies stacked high, prisoners secured.
The canyon had grown.
Where once it was a hidden refuge, it now stretched wide with barracks, hangars, fuel depots, and factories his engineers had carved into the cliffs. Fires glowed from thousands of chimneys, lights burned through the night.
His fortress had become a city.
And yet, Daniel knew the Guild's wrath would come like nothing before. They wouldn't tolerate his raids. They would gather everything, unleash their Red Iridium masters, maybe even things older and darker than themselves.
So he needed something… final.
That night, Daniel led Kael, Seris, and Bran deep into a cavern sealed with steel doors. Soldiers saluted as he keyed the locks open.
Inside, the air was cold, heavy with silence. Crates lined the walls, but at the center sat a weapon unlike any they had seen.
A massive bomb, its casing gleaming under floodlights, marked with stark warning symbols.
Bran's brow furrowed. "What is this?"
Daniel stood before it, his hand brushing the cold steel. His voice was low, almost reverent.
"Back home, we called it a nuclear weapon. One of these can level a city. Not just buildings — everything. Fire, ash, radiation. It doesn't stop at soldiers. It kills all of it."
Seris stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "Then why make it?"
Daniel's jaw clenched. "Because the Guild will keep coming. If they throw everything at us — beasts, armies, sorcery — we'll need something that can break them completely. But…" He looked at her sharply. "I won't use it unless I have no choice. These aren't weapons of war. They're weapons of ending."
Kael's voice was quiet. "And if that choice comes?"
Daniel's hand lingered on the bomb. His eyes burned with the weight of memory. "Then I'll carry it. Not them. Me."
The three companions stood in silence, the weight of Daniel's revelation heavy in the air.
Outside, the canyon thundered with life — thousands of soldiers, engines, jets, artillery. A war machine the world had never seen before.
But deep inside the cavern lay something darker.
A weapon not just to win battles, but to erase them.
Daniel Mason had brought the future of war into a world of swords and sorcery.
And now he held the power to end kingdoms in his hand.