The snow fell heavier now—no longer peaceful, but soaked with the cries of the dying.
Smoke curled from distant hills where Republic airships had passed through only hours before, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The once-pristine forests were blackened, hollowed out by artillery and the screech of unnatural beasts.
Herzl stood among the scattered dead, sword clenched in hand, chest heaving. His body ached from hours of battle, his clothes soaked in blood—some of it not even human.
Behind him, Anna limped slightly, her left arm burned from the last skirmish.
"They're not sending soldiers anymore," she muttered, glaring into the treeline. "They're sending monsters."
Herzl didn't reply. He had seen them too. Creatures standing on two legs, but twisted—eyes glowing crimson, flesh shifting like melted wax. They didn't speak. They screamed. And they fought with ferocity that no man could match.
"We're not prepared," Anna whispered.
A whistle blew from across the hill. Grim's voice followed it.
"Fall back! Regroup at the ridge!"
Herzl hesitated. He looked back once more at the mutilated bodies on the ground. Some had been turned inside out. Others… were still moving, twitching unnaturally even in death.
He ran.
The group reached the ridge, where a battered outpost had been fortified just an hour prior. The soldiers there were exhausted—many missing limbs, many missing minds. The non-humans, known now as the Nacht, had begun their real campaign.
Inside the outpost, Grim slammed a map down onto a table lit by dying lanterns.
"We're not dealing with regular war anymore," he said. "The Republic is using Nacht units in frontline assaults. These aren't weapons—they're cursed. War-spawned beasts pulled from another realm."
"Aren't they supposed to be illegal under the Orit Treaty?" Anna asked.
Grim sneered. "Do you really think the Republic cares about treaties now? Not after what we did in Verdan."
Herzl stepped forward, fists clenched.
"So what's the plan? We run every time we see a red-eyed freak? Or do we finally strike back?"
Grim looked at him. "You want to strike back? Then you'll need to unlock the next stage of your Inn. You're still fighting like a human. That won't cut it."
Herzl's gaze didn't falter. "Then teach me."
That night, as others slept uneasily, Herzl stood in the snow with Anna. She explained the second stage of Inn—called Mind Crown.
"If your aura is the flame," she said, "then the Mind Crown is the wind that shapes it. Without control, your power burns wildly. With it, you become a weapon."
"Sounds easy when you say it."
"It isn't."
Anna held out a knife. "Focus your Inn. Bend it into this blade. Feel its weight. Shape it."
Herzl took the blade. At first, nothing happened.
But as he focused—visualizing the warmth Grim left in him, the rage from the battlefield, the pain from his past—the blade began to hum.
Then, it split in two. Then four.
He gasped. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"That's it," Anna said with a smile. "You're not supposed to mean it. You're supposed to feel it."
Suddenly, alarms screamed from the outpost below. Gunfire roared.
A soldier stumbled from the trench, throat slit. "They're here! The Nacht—they're already inside!"
Grim stormed past them, drawing his weapon, already cloaked in his unnatural Inn.
Herzl looked to Anna.
"We fight," she said. "No running this time."
And into the storm of blood, they ran.