Arthur stood still, his gaze fixed on the fortress rising from the heart of
the Grimhollow. Along its blackened walls, banners bearing the twisted sun of
the Demonic Cult swayed in the wind. There was no mistaking it. This was their
stronghold.
He exhaled slowly. For a fleeting moment, his mind wandered back to the
manga he had once read on Earth. Kingdom. Endless scenes of sieges
with catapults, towers, and scaling ladders. He almost chuckled at the memory. We
have none of that.
Turning to Lionel, head of the Defense Council, he spoke firmly.
"Send a runner. Tell the reinforcements behind us to break east and strike from
the right flank."
Lionel nodded at once, barking the order. A captain sprinted off into the
mist.
Arthur continued, "Take half the force and twenty magi. Push left and keep
them busy. I'll hold the center."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
The army shifted into two wings, armor clattering as the men adjusted
formation. The fog carried the sound of thousands of boots pressing into damp
soil.
Arthur raised his hands. Mana surged, heat gathering between his palms until
fire bloomed. The ball of flame swelled, growing larger with every breath until
it glowed like a miniature sun. Sweat slid down his brow, but he refused to
release it early. The fireball reached nearly a meter across. With a fierce
roar, he hurled it at the fortress gates.
BOOM!
The explosion shook the ground. Flames tore across the wall, yet the gate
stood unbroken. A radiant shield flickered into view, runes blazing bright as
the barrier absorbed the blast.
Cultists appeared along the battlements, cloaked in shadow, chanting in
unison. With a groan, the fortress gate creaked open.
And from the darkness, the dead began to pour out.
Undead soldiers, their armor rusted and their eyes glowing with unnatural
light, staggered forward. Behind them came abominations of flesh and claw,
monsters born of twisted magic. Dozens became hundreds, then thousands, filling
the clearing like a living tide.
Arthur lifted his sword high. His voice thundered across the ranks.
"Forward! Attack!"
Valoria's soldiers charged on foot. The clash was instant and brutal. Steel
slammed into rotting flesh. Shields splintered beneath monstrous strikes. Magi
cast their spells, hurling fireballs and lightning bolts into the enemy horde.
The battlefield erupted in light, flame, and screams.
Arthur plunged into the fray, twin blades flashing in deadly arcs. His Dual
Blade Dance carved through the swarm, every slash a precise, lethal stroke.
Around him, Valorian soldiers fought longer and harder than ordinary men, qi
from the Heavenly Valoria Technique sustaining their bodies and spirits.
Minutes stretched into hours. For every corpse that fell, more clawed their
way out from the fortress gate. Armor was drenched in sweat and blood. Men
roared, stumbled, and pressed on with grit alone.
Arthur cut down another undead, then turned sharply. His voice carried above
the chaos.
"You! Run to the nobles. Tell them Valoria calls for every sword. Go!"
A young soldier snapped to attention. "Yes, Your Majesty!" He broke from the
line at once, sprinting into the forest, his figure vanishing into the fog as
he raced to bring back aid.
On the left, Lionel's force battled desperately. Twenty magi cast until
their mana frayed, flames and lightning tearing gaps in the enemy lines, only
for more cultists to fill them. The ground itself seemed to tremble under the
ceaseless tide.
The sun dipped behind the trees. Darkness crept into the forest. Torches and
spellfire lit the night, but exhaustion spread through both armies. Cultists on
the walls staggered, their mana nearly drained. Valorian soldiers stumbled too,
qi stretched to its limits.
Arthur's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His blades dripped red.
Then he raised them skyward and shouted, "Retreat!"
Horns blared. The Valorian army pulled back in tight ranks, shields raised
to cover their wounded. Step by step, they disengaged and fell back. Lionel's
forces mirrored the order, regrouping with the main host.
Two kilometers from the fortress, the army finally halted. Men collapsed
onto the grass, armor dented, faces pale. Healers rushed among them, binding
wounds and pouring what magic remained into the injured.
Arthur stood at the center, sweat and blood streaking his face. His voice
was steady, commanding despite the exhaustion.
"Rest while you can. Tomorrow we strike again."
Then he turned to a cluster of officers. "Bring every horse forward to the
castle gates. At dawn, they will be our shield and our spear."
The order spread through the camp. Arthur turned back toward the looming
fortress in the fog. The battle had only begun.