The valley did not truly fall silent, but there was a heartbeat where all sounds seemed to pull back, like breath drawn in before a scream.
Then the scream came.
Blights and demons crashed against the defense line.
Steel met chitin. Spells detonated. The grasslands shook under the weight of clashing forces.
At the forward edge of the chaos, the Guild State representative carved a path alone.
He waded into the tide of twisted beasts and otherworldly invaders like a boulder hurled into a river. His greatsword moved in wide, economical arcs, each swing carrying enough force to tear through multiple bodies at once. Blights exploded into chunks of bone and ichor. Demonic flesh hissed and smoked where his mana-infused blade passed.
Every step he took broke something.
Waves of pressure followed his strikes, crushing lesser creatures without needing to touch them. The air around him howled. Even the ground seemed to shy away from his footing, stone cracking under each impact.
He is using barely-controlled area suppression, Valen noted from farther back in the line. Not an art refined for duels. An art meant to hold a shore against a flood.
The effect showed.
Where the old man stood, the tide slowed. The demonic advance, so eager to pour down from the torn mountain slope, crashed against a single point and spilled sideways instead, forced to split around him. It bought the defenders time to form proper lines, to rearrange formations.
But it could not last.
The pressure changed.
A new presence rose from within the demonic ranks—a heavy weight of mana that did not belong to this world. The air around it twisted, not like Chaos mana's wild turbulence, but with the focused malice of a predator sighting prey.
The creatures near that presence shifted unconsciously, creating a clearing around it.
A towering figure stepped forward.
Unlike the twisted beasts around it, this one held itself upright with deliberate poise. It was easily three times the height of a man, its body a pillar of shadow-clad muscle. Plates of dark, metallic bone jutted from its shoulders and spine like blades. Two horns curled back from its brow, ridged and irregular, their edges glowing faintly with crimson light.
Its eyes were molten pits, steady and bright.
A Rank 6 Demon.
It strode over the lesser creatures in its path, uncaring when Blights and semi-Blights were crushed under its hooves. Black fire licked along its arms as it rolled its shoulders once, assessing the battlefield.
Then its gaze locked onto the old man holding the line.
The corner of its mouth twisted, baring too-sharp teeth in something that might have been amusement.
It stepped forward.
The Guild State representative felt it coming. His sword lowered from its latest swing, point dipping just slightly as his attention shifted from the tide to the new threat.
"So," he muttered. "One of you decided to walk yourself into reach."
He took a step to meet it.
Their first clash shook the valley.
The demon's fist crashed into the greatsword in a flare of dark and pale light. The impact blasted a raw shockwave outward, flattening Blights and demons alike in a ring around them. The ground buckled, grass torn away in a circular scar.
For a moment, both combatants held.
Then they vanished into motion—two meteors colliding and separating, their battle forcing open a gap in the demonic line as lesser creatures scrambled to avoid being crushed between them.
The problem was immediate.
With the old man pulled into a duel, the choke point where he had held the tide no longer existed.
The line broke.
Blights and demons surged around the edges of the duel, spilling down toward the main defense line with renewed frenzy. Their advance, momentarily stalled, now pressed forward with all the saved momentum.
"Front ranks, brace!" voices roared along the formation. "Shields up! Casters, prepare first volley!"
Valen watched the shift with a faint tightening around his eyes.
Amber, beside him, breathed out slowly. Even with her efforts to remain composed, the slight tremor in her fingers betrayed her tension. Golden mana flickered faintly around her hand, then steadied.
"We are in deeper waters than I planned," Amber said quietly.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I dragged you into this," Amber said.
It was not a dramatic confession, just a statement of fact. Her gaze remained fixed on the advancing tide, but her voice softened.
"If we survive," she added, "how do you want me to compensate you?"
Because of course she thought in terms of debts and balances even now.
Valen's mouth twitched.
"Do not raise flags," he said dryly. "As if I would allow you to die sooner than me."
She snorted, tension easing by a fraction.
"You stupid, stubborn Ashford," she muttered.
"Merely logical," he replied. "It would be inconvenient if you died first. I plan to rely on your presence to divert attention for the rest of our lives."
Her shoulders shook once with a quiet, brief laugh.
Then the first wave reached their portion of the line.
They had been placed slightly behind the true front—near enough to support, far enough to avoid being trampled by the heaviest impacts. It still meant that, within moments, creatures that should not exist were within killing distance.
The first Blight that came for them had once been a deer.
Its twisted form still carried hints of that origin—long legs, a narrow head—but the resemblance ended there. Bone jutted through patches of skin, forming jagged armor. Extra joints bent the limbs in wrong directions. Its antlers had become a crown of branching, stone-like spikes dripping with faint, corrosive mist.
It bounded over the shattered remains of a semi-Blight, landing with a crack of hooves. Its head dipped, antlers angling toward Valen and Amber.
Amber stepped forward, saber sliding free in a smooth movement.
Wind gathered around the blade.
The beast lunged.
She did not meet the charge head-on. Instead, Amber pivoted, letting the creature's bulk thunder past, and slashed along its side. The saber cut through corrupted hide with a scream of air, a line of compressed wind riding the steel.
The Blight staggered mid-stride as flesh and bone parted. Blood—too dark, thick with mana—sprayed across the trampled grass.
Before it could recover, Valen lifted his hand.
A column of hardened earth burst from the ground in front of the creature's next step. Its foreleg slammed into the column at full speed. Bone shattered. The limb twisted at an impossible angle, momentum tearing it further apart.
The beast toppled, crashing onto its side in a mess of broken limbs.
Amber's saber flashed once more, and the head separated from the ruined neck.
They stepped aside together, leaving the corpse to be trampled by the next wave.
Another creature—a semi-Blight boar with plates of rock fused into its back—charged directly toward a group of younger Academy students whose formation was already wavering.
Valen shifted his focus.
He snapped his fingers.
Pillars of earth erupted in front of the boar in a staggered line, each just high enough to catch its churning hooves. The beast tried to adjust, but the sudden uneven ground turned its charge into a stumble. It tripped, smashed down hard, and slid on its own momentum.
"Now," Valen said.
The nearest staff-wielding student flinched at being addressed, then thrust her hands out on instinct. A lance of fire speared into the boar's exposed side. Another student followed with a stone spike. A third sent a cutting gust along its throat.
The boar convulsed and stilled.
The students stared at the corpse, then at Valen.
He turned away.
Better that they think it was their victory. Confidence is a resource, too.
On their right, a demon unlike the Blights pushed forward.
It had a vaguely humanoid torso but moved on four limbs, each joint bending with unsettling flexibility. Its skin was a deep, matte black that seemed to drink in light, and faint runes crawled along its arms and spine like living brands. Its mouth split too wide when it hissed, revealing row upon row of small, razor teeth.
Early Rank 3, Iris reported. The mana around it pulsed with a steady, oppressive rhythm.
Amber narrowed her eyes.
"I will take its attention," she said. "Cover openings."
She strode toward it, golden mana gathering along her saber. The demon's head snapped toward her, drawn by the flare of power. It lunged, limbs blurring.
Amber's first step took her out of the direct path of the strike. Her saber intercepted one limb, wind-enhanced edge biting into demonic flesh. Black ichor sprayed, smoking where it hit the ground.
The demon shrieked and twisted, swinging another limb toward her back. A ripple ran along its arm—runes brightening as it accelerated beyond its previous speed.
Valen raised his hand.
A slab of compacted soil coalesced between Amber and the incoming blow, forming just in time. The limb slammed into the barrier, cracking it but failing to reach her. The impact slowed it enough that Amber's second cut severed the limb cleanly at the elbow.
The demon buckled, balance thrown off.
Amber darted in. Three quick, precise thrusts traced a triangle over its chest, each puncture carrying a pulse of compressed wind that exploded inward.
The demon spasmed. The twisted runes along its body flared once, then went dim.
It collapsed.
Amber exhaled once, then moved back into position beside Valen as if nothing remarkable had occurred.
All along the line, similar clashes played out. Some ended cleanly. Some did not.
Cries of pain rose. Spells misfired. Blights broke through thinner segments of the formation before being dragged down. The air grew muddy with smoke and blood-scent.
The defenders held, but barely.
Then something shifted behind them.
Mana gathered—not in a chaotic storm, but in a deliberate, ritual pattern. Valen felt the formation settle into the earth like roots, drawing on more than just the caster's personal reserves.
At the center of the Academy contingent, Instructor Aelindra planted her staff into the ground.
The crystal at its tip flared green.
"Formation: Verdant Rampart," she murmured, voice carrying just far enough to be heard by those who knew what to listen for.
She spread her free hand.
Lines of pale emerald light raced out from the base of her staff, etching themselves into the soil in a spreading circle. Symbols bloomed in their wake—ancient runes of growth and binding, interlocking with a complexity that spoke of long refinement.
The ground responded.
Roots tore free of the earth, thick and gnarled. They twisted together, forming pillars. Bark spread over raw wood, hardening. Grass withered where the roots rose, sacrificed to fuel the sudden growth.
A shape pulled itself upright from the forming mass.
Then another.
And another.
They were not truly giants in the titanic sense, but each wooden figure stood several times the height of a man. Their bodies were composed of interwoven trunks and branches, bark forming rough musculature, glowing moss filling the gaps like sinew. Eyes of faint green light opened in knot-like faces.
Forest spirits.
One reached down, fingers of intertwined roots closing gently around an oncoming Blight. It squeezed once. The creature's bone armor cracked. Flesh pulped. The spirit tossed the ruined body aside and strode forward to meet the next wave.
Another spirit took a charging demon head-on. Claws tore chunks from its torso, leaving gouges that would have disemboweled a living being. The spirit did not bleed. New wood surged to fill the missing matter, bark knitting itself back together in moments.
High regeneration, Valen noted. The formation is feeding them directly from the ambient nature mana of the forest. Aelindra did not simply summon them. She anchored them.
The appearance of the forest spirits steadied the line. Where they stepped, the demonic advance slowed. Blights were crushed, flung, or pinned long enough for adventurers and Academy combatants to finish them.
For a moment, the battlefield stabilized.
Then chaos twisted in a different direction.
***
Raylan fought near the main gap where Kale's lines and the Academy's formations had begun to merge.
His sword moved in clean, minimal arcs, each strike guided by an instinct that was no longer entirely his own. The phantom weight of another life's mastery lay over his muscles, correcting angles by tiny degrees, nudging footwork into more efficient patterns.
Blights fell around him, sliced apart before their malformed limbs could land solid blows.
Yet the tide did not lessen.
He felt it before he understood it.
Mana—tainted, raw, brushed against his skin in a way that stung and yet seemed to fit into some empty space within his core.
Chaos Energy.
It leaked from the wounds of Blights, from the very air near the Convergences, from the cracks in the sky. Most mages instinctively flinched away from it, their cores rejecting the foreign current.
Raylan did not flinch.
By reflex, he reached for it.
The Chaos Energy did not behave like mana. It was thicker, heavier, filled with jagged edges that should have shredded his channels. But as it flowed into his core, it twisted—and then settled.
It did not overwrite his mana. It wrapped around it.
His next step felt different. Lighter and heavier at once.
A lunging Blight swung a chitinous limb toward his head. Raylan's sword rose, almost on its own. The blade met the limb.
The impact should have been a simple parry. Instead, the strike cleaved through the limb entirely, severing it at the midpoint. Dark ichor sprayed. The creature reeled.
Raylan blinked.
That was… more than intended.
He shifted his grip, feeling the altered weight of his own aura. Strikes that should have simply deflected now tore. Thrusts meant to wound punched through bone.
Chaos Energy, now interwoven with his mana, amplified everything. There was no gain in subtlety, no new technique, only raw increase.
Kale noticed.
"Do not fall behind!" Kale shouted at his own men, misreading the cause. "If that commoner brat can press forward, you can too!"
But not everyone misread it.
Hidden among the Academy students near the rear of the line, a figure watched with unblinking attention.
He wore the same grey cloak as the others, hood up, stance modest. In a crowd, he looked unremarkable. But his movements were a fraction too smooth, his weight too evenly distributed—like he was holding back.
The wooden doppelganger's false eyes tracked Raylan's every motion.
Within the shell of flesh-like wood, runes glowed faintly.
There, the construct noted silently. He is drawing in Chaos Energy without backlash. Chaos Heir.
A little farther away, on a small rise of torn earth, another gaze fixed on Raylan.
This one belonged to a demon.
The Rank 4 invader stood tall and upright, body encased in a carapace of blackened metal-like plates engraved with faintly burning markings. Its eyes were narrow slits of simmering orange. It carried no visible weapon—its arms and the bone-like ridges along its forearms were enough.
It watched Raylan's enhanced strikes with clear interest.
"That one," it murmured in an unnatural tongue. "The lord wants those."
It stepped forward.
The battle did not pause to make room for these realizations.
A tremor ran through the ground.
Several defenders stumbled as the earth beneath their feet shifted. Cracks spiderwebbed across the trampled grass. One of the forest spirits took a half-step back as the soil near its rooted feet sank.
"Subterranean shift!" Aelindra shouted. "Watch your footing—"
The warning came too late for one particular patch of churned ground.
It gave way entirely.
Raylan's next step met empty air.
The earth cracked and collapsed under him, chunks of soil and stone dropping into a dark void that yawned where the valley floor should have been solid. The force of his pivot carried him forward and down before he could arrest his momentum.
He fell.
The Rank 4 demon's eyes brightened.
Without hesitation, it followed, leaping into the collapsing section with unnatural grace. Its body blurred as it slipped through the dust and falling debris.
Above, Aelindra's head snapped toward the sudden sinkhole.
She felt Raylan's mana signature vanish from the surface layer in an instant—snuffed from her battlefield sense as if swallowed.
"Raylan," she hissed.
Her grip tightened on her staff. She took one step forward, already beginning the motion that would send her toward the gap.
A gust of mana-laden wind swept across her path.
"Hold your line, Instructor," a voice from the Guild command called sharply. "If you break now, the formation will fold."
Her back muscles tensed. For a heartbeat, she looked ready to ignore the order.
Then she forced herself to stillness, jaw clenched.
From where Valen stood, the entire sequence was visible in glimpses between bodies and forest spirits—a collapsing patch of ground, a flash of Raylan's cloak vanishing, Aelindra's aborted step.
He watched her, then glanced at Amber.
She caught the look.
Amber's brows rose slightly. Then her lips curved in a faint, wry smile.
"Go," she said. "My hero."
Her tone was light, almost teasing, but her eyes were serious.
"You hold this position," Valen said. "You have more presence here than I do."
"Trying to flatter me at a time like this?" she replied. "Go before I change my mind."
He nodded once. "Ration your mana from now on."
Without further words, Valen broke from their segment of the line, angling toward the collapsing ground. The chaos of battle hid his movement; in this mess, one more grey cloak shifting position drew little attention.