The Outpost should've been a fortress, instead It was a scar.
A wound of black rock and desperation clawed into the side of a mountain, silhouetted against the perpetual the Ashard sky.
The air was different even—thinner, colder, and congested with the smells of unwashed bodies, forge-smoke, and the pervasive, sweet-rot stench of a battlefield too close for too long.
As they rode through the broken gate—a splintered jaw of what had once been a palisade—the silence of their arrival was more damning than any cheer.
Demons stopped their work.
A squad sharpening blades on a grindstone looked up, their eyes hollow. A medic wrapping a festering wound paused, her hands still.
They looked at Koth, at Varg and Zara, with a flicker of recognition, of grim relief. Then their eyes slid to Liam.
The hope died in their faces, replaced by a confusion that curdled into disgust.
A human?
The unspoken question hung in the air, more toxic than the smoke. They sent us a human?
[Collective Belief Average: -32%]
The System's confirmation was a cold splash of reality. The disbelief here was denser, more visceral than the quiet contempt of the commanders.
This was the raw, bleeding edge of the empire, and he was an insult to their suffering.
Koth dismounted, his voice a low growl that cut through the staring.
"You have your orders. Resupply. Rotate the wall watch. Zara, with me. Varg, get the new arrivals situated." His gaze swept over Liam, a silent command to follow.
The outpost was a study in organized decay.
They moved through a labyrinth of packed-earth trenches and low stone bunkers. Every demon they passed was gaunt, their armor dented and patched, their horns often chipped or broken.
These weren't the proud warriors of the capital's legions; these were survivors, ground down to their last, sharp edges.
They reached a command bunker dug into the mountain's base. It was little more than a cave, lit by a single, guttering green flame in a brazier.
A large, rough-hewn table dominated the center, holding a detailed map of the outpost and the valley beyond, weighted down with stones and a cracked mug.
Koth planted his fists on the table, the wood groaning. "Report."
A haggard demon with a bandaged arm and the insignia of a sergeant straightened.
"They hit at dawn, Commander. Same as always. Probing attacks on the eastern wall. Their Archmage commander was with them this time. He didn't engage, just watched from the ridge." The sergeant's throat bobbed. "He's studying us, sir. Learning how we break."
Liam's eyes were on the map. The Cognitor fed him data, overlaying the sergeant's words with tactical readouts.
[Outpost Krazax - Structural Integrity: 41%]
[Garrison Morale: Critical]
[Estimated Time to Critical Failure: 4-5 Days]
Four days. Not a week.
"The linchpin," Liam murmured, more to himself than anyone.
Varg, who had just entered the bunker, snorted. "See something your royal maps didn't show you? Welcome to the reality, Lord Azra."
Liam ignored him.
His finger traced a line on the map, a narrow, steep path leading up to the eastern ridge where the Paladin Commander had stood. "They use this for their assaults. Why don't we hold the high ground?"
"Because it's a death trap," Zara answered, her voice cool. She didn't look up from her own notes. "The path is exposed. The first fifty demons to try and fortify it were incinerated by concentrated light magic from the valley floor. It's a tactical sacrifice. We cede the ridge to hold the wall."
"It's a mistake," Liam said.
The bunker went silent. All eyes were on him now, the unwanted human, criticizing their desperate defense.
Koth's molten gaze was dangerous.
"Explain."
"You're letting him dictate the terms of every engagement," Liam said, his voice low and steady. He tapped the map on the outpost itself. "You're reacting. You wait for him to choose the time, the place, the method of attack. You're defending a static position against an enemy with the initiative and superior range. It's a siege you can't win."
"And what would you do, human?" Varg sneered, stepping forward. "Charge out there and ask them nicely to leave?"
Liam finally looked at Varg, his slate-grey eyes utterly calm. "No." He turned his gaze back to Koth. "You give him a new problem. One he isn't expecting."
He pointed to the deadly ridge.
"We don't fortify it. We infest it. Not with soldiers. With traps. With shadows. We make that high ground a place of terror for them." His eyes then moved to the valley floor, the main approach for the paladin armies. "And we stop waiting for dawn. We attack at night."
A stunned silence filled the bunker. Attacking was madness. It was suicide.
"That's… insane," the sergeant stammered.
"It's a different kind of performance," Liam said, his voice dropping, taking on the resonant, ancient quality of the Demon God.
The False Sovereign's Presence leaked into the room, it wasn't to intimidate, only to command attention. The air grew heavy. The green flame in the brazier guttered.
"You've been showing him a tragedy. A slow, grinding play where the ending is written in your blood."
He leaned over the map, his shadow stretching and twisting against the cave wall.
"Tomorrow night, we change the script. We give him a horror story."
He looked at Koth, his expression unreadable.
[Koth - Emotional State: Calculating... Re-evaluating...]
[Belief: -5% → 1%]
The number was negligible. But it was no longer negative.
The Commander of Outpost Krazax stared at the human, at the unblinking grey eyes that held no fear, only a terrifying, absolute certainty.
Outside, the twilight began to deepen into true night. The stage was set.
The horror story was about to begin.