Several days had passed since Zephyr's departure.
The rain continued to fall heavily.
Grey clouds covered the sky, and the hills in the distance blurred beneath a curtain of water. Suddenly, lightning tore through the clouds like a silver snake, illuminating the world for a second before darkness returned.
Adam stood in front of the large map spread out on the table.
The Demon Forest occupied a large part of the marked territory. Beyond it, the borders with Aragon and Kamelot were marked in red ink. Too close.
Recent reports piled up beside him. Several villages had been attacked. The city of Arkam itself had already repelled an incursion.
Fortunately, no creatures of rank III or higher had appeared yet... but that didn't make the situation any less complicated.
In his memories, the tide had been more... gradual. More predictable.
This was not.
The attack routes didn't match. Neither did the timing. It was as if something was pushing the creatures forward without a clear pattern.
Adam rested his fingers on the map.
"Young master!"
He looked up.
"Speak."
"The northern villages are evacuating. The monsters aren't just attacking... they seem to be moving in patterns."
A chill ran down Adam's spine.
"Patterns?"
Before the soldier could answer, another soldier burst into the room, soaked from the rain.
"Young master! Movement on the east wall! Monsters approaching!"
Adam turned slightly toward the window. Beyond the glass, the forest stretched dark under the endless rain.
Zephyr was gone.
So was the main force.
Only a few troops remained.
And him.
He took a deep breath.
The rain fell down the windows as if the entire sky were bleeding silently.
He ordered in a firm voice:
"Get ready."
The fear was there.
But it did not overwhelm him.
"Mobilize the remaining knights. Reinforce the east wall. Evacuate the nearby civilians."
The soldier hesitated.
"What about you?"
Adam slowly turned his neck toward the forest; his eyes were cold.
"I will personally go to the most affected areas of the wall."
Then he looked at Asterin, who was floating near him. She said nothing. She just watched him.
There was something strange in her gaze.
Sadness? Nostalgia?
Adam couldn't tell.
And this was no time for distractions.
He shook his head and left the room, his silver armor clinking softly as the storm raged outside.
...
In the city of Arkham, countless houses withstood the onslaught of the storm. The rain had washed away the dirt from the cobblestone streets, leaving them looking deceptively clean.
At first glance, everything seemed calm.
Adam rode his horse under the gray sky, reviewing every decision he had made since taking command.
The first thing was to ensure his mother's safety.
He had moved her to the most secure area of the mansion, with additional guards and restricted access. The slaves he had purchased were also relocated; he could not afford any variables outside of his control.
Then he divided his forces.
Lucas and Alaric were sent to the districts where reports indicated the most activity. In those areas, rank II monsters appeared more frequently, and the troops needed experienced support.
Nothing could be left to chance.
Adam was still lost in thought when he reached one of the areas that had not been reinforced in time.
The silence there was different.
Heavier.
The air was thick with the metallic stench of dried blood, mixed with entrails and exposed flesh. In the middle of the main street, a severed arm still hung from the splintered frame of a door.
The corpses, torn apart by enormous claws, floated in pools of red-stained water. Some no longer had faces. Others still clutched rudimentary weapons, as if their last act had been to resist.
Adam slowly disassembled it.
He didn't look away.
From the position of the bodies and the improvised weapons scattered on the floor, it was clear that the citizens had fought to the end.
And yet...
It had been useless.
The damp wind ruffled his hair, partially covering his eyes as he made his way through the debris.
The rain continued to fall.
Indifferent.
A wagon, broken in half, had the body of a small child embedded in its side, as if it had been torn apart with animal brutality.
The child's eyes were open, staring at the sky, their expression oscillating between terror and disbelief.
The corpses of domestic animals and monsters lay scattered on the ground. In the area, there were only unrecognizable remains of limbs scattered everywhere: it was impossible to tell whether they belonged to men or women.
The rain fell mercilessly, washing away blood, entrails, and bone fragments.
The nearby houses were marked with wolf claws and other signs of monsters.
The silence was almost total, except for the constant pounding of the rain...
Adam remained silent, observing the scene. His wet hair partially covered his eyes, hiding his expression.
A knight approached with faltering steps.
"Young master..."
Adam didn't look up.
"Situation."
The man swallowed hard.
"All the monsters have been eliminated..., but we arrived too late. There were no survivors. And the few who were still breathing..."
He hesitated.
Adam looked up slightly.
"Go on."
"They were... unrecognizable. Parts of their bodies were missing. There was no way to save them."
A heavy silence fell between them.
"I see..."
Adam brushed the hair away from his face. His eyes were exposed, cold, and unmoving.
The smell of blood mixed with rain was disturbingly familiar.
Too familiar.
"Young master."
Another knight intervened.
"I need you to come with me for a moment. We've found something suspicious."
Adam narrowed his eyes.
"Lead the way."
Without another word, he walked away from the corpses and the red-stained ground.
The weight on his chest did not disappear.
But it did not stop him either.
...
A few minutes later, Adam arrived at a small makeshift camp where the bodies of several soldiers lay... and a knight.
The rain had washed away some of the blood, but not enough.
One of the men bent down and pulled back the cloth covering the knight's body.
Adam examined the cuts.
Long. Clean. Precise.
They weren't claw marks or irregular bite marks.
They were straight slashes.
From a sword.
He approached and crouched down beside the corpse. He ran his fingers over one of the cuts, following the exact angle of the blade.
He recognized that pattern.
All too well.
Could it be...?
At first, he thought of infiltrators from the kingdom of Kamelot. It was the most obvious suspicion.
But no.
The angle, the depth, and the double variation in the final thrust.
There was only one kingdom whose fencing school taught that style.
Aragon.