The scouts returned at dawn, their eyes hollow and horses foaming with exhaustion. They did not kneel or bow as custom dictated; instead, they stumbled into the council chamber, voices trembling.
"A horde… thousands of beasts… wolves, boars, scaled monsters. They march east, devouring everything in their path."
The council erupted in panic. Garron cursed, the guildmistress shouted for walls to be reinforced, the priest muttered frantic prayers. But Saturo remained still, fingers tightening on the armrest of his throne. His mind flashed to the map his scouts had begun charting—this was no chance encounter.
"The horde marches," Saturo's voice cut across the clamor, firm and unwavering. "Then we march as well. If we wait behind walls, they will crush us like cattle. We meet them before they reach our people."
---
Under Saturo's command, preparations began at once. Garron drilled the soldiers, Liora prepared healers, and the people supplied what they could—food, water, bandages.
When Saturo mounted his horse, his soldiers turned to him as one. His aura shimmered faintly—still unstable, but present. He raised his family blade high.
"For the kingdom!" he cried.
And the army roared as they marched into the east.
---
The horde emerged at dusk, a living wall of snarling mouths, claws, and glowing eyes. Mist clung to the valley floor, obscuring the monsters' approach. The ground shook beneath their weight, and even the bravest soldiers faltered, gripping weapons with white-knuckled fear.
A young recruit, barely sixteen, trembled behind the shield wall, sweat streaking his dirt-covered face. He whispered, "I… I can't do this…"
Garron leaned down, voice low but firm:
"Then fight for the boy king. For the man who trains with you, sweats with you. That is enough."
The recruit's grip tightened. He swallowed, nodded, and raised his spear just as the first wolves lunged.
---
First Phase – Tranquil Sight
Saturo's aura flickered softly, dimming into a calm glow. He inhaled, centering himself, and the battlefield came into sharp clarity. He saw every movement, every opening, every blind charge.
"Archers, left ridge! Shields, form on me!" he shouted.
The first wave of wolves slammed into the shields. Soldiers cried out as claws tore armor and teeth snapped at flesh. One veteran soldier was knocked to the ground, pinned by a wolf. Saturo leapt, slashing with precision, cutting the beast cleanly down, and helped the man to his feet. The soldiers' morale strengthened slightly; their king fought beside them.
---
A massive wolf barreled toward the front line, fangs bared. Saturo's sword ignited with white light.
"Second Phase—Radiant Edge!"
He moved like a comet, slicing through the beast. Sparks flew as tusks and claws struck shields and armor, splintering them. Around him, soldiers faltered under the horde's pressure, stumbling backward as a wave of boars charged.
A warrior beside him, shield cracked, cried out for help. Saturo deflected a tusk, then pivoted, striking a boar squarely in the chest, buying the man a moment to recover. The battlefield was chaos—dust, blood, and screams—but each strike of Saturo inspired his troops, giving them hope to push forward.
Yet the horde was relentless. For every beast felled, three more surged in its place. Soldiers screamed for aid, and Saturo's aura pulsed faintly, guiding them through the storm.
---
A monstrous boar charged, tusks long enough to gore three men at once. Saturo raised his sword, whispering:
"Third Phase—Veil of Lumina."
A thin veil of white aura enveloped him. The tusks struck, but the light dispersed their force. He cut through the boar, blood spraying across the mist. Around him, soldiers found renewed courage. One young archer, nearly frozen with fear, loosed a perfect volley at approaching wolves, his arrows finding their marks.
Despite the king's aura, casualties were high. Soldiers fell, horses screamed, and the valley ran with blood. Saturo moved tirelessly, every strike deliberate, guarding his line and rallying those who wavered. Garron fought beside him, shouting commands, while Liora rushed to heal wounded soldiers mid-battle.
As night stretched on, the horde thinned. Exhaustion clawed at everyone—men leaned on their swords, some collapsed from pain and fear, but Saturo never relented. With each swing, each command, he held the line.
By the first light of dawn, the horde lay decimated. Smoke rose from fires lit to burn the dead, and the mist cleared to reveal the valley littered with the fallen—soldiers and beasts alike.
Saturo lowered his sword, aura fading. His arms trembled, his uniform soaked in sweat and blood. He looked at the survivors—dozens would never return home. He clenched his fists, jaw tight, staring into the crimson horizon.
"This… is only the beginning," he whispered. "And every victory will demand a price."
From distant lands, unseen eyes observed the smoke. Whispers spread among rival kingdoms:
"The young king of white aura faced the beast tide… and survived."
---
The gates of the capital opened at dawn. The people lined the streets, faces pale with fear, waiting for the return of their soldiers. When the column appeared, silence fell.
The banners still waved, but many of the men marched with bloodstained bandages. Horses limped. Gaps in the formation spoke louder than any trumpet.
At the head rode Saturo, sword strapped across his back, his aura dim but steady. He did not smile. His eyes were fixed ahead, carrying both pride and sorrow.
The people began to murmur. Then, one woman's cry broke the silence:
"Glory to the king! Glory to our soldiers!"
The chant spread like wildfire, until the streets thundered with it. Yet Saturo's expression remained solemn.
That evening, pyres were lit on the hill outside the city. Saturo stood in ceremonial robes, white aura flickering faintly around him. He raised his sword skyward.
"These men and women did not fall nameless," he declared, voice ringing through the night. "They stood against the tide so that our homes may stand. Their courage is carved into the stone of this kingdom. We will not forget."
He lowered the blade, and the first pyres were set ablaze. Families wept, soldiers bowed, and Saturo stood unmoving until the last flame died.
When dawn came, he summoned the survivors to the great hall. He did not sit upon his throne. Instead, he stood among them.
"You lived. Not because you were spared, but because the kingdom still needs your strength," he said. "You are not survivors—you are shields and swords of this realm. And I, your king, will carry this burden beside you."
---
Later, the court convened. Garron leaned heavily on his cane, his armor dented but polished. Liora, pale from tending the wounded, clutched a stack of reports. The guildmasters, nobles, and priests all gathered, waiting for the young king to speak.
Saturo looked at the map spread across the council table. The beast horde's path was marked in red ink—too close, far too close.
"We survived this battle," Saturo began, voice steady, "but if another tide comes, we cannot meet it in the field every time. Our people need walls, refuges, and forward defenses."
"You propose forts?" asked Liora.
"Yes. Along the valleys and passes. Stone strongholds where garrisons can hold back threats until the army arrives. Not only defense—symbols of safety. Our people must know we are not always one step from ruin."
The council murmured, some nodding, others whispering about resources. Garron struck his cane against the stone floor.
"He is right. Without fortresses, we bleed every season until nothing remains."
---
Saturo turned the map. His eyes rested on the neighboring settlements and kingdoms whose banners were not yet tied to his.
"We cannot remain blind to the world around us. If beasts move in tides, if threats grow larger, then we must have allies—or at least understand our rivals. I will send envoys to our neighbors. To speak of peace, of trade, and of warning."
One noble scoffed. "And if they laugh at us? If they see weakness instead of strength?"
Saturo's gaze sharpened, white aura flickering faintly around him.
"Then we will remind them that weakness does not build fortresses, nor does it slay beast tides. They will learn that we are not prey. We are the rising kingdom of the White King."
The court fell silent.
---
When the council adjourned, Saturo lingered alone in the hall. He traced a hand over the map, feeling the weight of both the dead and the living pressing down on his shoulders.
He whispered to himself, staring at the unclaimed lands:
"If I am to rule, then every stone I raise, every envoy I send, every battle I fight… must be for them. This crown is not mine—it belongs to all who follow."
Outside, the city bells rang. The kingdom mourned, but it also breathed anew, rallying behind the king who bore sorrow with pride and vision.
---