Outside the walls of Blackrock City, the Ember Alliance stood in formation like a rising black tide. Banners snapped in the wind; the gleam of cold steel felt like a physical weight. The rhythmic roar of war cries surged forward in waves, crashing against the stone ramparts until the very hearts of those inside began to tremble.
Inside the city, however, a different scene unfolded.
Doors and windows were bolted shut. The streets lay hollow and desolate. Civilians dragged their families into the deepest corners of their homes, driving bolt after bolt into the door frames, as if wood and iron could stave off the impending calamity.
Atop the battlements, soldiers stood clad in mail and clutching shields. Bowstrings were pulled taut; arrowheads formed a jagged forest of steel. Logistic teams sprinted back and forth, hauling bundles of arrows, rolling stones, and vats of oil to every defensive pivot. The air was saturated with a tension so absolute that it felt as though a single spark would cause the entire city to detonate.
Within the council chamber, the atmosphere was equally stagnant.
The Lord of Blackrock, Rex Baroque, stood before a tactical map. He was a man of massive build, his face covered in coarse stubble—resembling an old lion seasoned by a hundred battlefields. Yet at this moment, a profound heaviness was etched into the lines of his brow.
"Report—!"
A scout burst into the hall, dropping to one knee. "By visual estimation and count... the enemy strength is at least five thousand and rising!"
The words fell like a stone into a silent pool, triggering a ripple of agitation. One official turned pale, his voice nearly spiraling out of control. "Five thousand!? Our active garrison is barely five hundred! Even if we press the logistics corps and every able-bodied man in the city into service—"
"We would struggle to reach two thousand!" he cried. "And those men have neither training nor proper steel—how are we supposed to hold!?"
Rex raised a hand.
"Silence."
The word wasn't loud, yet it suppressed the rising panic. His gaze remained fixed on the map, his tone steady and grounded. "I have already dispatched six messengers. Three pairs have been sent to the neighboring three cities and the Royal Capital to request reinforcements."
He lifted his head slowly. "If each of those three cities contributes just one thousand men... we will not only hold; we will counterattack."
A brief, fragile quiet settled over the hall. But a moment later, another civil official couldn't help but speak up. "But... even so, we can only hold for two days at the absolute most! If the reinforcements don't arrive in time... what then?"
The tension in the air tightened once more.
Rex remained silent for a heartbeat. Then, his voice turned as hard and cold as the black stone of his city.
"Then we hold for three."
The officials froze, their breath hitching in their throats.
Rex continued, his voice devoid of any emotional tremor. "Pass down the order—the professional soldiers will hold the battlements and suppress the enemy with archery. As for the main gate..."
He paused for a fraction of a second, his tone flattening into something icy. "It will be held by the conscripted peasants."
A deathly silence fell over the hall. Someone's face turned ashen in an instant. "My Lord... then they—"
"I know," Rex interrupted, his gaze as unyielding as iron. "They do not need to fight. They only need to use their bodies to brace the gate."
The very air in the room seemed to flash-freeze.
"As long as the gate holds, we survive." He slowly tightened his fist. "We hold for three days. Once the reinforcements arrive, we will drive these rebels back—every last one of them."
Outside the walls, the dust swirled in violent eddies.
Helan sat astride his warhorse, staring at the shuttered fortress. The ramparts rose high and jagged, an icy barrier against the world.
"Prince Karl," he rumbled. "Scouts report that the elite garrison of Blackrock is less than a thousand. What is your assessment of their reinforcements?"
Karl dismounted, his teal cloak fluttering as it caught the grit of the barrens. His gaze swept across the stone heights, his voice calm and precise. "A mid-sized city. Under forced conscription, they could scramble two thousand men. But..."
He paused briefly. "They would be nothing but a rabble."
He looked toward the horizon. "If the three neighboring cities provide simultaneous aid, their total strength might surpass ours. But at least a thousand of those would be a makeshift force, utterly lacking in combat prowess."
He retracted his gaze, fixing it back on the high walls. "The true problem isn't the men. It's that wall."
Helan let out a cold snort, the battle-lust in his eyes as sharp as tempered steel. "On an open plain, one of my Ember warriors could cut down three of theirs." He looked at the dense ranks of archers atop the battlements. "But while they shrink behind that stone... once those reinforcements arrive, the odds will no longer be in our favor."
Albert stood to the side, hesitating before speaking in a low voice. "What if we switch to a siege? If we cut off their reinforcements... would that not be more stable?"
Helan gave a cold, dismissive laugh and shook his head. "Blackrock is backed against the Twin Cliffs—terrain as sharp as a flaying knife. A siege would only force us to split our forces, dulling our own edge."
His gaze burned with conviction. "This battle requires a swift strike. We must take it in one fell swoop!"
Karl, however, did not immediately agree. He lowered his eyes slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the hilt of his sword. His voice remained as steady as deep water.
"We cannot rush."
He lifted his eyes, his gaze crystalline. "A full-scale assault at the start, while the enemy's morale is still intact, will only push our casualties to the extreme. Our goal here is not merely to seize a city—it is to force Lunaris to redeploy their main host southward."
"Exchanging the smallest price for the greatest distraction," he concluded. "That is the superior path."
Silence fell over the command group. Helan pondered for a moment before giving a slow, acknowledging nod.
"...You are right."
He reached out and drew a sharp line across the sand table. "Then we divide into three wings. We rotate the assault day and night—never letting their spirit rest, never giving them a moment to breathe."
"And if the enemy dares a sortie to counterattack—" His gaze turned lethal. "We retreat immediately, lure them deep into the barrens, and annihilate them in the wilderness."
Karl's lips curled into a faint, sharp arc. "As long as the tempo remains in our hands, the outcome is no longer the enemy's to decide."
At that moment, the frantic pounding of footsteps erupted outside the tent. A soldier burst in, dropping to one knee. "Report—the hour has struck! Commander, your orders!"
Helan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, turning to face the silent, mountainous ramparts of Blackrock City. Amidst the howling wind and snow, his voice was as cold as unsheathed iron.
"Pass the order—send an envoy to the foot of the walls. Demand their surrender."
"Yes, sir!" The soldier retreated in a blur of motion.
Helan glanced sideways at Karl and Albert, a cold, predatory smirk spreading across his face. "The performance... has begun." He paused, his tone growing heavy with meaning. "Prince Karl, once the moment is ripe, you may take your leave."
Atop the gatehouse of Blackrock City.
The bitter wind shrieked, snapping the blood-colored battle-standards. The City Lord stood clad in heavy plate, looking down with unmasked disdain at the solitary messenger below.
"Hmph—" He let out a freezing laugh, his voice booming like thunder, piercing through the gale and stone. "A mere rabble of rebels thinks themselves worthy of demanding surrender?"
He took a step forward, his armored boots striking the stone steps with a heavy, echoing thud. "Do you not know? Fifteen years ago, the Kingdom of Lunaris unified the entire continent of Auroris!"
His voice rose to a crescendo, imbued with an unshakeable pressure. "You are nothing but the remnants of fallen nations, scurrying like vermin in the shadows of the barrens—and yet you dare speak of rebellion?"
He swept his hand toward the massive army below, his intent to kill palpable. "Retreat now, and you may yet cling to a pathetic life on the borders. Otherwise—" His gaze turned lethal, his tone like a final sentence. "This city shall be the tomb where every last one of you is slaughtered!"
The messenger said nothing. He offered a silent, disciplined salute, turned, and marched back into the snow, his silhouette quickly swallowed by the white veil.
When the envoy returned to the command tent and repeated the Lord's words verbatim, a brief silence followed.
Helan gave a slow nod, as if he had anticipated this very response. He turned his gaze to Albert, his voice low and as sharp as a flaying knife.
"Lord of Ember... it is time for you to light the fire."
Albert remained silent. He simply turned, his cloak snapping behind him in a fierce, sweeping arc. He vaulted onto his horse and drove straight to the front of the ranks. Amidst the swirling snow, he reined in his steed and stood firm.
In the next heartbeat—his voice exploded like a thunderclap!
"Warriors of the Ember Alliance—!"
The entire military formation jolted as one.
"Blackrock City still clings to its withered glory! They still look upon us as broken stragglers to be trampled!" He raised his hand, pointing directly at the towering walls, his eyes burning with an inner conflagration. "Then let them see clearly... what kind of army stands before them today!"
The wind howled, yet his voice rose even higher, tearing through the storm. "From this day forth—the name Ember shall no longer represent flight and survival! It shall be... the fire that forces the world to bow its head!"
A split second of absolute silence followed.
Then—it was like a mountain collapsing, like a tidal wave crashing!
"KILL—!!!" "KILL!!!" "KILL!!!"
Five thousand voices roared in unison, shattering the very wind and snow.
Helan stepped up beside him, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Good," he murmured. "The fire is truly burning now."
He took another step forward, his gaze instantly cooling into something as hard as iron. In the next breath, his arm shot upward.
"First Legion—ADVANCE!" "Shield Wall—FORM!" "Archers—READY STRINGS!"
The commands fell like rhythmic axe-strokes. Two hundred shield-bearers marched forth in unison—THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Their iron bulwarks locked together, forging a creeping wall of steel in an instant. Behind them, the archers stood in perfect ranks, bowstrings taut, their cold tips reflecting the mountain snow as they aimed for the battlements.
Further back, six hundred soldiers hoisted long ladders and heavy battering rams. Their pace was heavy, deliberate, and unyielding as they pressed toward the main gate.
—WOOOOOH—!
The war-horn shrieked, tearing through the firmament. The war had—at this very second—officially begun.
Atop the ramparts, the defenders were primed. In the next heartbeat—a deluge of arrows erupted! It was like a blizzard surging in reverse, blotting out the sky. The Ember archers did not flinch; they loosed their counter-volley almost simultaneously.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Amidst the freezing gale, feathered shafts crossed paths like lethal meteors, tracing dense trajectories of death. The shield wall advanced steadily, the dull, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of arrows striking iron echoing across the field. The gate-breakers and ladder-teams followed in their shadow, not missing a single step, inching closer with every breath.
The entire frontline moved with the cold, crushing precision of a massive, grinding war machine.
Yet... neither side lost control. There was no mad dash. No suicide charge. Only probing, suppression, and... a calculated restraint. The killing intent simmered beneath the snow but did not yet boil over.
Helan's eyes narrowed. "As expected... they are stalling as well."
Karl stood beside him, watching the field. His voice was low and level. "It suits our purpose. As long as they keep funneling reinforcements here, half our objective is already met." He paused, his gaze darkening slightly. "I only hope... that the price we pay will not be too steep."
The wind and snow were silent, but upon the battlefield, the malice was stacking up... layer by agonizing layer.
[Simultaneously: The Starfall Cliff Shelter]
Deep within the cavern, the firelight flickered.
Suddenly, the white rabbit in Lunethia's arms gave a violent start. Its ears shot upright, and its limbs scrambled frantically, nearly kicking its way out of her grasp.
"Mr. Rabbit...?" she whispered, a trace of unease knitting her brow.
"Why are you... so afraid?"
Owen immediately took a step back, covering his mouth and muttering under his breath, "Could it be... it sensed I've been thinking about stewing it?"
No one paid him any mind.
Lunethia's expression gradually sank. She gently stroked the white rabbit, appearing to listen to a frequency only she could perceive. After a moment, she lifted her head—all traces of playfulness had vanished from her eyes.
"No." Her voice was soft but firm. "It is warning us."
The air in the cavern seemed to stagnate. Rhine furrowed his brow, his tone laced with skepticism. "A rabbit? Sensing movement outside the mountain? We are in the deepest reaches of the cavern's belly."
Lunethia slowly shook her head, her voice dropping an octave. "It's not just the rabbit. It's its 'friends'—the birds outside brought the message back."
She paused, her tone growing lighter yet more ominous. "Two presences... are approaching. They are... terrifying."
The atmosphere in the cave grew bone-chilling. Lena leaned against the jagged rock wall, a faint, cryptic smirk on her lips. "Don't be so tense. Gerald is wide awake, isn't he? Why not just let him handle it?"
Gerald let out a dry, weary chuckle and spread his hands. "You lot certainly make it sound easy. For an old man on the verge of retirement, you still expect me to hold the line alone?"
Gareth snorted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Retirement? Who was it that just beat us so badly we could barely stand? You call that 'retiring'? That's just finding a new place to keep cracking skulls."
A few low chuckles rippled through the cave.
However—the mirth died instantly.
Lunethia suddenly looked up, her voice suppressed to a mere whisper. "Mr. Rabbit says... our hiding place... it may have already been compromised."
The air froze.
"What?" Milia gasped, her eyes instinctively darting toward the cavern entrance. "Those patrols from the past few days couldn't even find the mouth of the cave. How could we be exposed?"
Gerald's features slowly tightened, a profound gravity settling in his eyes. "If we truly have been locked on..." he murmured, "they only need to seal the entrance, and we become caged beasts."
Lunethia nodded slightly, continuing her quiet translation. "He also says... right now, two hawks are circling directly above the entrance. If we step out, we are seen. If we stay in... those two 'things' will come knocking on our door."
Silence descended upon the group, heavy and absolute.
The wind swirled deep into the cavern's mouth, causing the firelight to flicker and dance. Rhine suddenly let out a cold snort, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Gareth. Go take a look." His tone was casual, yet it carried a deliberate, razor-sharp edge. "If there are no hawks... then tonight, we have an extra dish. Rabbit stew."
"Copy that, Boss!" Gareth grinned, his figure blurring as he vanished into the darkness of the passage.
Owen wiped a longsword, offering a light chuckle. "Hole up in this godforsaken place for a few days and you start to mold. If there really are enemies, so be it—" He lifted his blade, a cold gleam flashing across the steel. "I could use the exercise."
Rhine, however, did not respond. He stared into the blackness of the cave entrance, his brow furrowed as he let out a slow, heavy breath.
"No," he murmured. "Our plan was to stay hidden for two more days. To wait until the Royal Capital's forces were fully diverted before we made our move." His voice dropped an octave, laced with frustration. "If we are exposed now... all our preparations will have been for nothing."
Silence reclaimed the cave. The flames leaped softly, while an invisible danger inched closer, layer by agonizing layer.
Moments later, a silhouette tore through the wind, returning in a blur! Gareth practically crashed back onto the stone path, his breath ragged as he spoke.
"Boss! That rabbit... it's the real deal!" He pointed frantically toward the outside, his voice hushed yet urgent. "Out there—there really are two giant hawks circling above!"
The color drained from everyone's faces. Gerald wasted no more time, his command ringing with absolute decisiveness.
"We cannot stay. If we are pinned down inside the mountain's belly..." His gaze darkened. "We won't even have the chance to fight our way out."
Lunethia gently stroked the white rabbit in her arms, whispering, "Thank you, Mr. Rabbit."
Yet the rabbit remained curled in a shivering ball, its ears pinned tight against its body—as if the true terror had only just begun.
The group moved with practiced efficiency. Rope ladders were dropped, and one by one, their silhouettes ascended silently, emerging from the heart of the mountain.
The freezing wind slapped against their faces. Atop the peak, everything was deathly still. Rhine stood at the vanguard, his gaze sweeping across the distant, snow-covered forest. His brow knit together.
"For now... I see no one." He turned his head toward Gerald. "Old man, what's your read?"
Gerald scanned the surrounding terrain, his voice heavy with caution. "Move. We change locations. And while we're at it—gather any intel on the movements in the South."
The group nodded, retreating swiftly from the exposed peak. However, they hadn't traveled far before a series of thin, rapid sounds erupted from the thicket.
Rustle—rustle—
Something was darting through the undergrowth with unnatural speed. Gareth skidded to a halt, his bow already in hand, the string drawn back into a lethal crescent.
"Something's there!" The tip of his arrow locked onto the darkness between the trees.
In the next heartbeat, a white wolf stepped slowly from the shadows. Its pace was measured, neither hurried nor hesitant. Its snow-white fur rippled in the biting wind, and its eyes—cold and ghostly—were fixed unblinkingly upon the group.
Rhine let out a cold snort. "A mere pack of wolves? They dare block our path?"
"Wait," Lunethia interrupted. Her voice was soft, but it carried a strange, heavy solemnity. "They... they have no hostility."
Rhine drew his longblade anyway, the cold steel singing as it left the sheath. "No hostility? Then why show themselves now of all times?"
Lunethia stared at the white wolf, the color slowly draining from her face. After a long moment, she whispered, "They aren't here to fight. They are here... to watch us."
The air seemed to thicken. "Watch us?" Rhine's gaze darkened.
"Yes," Lunethia nodded slowly, her voice turning frigid. "Their mission is... to prevent us from leaving."
Before she could finish, Rhine snapped a silent signal!
Thwip!
Gareth loosed the arrow, aimed straight for the white wolf's throat! But the creature was impossibly fast—a blur of white that vanished into the forest the moment the string snapped.
Silence returned. It was as if nothing had happened.
"It's gone?" Milia began to let out a breath of relief.
But in the next instant, the white wolf stepped out again from the opposite side of the woods. The same eyes. The same silent, piercing stare.
The atmosphere turned utterly surreal. What followed was a cycle orchestrated with chilling precision. Whenever the group moved, the pack retreated. Whenever the group stopped, the wolves reappeared.
They did not attack. They did not close the distance. But they never—not for a single second—allowed the group to leave their sight. It was as if an invisible net were slowly, inexorably tightening around them.
Gareth lowered his voice. "Thea. You can communicate with them... try it. We won't get far at this rate."
Lunethia nodded and took a step forward. She locked eyes with the white wolf.
Time, in that moment, seemed to stretch into an eternal, fragile thread.
The wind whistled past. After a long moment, Lunethia's expression sank.
Rhine tightened his grip on his hilt, whispering, "Well? Will these 'dogs' move, or do we carve a path?"
Lunethia shook her head slowly. "They... they have no desire to harm us. But—" She paused, her tone turning frigid. "They are under orders. They must stop us."
"What?" Owen's eyes widened, the words escaping him. "Even wolves can be commanded?" He swallowed hard, his voice strained. "Has that 'Queen'... reached such a terrifying level of control?"
Between the wind and the snow, the wolf pack stood in silent vigil. A presence, yet to reveal itself, had already locked onto their coordinates.
"Silence."
Gerald spoke suddenly. His voice was low, yet it carried an undeniable, crushing authority. The group fell still in an instant.
In the next heartbeat—the wind died. The falling snow seemed to freeze mid-air, suspended in the void. Even the distant wolves retreated in unison, lowering their bodies and emitting suppressed, guttural whimpers.
The air grew cold. It wasn't the chill of winter, but a deathly, primordial frost that heralded a descent. Rhine's hand clenched instinctively around his blade. He could feel it—something was "approaching." Not by foot, not by breath... but by pressure. It was a weight bearing down from the firmament.
BOOM—!!!
The earth jolted violently! It was as if the very heavens had been torn asunder. Two colossal silhouettes plummeted from the heights!
CRASH!!!CRASH!!!
Ice and snow erupted; the ground buckled and collapsed under the sheer force of the impact. A shockwave rippled outward, sending plumes of snow-dust surging like white waves, forcing the group to stumble back.
As the haze began to settle, the "things" revealed themselves.
They were two monoliths. Towering, massive, and standing in absolute silence. Their entire forms were composed of translucent crystal, as if carved from the essence of the permafrost itself. Every facet reflected a piercing, lethal light.
They had no breath. No heartbeat. Yet... they were alive.
In the next instant, their eyes slowly ignited.
Crimson.
Like iron heated to a volatile extreme, they flared with a blinding light in the gloom. In that moment, it felt as though something from the deepest abyss had finally opened its eyes.
The air froze solid. No one spoke. No one dared to move. Even the wind had ceased its flow.
Rhine slowly lifted his head, his gaze locked onto the two entities. His longblade emitted a faint, high-pitched hum of vibration. He spoke in a low voice, his tone uncharacteristically grave.
"...It seems," he paused, a ghost of a cold smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "this time... we're in real trouble."
The wind and snow surged once more. But the true battle... was only just beginning.