The soldiers manning the walls turned in confusion as the western gate opened, and a formation emerged from the inner courtyard—armor gleaming, banners bearing the Torvares crest snapping in the wind.

At the head of the group strode Arslan, sword drawn, face grim but alive with focus. Behind him came his party. And just beside them—Viola, Luna, and Aronia, each carrying their own kind of calm fury. Aronia looked more pissed than anything for being dragged out to that mess instead of the fight.

And behind them—five hundred soldiers, marching in perfect formation, the disciplined edge of the Torvares army.

Ludger exhaled a short laugh. “So they found it.”

The hidden tunnel. The one he’d been carving at night, bit by bit, under the pretense of “private projects.” It connected the fortress to a ridge many leagues away—concealed, protected, and wide enough for a strike force to march through undetected.

He hadn’t expected anyone to use it so soon—but it seemed his family and Lord Torvares had read his notes well enough.

As Arslan approached the wall, he looked up, met Ludger’s gaze, and raised a hand. No words—just a silent acknowledgment. Ludger nodded back once, a grin flickering across his tired face. The smoke might have blinded the fortress, but now it was the barbarians’ turn to be surprised.

Alright, Ludger thought, adjusting the strap of his potion bag. Let’s put the real plan in motion.

And with that, the defenders of the border town—father and son, soldiers and students alike—turned toward the rolling gray fog as the next stage of the battle began.

Ludger uncorked the first bottle with his teeth and drank deep. The cool mana surged down his throat, sharp and metallic, burning away the exhaustion that had settled in his limbs. He dropped the empty flask, grabbed another, and downed that too. The world sharpened — the tremors beneath the ground, the sound of boots clattering on stone, even the faint chant of the enemy shamans muffled behind the smoke.

When he looked up, Captain Darnell was already watching him. The older man didn’t need to ask what Ludger was thinking — it was written all over the boy’s face.

Darnell gave a short, knowing nod. “Go,” he said simply. “If you’re going, go with them. We’ll hold it here.”

Ludger wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and smirked faintly. “Guess that’s as close as I’m getting to permission.”

The captain’s expression softened into a thin grin. “You’ll do more damage out there than behind a wall.”

Ludger adjusted the strap of his potion satchel, the glass clinking quietly against his hip. “No promises.”

And then he moved.

He ran along the battlements, boots striking stone, smoke swirling around him as the battle below raged on. When he reached the edge of the western wall, he didn’t hesitate — he vaulted over the parapet.

The drop wasn’t short, but he hit the ground in a crouch, earth shifting beneath his boots to cushion the landing. He straightened smoothly, brushing dust from his sleeves as if it were nothing.

Ahead, through the thinning haze, he saw them.

Arslan with blade drawn, aura steady and lethal as ever, already barking orders to the arriving soldiers and his party behind him like usual.

Viola with her sword slung across her back, eyes bright with anticipation, her grin as sharp as the edge of a blade.

And Luna — calm, unreadable, her hands resting lightly on her weapon, watching everything at once. It seemed that she wasn’t going to hide what she could do anymore.

Ludger walked toward them, his presence quiet but clear. Viola turned first, eyes widening before narrowing into a competitive glare.

“About time you showed up,” she said, half-smiling. “Was starting to think you’d let us have all the fun.”

Ludger shrugged, a ghost of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Had to make sure the walls didn’t collapse while you were busy arriving late.”

Arslan looked over his shoulder, gave a short nod of approval, and said nothing — just a brief look that said good timing.

Ludger cracked his knuckles, feeling mana hum through his veins again. The smoke was still thick, but he could sense the shamans through it — the distortions in the air, the faint, chaotic pulse of the shamans mana.

“Alright,” he said, voice low, focused. “Let’s hunt some spellcasters.”

And with that, father, son, and sister turned toward the rolling fog — ready to carve their way straight into the heart of the enemy’s ritual.

Ludger had a dozen questions lined up the moment he reached them.

Why was Viola here? She was supposed to stay behind and train—build reputation for the guild he was planning, not march straight into another war zone. Why hadn’t Lord Torvares come? Even if his health was fading, his presence alone would’ve lifted the men’s spirits.

And who decided to move five hundred troops through his tunnel without telling him?

He wanted answers. But not now. Because the barbarians weren’t waiting for anyone.

The smoke had reached them fully now — thick, acrid, and alive with mana, rolling like a living fog across the field. It swallowed shapes and color alike, turning everything beyond a few meters into a gray blur. The world shrank to sound, vibration, and instinct.

Viola cursed under her breath. “Can’t see a damn thing.”

Arslan’s voice was calm, steady as ever. “Then we move slow. Shields up, eyes open.”

Ludger exhaled, shutting his eyes for just a second. Vision wasn’t going to help anyway. He didn’t need it.

He pressed one hand against the ground and let his mana seep downward, threading through the packed earth like roots. The tremors came to him immediately — small, distinct, rhythmic. Dozens of feet. No… hundreds.

Seismic Sense. The world shifted in his mind. He could feel the battlefield — the movements, the weight, the direction. Every heavy step through the smoke drew a pulse through the ground that his senses translated into form and distance. The barbarians were moving in staggered lines, pushing toward them fast, their pace uncoordinated but relentless.

“There,” he said, pointing toward the right flank. “They’re spreading wide — trying to surround the western side.”

Arslan turned instantly, eyes narrowing. “How far?”

“Less than fifty meters. I can feel the ripples.”

“Good,” Arslan said, tightening his grip on his blade. “Then we cut them off before they reach the wall.”

Ludger nodded once. His questions, his doubts, even his irritation — all of it was buried beneath the steady rhythm of the ground beneath his feet.

The smoke hid their sight, but not their enemy. Not from him.

“Let’s move,” he said quietly, voice low but firm. “They’re coming.”

And as the first distorted silhouettes began to emerge through the fog, Ludger’s smirk flickered back — cold, controlled, and ready.

Arslan raised his sword high, its edge catching what little light filtered through the smoke. His voice thundered through the chaos—clear, commanding, impossible to ignore.

“LIONSGUARD! WITH ME!”

For a heartbeat, Ludger froze. Lionsguard? That was… new. He hadn’t approved that name, hadn’t even heard of it. There’d been no discussion, no vote—his father had just decided.

He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again with a click of his tongue. Fine. We’ll talk about branding later.

The soldiers roared as one, the sound shaking the air and cutting through the haze. Shields raised, weapons gleaming, they charged forward in a single, disciplined surge behind Arslan. The ground trembled under the rush of armored boots.

Ludger stayed a few paces behind the front, his focus spread through the earth beneath them. Every vibration, every distant step of the enemy army painted a picture in his mind—chaotic, shifting, alive. He felt clusters of movement converging ahead and to the left. “Contact in three seconds,” he shouted.

Then the fog broke, and they collided.

The first clash hit like a hammer. Steel against steel. Flesh against force. The shockwave of the impact rattled through Ludger’s bones.

Arslan was the first into the fray, cutting through the front ranks like they were nothing. His sword arced in smooth, brutal motions—clean strikes that broke through shields and bone alike. Every swing was precise, measured, lethal.

A berserker lunged at him, screaming, axe raised high. Arslan sidestepped, caught the man’s wrist mid-swing, and snapped it with a single twist before driving his blade straight through his chest. He didn’t even pause before pivoting to parry another.

Viola was right beside him, her sword moving with impossible grace for its size. Each swing sent shockwaves through the ground, crushing armor and bone in equal measure. She moved with pure aggression—no hesitation, no fear, every motion driven by raw power and sharpened control.

It looks like she improved the skills that Gaius taught her…

Two enemies came at her from opposite sides; she ducked under the first strike, then pivoted hard, the heavy blade whistling through the air and cleaving both men in half with one brutal swing. The impact cracked the ground, shards of stone scattering beneath her boots.

Luna darted between them like a ghost, her movements precise and fluid—cutting throats, deflecting blows, weaving between the chaos like the smoke itself obeyed her rhythm.

Ludger stood behind the melee, eyes half-closed, one hand pressed to the ground. Seismic Sense fed him every detail—the barbarians trying to flank from the rear, the shamans spreading out further east, the next wave preparing to charge.

“They’re splitting up!” he shouted. “Two more groups incoming!”

Arslan didn’t look back; he just nodded sharply. “Then we cut through before they regroup!”

Ludger gritted his teeth, mana thrumming under his skin as he prepared to reshape the ground once more.

The Lionsguard roared again, and Arslan led the charge deeper into the fog. The earth trembled beneath their feet as steel, stone, and fury tore through the enemy line.

And behind them, Ludger’s hand began to glow faintly brown.

Time to make the terrain bleed again.

The Lionsguard moved like a living spear through the enemy ranks.

They hadn’t been caught off guard — not this time. The shamans’ smoke might have blinded their sight, but not their instincts, and definitely not Ludger’s Seismic Sense. Every shift of weight, every misplaced step in the earth told him where the next enemy would come from.

“Left flank—fifty incoming!” he barked, and before the words had even finished, Arslan was there, blade flashing, cutting both down in one clean motion.

“Viola, guard your right!”

She swung her sword in a wide arc, the blow so heavy it cracked the shields and sent a trio of barbarians flying back, their ribs folding inward like paper. She grinned, wild and alive, blood dripping down her cheek. “You call that a warning, or just bragging?”

“Just keeping score,” Ludger muttered, half-smirking as he raised an earthen spike beneath another attacker’s feet, impaling the man through the chest before he could even scream.

The battlefield was chaos — but organized chaos. The smoke still rolled across the plains, thick and clinging, but it couldn’t stop the momentum now. The Torvares troops followed Arslan’s command to the letter, shields tight, formation solid, every push carving deeper into the barbarian line.

Bodies fell. The enemy formation cracked. For the first time, the barbarians hesitated.

And that’s when Ludger felt it.

A ripple — faint, but wrong. The air itself seemed to pulse, thick and uneven, like something breathing where it shouldn’t. The mana currents twisted, shifting from steady to erratic.

He froze mid-step. That’s not just smoke…

Then it hit him. The shamans.

They weren’t just maintaining the smoke anymore. They were changing it. The mana in the air grew hotter, wilder — a burning, acidic resonance that scraped against his senses. The smell changed too, the sharp scent of ozone replaced by something heavier… like burnt copper and ash.

“Stop,” Ludger hissed, eyes narrowing. “They’re switching spells.”

Arslan turned briefly, his expression hard. “What kind?”

“The kind that doesn’t care who it burns.”

Even as he said it, the color of the smoke began to shift — from gray to a sickly, shimmering red. Sparks flickered inside it, faint at first, then growing brighter. The air grew hotter. Soldiers began coughing harder, some gasping as the haze thickened and started to glow.

The shamans weren’t retreating. They were cutting their losses.

“They’re planning to burn the field,” Ludger said through clenched teeth, his mana sense confirming what he already feared. “Everything and everyone — their troops, ours, doesn’t matter.”

Arslan’s eyes hardened. Viola’s grin vanished. The soldiers around them faltered, some glancing nervously at the glowing fog pressing closer.

Ludger looked up at the roiling sky, the mana inside it thrashing like a beast. His pulse quickened, but his voice stayed calm.

“They’re desperate,” he said. “Which means this is the endgame.”

The earth under his boots trembled — and this time, it wasn’t from footsteps.

The heat rising through the smoke was getting worse by the second. The air shimmered, carrying the faint scent of scorched earth before any real flames had even touched it.

He didn’t hesitate. “We go for the shamans,” he said, his tone flat and certain. “Cut off their heads, the rest of the body dies. Their spells are the only thing keeping this mess dangerous.”

Arslan turned to him, eyes narrowing for a moment as if measuring the idea — then he nodded. “He’s right.”

The older man raised his sword high, the blade catching the crimson light of the haze. “LIONSGUARD! STRAIGHT LINE ADVANCE!” he bellowed. His voice tore through the noise, cutting past the clash of steel and the screams. “Break through to the shamans! Every man forward!”

The soldiers roared in response, the sound deep and furious, echoing through the fog like thunder in a canyon. Then they moved — a single, unstoppable formation pushing through the chaos. Shields locked, spears thrusting, boots pounding.

Ludger ran alongside them, the vibrations of the march syncing with his pulse. He could feel the shamans now — their mana flaring with every chant, the ground trembling beneath their rituals. They weren’t far.

The barbarians saw what was happening and tried to block the advance.

They failed.

The Lionsguard didn’t slow down, didn’t scatter, didn’t flinch. They plowed straight through the scattered berserkers like an iron wedge through wet clay. Arslan led from the front, his sword flashing in wide, devastating arcs that tore gaps in the line. Viola followed close behind, her massive blade crushing shields, helmets, and bones alike.

One barbarian lunged from the smoke, screaming. Arslan caught him mid-swing and cut him in half without breaking stride. Another tried to flank Viola — she met him head-on, sword cracking his weapon and his ribs in one brutal strike.

The momentum was absolute.

“Keep moving!” Arslan shouted, his voice hoarse but unshaken. “Don’t give them time to cast!”

Ludger followed just behind the front, using his magic on the ground as he reshaped the earth in their path. Spikes rose to block charging enemies, ridges broke their footing, and the ground itself tilted forward, helping the soldiers surge ahead like an avalanche of steel.

The smoke thickened again, glowing brighter with every step — but now, Ludger could feel the shamans clearly. A cluster of them, just beyond the heat, standing in a circle and feeding that murderous spell.

He straightened, his expression hardening. “There you are.”

He looked toward Arslan and Viola. “Let’s end this.”

And with that, the Lionsguard roared again — a single, deafening cry — and charged straight into the fire.

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