Chapter 188 — Banner of the Tempest

  Southern Gate — At Dawn

  The southern gate groaned as it opened, iron grinding against stone.

  Dawn had only just begun to stain the horizon gold.

  From that widening seam of light rode Sir Caelum.

  His white steed stepped forward first—calm, disciplined, unafraid. Then the knight himself emerged fully into view, silver armor catching the newborn sun. Gold trim flared like living fire. The radiant sun engraved upon his chest burned brighter than the sky behind him.

  For a heartbeat—

  The battlefield stilled.

  Then—

  “Humans?”

  “They opened the gate!”

  “Just like the General predicted!”

  The beastmen howled in savage delight. Claws scraped against shields. Tusks gleamed wet with anticipation.

  But when their eyes settled upon the knight at the front—

  Upon the way he did not hesitate.

  Upon the way he did not retreat.

  Upon the way he lowered his lance and leaned forward into perfect cavalry posture—

  Something shifted in their ranks.

  Instinct.

  Recognition.

  Predator meeting something that did not behave like prey.

  Sir Caelum’s voice rang clear across the field.

  “Everyone—CHARGE!”

  “HEYYYYYYYY!!!”

  The cry tore from human throats as one.

  Behind him, adventurers and soldiers surged forward. Fear burned away beneath the gravity of his presence.

  The beast army snapped into intercept formation. Shields locked. Heavy units braced.

  Exactly as he intended.

  “Lysette!”

  A crimson figure stepped onto the rampart above the gate, eyes blazing.

  “FIRE STORM!”

  The sky answered.

  BOOM.

  A spiraling inferno roared outward from the southern gate, twisting like a living dragon. Flame engulfed the forward beast lines. Fur ignited in sheets of orange and black.

  “GYAAAAAA—!”

  The air filled with shrieks and the stench of burning hair.

  Yet even as they burned, their monstrous vitality endured.

  “Puny magic! We’re still ali—”

  SPLAT.

  The sentence ended in a spray of bone and blood.

  A white lance tore through skull and spine, erasing the speaker mid-boast.

  Sir Caelum did not slow.

  In his grasp gleamed Aurelia Tempestum—the Storm-Born Spear.

  The artifact awakened.

  The moment its tip met resistance—

  The world exhaled.

  A deafening torrent of wind erupted forward, compressed air detonating in a straight line ahead of him. Beastmen were ripped from their feet. Shields splintered. Formations fractured.

  The tempest did not merely push.

  It carried.

  Aurelia screamed with stored wind as it accelerated Caelum’s charge beyond mortal limits. His steed became a streak of white gale, hooves barely touching earth as currents propelled man and mount forward.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The encirclement shattered like brittle glass.

  “Follow me!”

  And they did.

  Human forces surged through the wind corridor he carved. What had been a siege became a breach. What had been entrapment became momentum.

  Silva had predicted a desperate sortie after the food supply was targeted.

  He had not predicted this.

  An all-out assault.

  Steel clashed.

  Flame descended with terrifying precision, shattering re-forming lines just as they began to stabilize.

  And whenever beast archers or magicians tried to reposition—

  A small shadow flashed through them.

  Silent.

  Efficient.

  Sylra.

  One moment they were drawing bows.

  The next, they were falling.

  But the beast army recovered faster than expected.

  Shields of bone and iron slammed together. Boar infantry lowered tower shields. Wolf scouts darted along flanks. Somewhere deeper, a horn bellowed—long and guttural.

  They were not panicking.

  They were obeying.

  Caelum lowered his visor halfway—not to hide. To focus.

  “Forward.”

  His steed obeyed without spur.

  Three wolves lunged from smoke, blades flashing toward the horse’s legs.

  Aurelia tilted.

  Not a thrust—

  A sweep.

  Wind detonated outward in a crescent arc. The wolves were lifted mid-leap, bodies folding unnaturally as the gale hurled them backward. One smashed into a shield wall hard enough to crack it.

  Momentum was life.

  A boar captain roared and charged, tusks lowered.

  Caelum did not waver.

  Aurelia’s core sigil flared.

  The air spiraled down the shaft.

  He thrust.

  Wind compressed into lethal density.

  The shield shattered. The breastplate caved. The body burst apart behind the lance tip. The shockwave tore through five ranks.

  “Push!”

  Cavalry surged through the wind corridor before it collapsed.

  An arrow storm darkened the sky.

  Aurelia spun once.

  A vortex formed overhead. Arrows veered, twisted, then reversed. Screams followed as beasts were struck by their own volley.

  To the left, a young fighter was dragged down.

  Caelum pivoted in perfect balance.

  A lateral burst of wind crushed the attackers without harming the human beneath.

  No pause.

  A radiant knight did not linger.

  Then—

  “Don’t focus only on the knight! Kill the others too!”

  One beast officer roared.

  A human voice answered immediately.

  “FINE BY ME!”

  “…what?”

  Rivel stepped into view.

  Twin-headed spear twirling, red armor streaked with old scorch marks.

  Yesterday, he had held the retreat alone—triggering frost runes at his own feet, nearly killing himself to stall pursuit.

  Rumors had grown overnight.

  “Look out! That one is the mad spearman!”

  “What!? The one who burned our ranks and ate flesh while laughing!?”

  “He detonates himself when cornered!”

  “SCARY!!!”

  Completely baseless.

  Completely effective.

  Beast ears flattened. Tails drooped.

  Several turned and ran.

  “Stop running! Fight me properly!” Rivel shouted.

  “GYAAAAA! Mad Spear is here!”

  “I am not Mad Spear! My alias is [Iron Flash] Rivel! Remember it!”

  “What!? [Iron Flesh Ravager]!?”

  “GOD DAMMIT!”

  He gave chase while beasts scattered in genuine terror.

  Elsewhere—

  Silence.

  Beasts hesitated before a blue-haired swordswoman.

  Vaelis adjusted her stance.

  Anyone who stepped within her radius lost something—an arm, a leg, sometimes their entire upper body.

  “We can’t break her line.”

  “Then ignore her! Attack others!”

  Vaelis froze.

  Then she smiled.

  “…You’re right.”

  If this were the past, she might have remained a wall.

  Not anymore.

  Slip.

  She vanished.

  Reappeared beneath a towering werewolf.

  Smile widening.

  “Hihi…”

  The werewolf’s instincts screamed.

  Too late.

  The world tilted.

  SPLAT.

  A dozen cuts.

  Perfectly even.

  The werewolf collapsed into fine slices of meat.

  “AHAHAHAHA! COME HERE! LET ME DICE YOU!”

  “GYAAAAAA!!!”

  Beasts fled outright.

  “Run! Iron Flesh is coming!”

  “No! An Ashura is here!”

  “WHAT—?!”

  Panic spread like oil catching flame.

  Heavy infantry parted.

  An ogre-blooded giant stepped forward. Twice the size of any around it. Armor bolted directly into flesh. A spiked pillar rested on its shoulder.

  It swung.

  The earth ruptured.

  Rivel and Vaelis did not retreat.

  “Out of my way!”

  “AHAHAHAHA!”

  Flame and sword aura struck simultaneously.

  The giant staggered—

  And then Caelum arrived.

  Tempest gathered beneath his steed’s hooves, lifting horse and rider into a single impossible stride.

  The pillar smashed empty ground.

  Caelum descended inside the giant’s guard.

  Thrust.

  Release.

  Wind compressed point-blank.

  The blast tore through abdominal armor, erupted from its back, and carved a trench ten meters long.

  The giant fell.

  Silence rippled outward.

  Sir Caelum straightened in the saddle.

  Armor streaked with soot and blood—yet still radiant.

  Rivel and Vaelis at his flanks.

  He raised Aurelia high.

  This time the wind spiraled outward—not to destroy, but to drive.

  Fatigue lessened.

  Steps quickened.

  Hope surged.

  He became the eye of a moving storm.

  Where he rode, lines fractured.

  Where he pointed, enemies scattered.

  Where he passed, morale ignited.

  This was not escape.

  This was conquest.

  An hour passed.

  The southern beast line had nearly collapsed.

  They needed attention.

  So Caelum feigned strain.

  Held back just enough.

  The bait worked.

  Reinforcements arrived from east and west, flanking in.

  The southern beasts stabilized.

  Caelum signaled.

  Humans stopped pretending.

  They pushed.

  Harder.

  The line began to truly break.

  The beast struggle again.

  For a fleeting moment, Caelum considered turning it real—breaking through entirely and calling for reinforcements.

  Then—

  The air changed.

  Pressure descended.

  Heavy.

  Crushing.

  Several adventurers choked mid-breath.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  A presence.

  It stepped forward.

  Silver fur.

  Three meters tall when fully upright.

  Calm.

  Composed.

  By existing alone, it forced silence.

  No introduction.

  None needed.

  Beasts parted instinctively.

  Humans felt death before understanding why.

  Instinct screamed run.

  Legs refused.

  The silver werewolf stopped directly in their path.

  Golden eyes settled upon Sir Caelum.

  Stillness.

  Absolute.

  A single beast voice whispered what none dared speak aloud.

  “…General Silva.”

  One of the Eight Great Generals of the Demon King’s Army.

  He had stepped onto the field.

  And the storm met something that did not move.