William sharpened his gaze, piercing the boundary of the dimming firelight.

  What he saw out there made his noble blood run cold. The signal stone had not lied.

  From beyond the blades of the steep, narrow rocky path, the darkness of night seemed to vomit its contents. The horde of Anukh-Ramj did not come as a disciplined line of soldiers, but as a plague spreading across the skin of the earth.

  They surged forward.

  Their movements were unnatural—a grotesque choreography of death. Some dragged their rotting legs with shuffling yet rapid steps, creating a sickening wet schluck, schluck sound as soft flesh scraped against rough stone. Others crawled on all fours like deformed spiders, leaping over sharp rocks with terrifying agility.

  The tattered black rags stitched into their bodies whipped wildly, creating the illusion of black waves rolling down the slope.

  They piled over one another.

  Due to the narrowness of the rocky path, the creatures in the rear climbed over the backs of those in front, falling, then rising again to press forward relentlessly. It was not merely an army; it was a flash flood composed of porous bone, pus, and pure hatred.

  The sound of clattering bones colliding and low growls buzzing in unison filled the valley, drowning out the mountain wind. Hundreds of pairs of empty eyes fixed on a single point: the garage where two human lives still breathed.

  William gripped the hilt of his sword tighter until his knuckles turned white.

  "They don't want to attack..." William hissed, his eyes locked on the sea of undead. "They want to drown us."

  William was just about to shout a combat formation order, but the words were swallowed back into his throat.

  He turned to the side, and the space was already empty.

  William’s eyes widened in disbelief. In the distance, he saw Arka’s figure already sprinting away. The youth did not retreat tactically; he was literally running for his life. His movements were fast, panicked, and completely inelegant—exactly like a stray cat doused with cold water, leaping and scrambling to find a narrow gap to save its skin.

  No hesitation, no shame.

  To the lay eye, it looked like pure cowardice. However, deep within his soldier’s instinct, William realized something. Arka didn't run out of fear. The youth’s body moved ahead of his logic, responding to a signal of absolute danger that could not be won. It was a biological calculation: Run or die.

  "Tch," William hissed, disgust mixed with pragmatic admiration visiting his mind. "Baseborn scum."

  But William was not a fool who would die ridiculously for mere prestige.

  He immediately sheathed his broadsword on his back, spun around, and forced his legs to follow the escape route Arka had left.

  Behind him, the roar of the Anukh-Ramj sounded like an avalanche giving chase. The stench of their breath began to sting the back of his neck. William pushed his pace, leaping over debris, catching up to Arka’s agile shadow ahead.

  When he glanced back briefly to check the distance, the curse slipped unbidden from the prince’s mouth.

  "Fuck..."

  The horde was no longer hundreds. They were like a black tsunami devouring everything in its path. Arka’s decision to flee without preamble was the most genius decision of the night.

  William pushed his long stride, forcing his leg muscles to work twice as hard to balance on the steep terrain. With breath beginning to feel hot in his throat, he managed to align his position right behind Arka’s back.

  "Crazy..." William cursed, his voice chopped by gasping breaths.

  He glanced back briefly, where the black wave still pursued, toppling anything that blocked its way.

  "Is it normal..." William swallowed, "...for a path to have that volume of undead?!" he protested mid-run. "And we... we just run away leaving them? That violates the border oath!"

  Arka didn't slow down a bit. The youth leaped over a large tree root with the agility of an ape.

  "Don't care," Arka answered curtly, without turning.

  His voice sounded flat, as if they were discussing trash forgotten to be taken out, not a monster invasion.

  "Let those stalking from afar deal with it..." Arka continued casually. "Consider it a gift."

  William’s step faltered for a moment. Stalking?

  While continuing to run, William sharpened his vision. He didn't look at the monsters behind, but scanned the darkness on the cliff sides and dense trees flanking their escape route.

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  His trained eyes caught the anomaly.

  Amidst high branches, leaves rustled against the wind direction. Behind a large rock on the ridge, there was a faint reflection—a glint of metal caught by intermittent moonlight. There were flat shadows moving silently, following them, simultaneously observing the Anukh-Ramj movement.

  Spies, William thought. Or maybe assassins sent by those nobles.

  Arka was right. They weren't alone at Gate 134. There was a third party hiding in the shadows, waiting for a moment to strike William when his guard was down. But now, those uninvited 'guests' had to face hundreds of monsters rampaging toward them.

  William smirked thinly amidst his heavy breathing. He validated Arka’s words internally.

  Let them kill each other, he thought coldly. Brutal efficiency.

  They finally stopped under the shade of a giant pine tree whose roots protruded from the ground like the earth’s veins.

  Without caring for cleanliness, Arka threw his body directly onto the cold ground. He leaned his back against the rough tree trunk, chest heaving to pump oxygen. From his mouth and nose, white steam billowed thick every time he exhaled, blending with the freezing night air, as if the engine inside his body was overheating.

  William did not sit. He stood tall beside Arka, one hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword, eyes staring sharply toward the path they had just traversed.

  Cold sweat ran down his temples, but his mind worked far faster than his heartbeat.

  Something is wrong, William thought. Very wrong.

  His brows furrowed deeply. His military logic refused to accept the recent event as a coincidence. The movement of the Anukh-Ramj earlier made absolutely no sense.

  That volume of monsters... impossible to just slip through the deepest defense layers.

  William knew the topography of Gate 134 well. Behind that gate lay the 'Valley of Death'—a buffer zone heavily guarded by elite battalions. Their duty was to be the first sieve, slaughtering anything crawling out of the darkness before reaching the gate mouth.

  Impossible for the battalion inside to let such a massive horde stroll out freely, William analyzed, eyes narrowing coldly. Unless they are all dead... or they were ordered to stand down.

  If the battalion lost, there should be signs of major battle, emergency signals, or soldier corpses washing down. But tonight was silent. The monsters came out whole, fresh, and directed.

  William gripped his sword hilt tighter. The conclusion was bitter, but undeniable.

  This was not defensive negligence. This was sabotage.

  Someone had arranged it. Someone with high power deliberately opened the 'tap' of the dam, letting the flood of monsters spill over specifically to welcome his arrival tonight.

  William’s brain worked lightning fast, dissecting the power hierarchy of the Kingdom of Carta to find the mastermind.

  Only a handful of people possessed such high authority. Only a person with the stamp of absolute power could order the Death Valley guard battalion to "close their eyes" and let hundreds of monsters pass.

  High nobles? Palace terrace officials?

  Their faces spun in his mind like a nauseating carousel. Faces usually smiling sweetly at tea parties, yet hiding poison behind their tongues.

  But who specifically? his mind demanded an answer.

  The first name to appear was Theodore. The Grand Advisor who emptied logistics, who let this post die. Was this part of the King’s mad test, or had the old man finally decided to get rid of the heir apparent?

  Or... those damn Dukes? Duke Ghandarvya and his coalition who always felt threatened by Father’s centralization policies? They had money, they had military influence. Buying one border battalion commander was pocket change for them.

  Or...

  William’s thought stopped at a darker possibility, but he quickly brushed it aside before it could take root.

  His forehead wrinkled deep, brows nearly meeting due to the painful intensity of thought. He no longer felt the night’s cold; there was only the heat of anger and uncertainty.

  "Hahhh..."

  William took a deep breath, filling his lungs with freezing mountain air, then exhaled it back with a strong jerk through his nose. Thick white steam rushed out, a manifestation of accumulated mental burden.

  He stared blankly into the forest darkness. The conclusion was simple, bitter, and absolute.

  Everyone is an enemy, damn it, he thought bitterly.

  On this giant chessboard, he was a king surrounded by his own pawns. No allies. No protectors.

  Huh,

  William gaped, jaw nearly hitting the ground. In the midst of a dire situation where adrenaline still flooded blood vessels and the threat of death lurked in every tree shadow, the question sounded so absurd it felt like a bad cosmic joke.

  "Bro, lend me some money."

  William blinked, his brain jamming momentarily trying to process the drastic transition from horror to transactional. "Huh? What for?"

  "Go home, what else to do here..." Arka replied lightly, patting his empty cargo pants pockets. He jerked his chin toward the dark forest behind them, where the roar of monsters still sounded faint. "It's crazy here. Uncomfortable. Damp, smells like carcasses, lots of ghosts. Not a vibe for living."

  William’s eyes bulged sharp. Veins in his neck tensed. "Abandoning the Gate, you mean?! That's desertion! We are assigned to guard this border until death if necessary!" he snapped, his tone rising an octave due to disbelief at his friend’s mentality so fragile toward the soldier's oath.

  "Yeah yeah yeah... up to you, Boss," Arka cut in lazily, waving his hand in the air as if shooing an annoying fly. Without waiting for approval or further moral sermons, the youth turned his back.

  He began walking casually toward the direction of the main road faintly visible in the distance, whistling softly with both hands stuffed in his pockets, as if he had just finished a shift at a convenience store and not just run from hundreds of undead.

  William stood rooted to the spot. He was left alone under that giant pine tree.

  His chest rumbled with a mix of explosive emotions. There was incredible annoyance at Arka’s indifference, anger at feeling betrayed by his partner, but at the same time, doubt crawling cold up his spine.

  Slowly, William looked back.

  He stared toward the valley of Gate 134 now covered in fog. That place was no longer a defense post; it was a mass grave gaping wide, waiting to swallow anyone foolish enough to stay in the name of "duty." If he returned there, he would not be a hero. He would only be one more nameless corpse torn apart by conspiracy, exactly as desired by whichever bastard designed this scenario.

  Then he looked forward again, staring at Arka’s back disappearing into the darkness of the path.

  That back looked frail, roguish, and undignified. But that back moved away from death. That back chose life.

  William snorted roughly, spitting on the ground as a sign of surrendering his idealism for the night.

  "Bastard," he cursed softly.

  With heavy but sure steps, William forced his legs to move. He abandoned his post, abandoned his honor, and half-jogged to follow the steps of the "wild wolf" toward the only thing that made sense right now: the way home.