Lightning hums—sealed to the blade, coiled and rabid.

  It crackles along the edge, snarling like something caged too long.

  I step forward.

  The mana in his hands flares—golden-red, violent, volatile.

  Another step.

  It roars—flame spiraling up his arms like it’s trying to tear free from his skin.

  I step again—

  He fires.

  A wall of fire howls toward me—wide as a gate, screaming hot.

  I leap, boots snapping off the stone, heat biting at my legs as the wave scorches past.

  Mid-air, another spell tears after me—a spear of flame, spinning with wind.

  Flame and wind—how poetic.

  Almost heartwarming.

  I twist, blast wind from my palm—

  The gust punches me off-course, just enough.

  The spear hisses past, close enough to kiss.

  My sphere flickers

  Then snaps back.

  He’s already prepping another.

  Fingers dancing, heat swirling like a cyclone around him.

  I drop—straight down.

  Another wind blast rockets me earthward.

  The descent turns to a crash.

  Sphere gone again.

  I slam into the courtyard hard enough to crater it—

  Stone explodes beneath me, dust fangs into the air.

  My knees nearly buckle from the impact.

  Sphere returns.

  Lightning floods my limbs like fire in my blood.

  In the next breath—I’m on him.

  No thought. No mercy.

  I swing—tight, precise, murderous.

  He conjures a swirling shield—flame and wind braided tight.

  It meets the blade and detonates, glassing the air with its collapse.

  My zweihander punches through the burst like a hammer through bone.

  He dives back—

  Too slow.

  The blade doesn’t reach flesh—

  But it tears the courtyard open, leaving a glowing scar like a lightning strike across the stone.

  I don’t stop.

  Pressure stays on.

  I blitz forward, blade trailing arcs of raw voltage.

  He panics—casts again.

  Another wall of flame.

  I jerk sideways, wind erupting underfoot—

  Sphere vanishes. Again.

  I skid low across the broken stone—

  Then—

  Sphere—

  Pain.

  The second it comes back, I feel it.

  Something rips into my back—

  Cold. Clean.

  A dagger.

  Not deep enough to kill.

  But deep enough to make me feel it.

  I twist, breath ragged, vision twitching.

  Catch a shadow slipping away into the haze.

  Slim frame. Quiet. Calculated.

  No mana trace.

  They waited.

  Watched.

  Struck when I dropped my sphere to dodge.

  Smart.

  I bark a laugh, teeth clenched through the hurt.

  “Good. Very good.”

  I mutter, voice dry. “A one-on-one’s too boring anyway.”

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  Sphere stabilizes—razor-sharp.

  No wind spells now.

  No movement.

  Whoever that was… they vanished clean.

  But I’ve got their scent now.

  Next time, they don’t walk away.

  I rip the dagger from my back—slick with blood.

  Barely flinch.

  Hurl it straight at the flame mage mid-cast.

  He raises a mana shield—lazy, rushed.

  It blocks the blade—

  But I’m already behind it.

  I tear forward like a thunderclap, blade-first.

  But I feel it again—

  The drag.

  The dullness.

  Slower.

  He finishes the cast.

  I brace.

  My shield flares—blinding, electric blue.

  The firewall slams into me like a boulder of molten air.

  Heat roars. My shield strains.

  Then—

  It shatters.

  Flames explode across my chest.

  Clothes melt.

  Skin sizzles.

  Third-degree. Maybe worse.

  Peeling flesh, bubbling skin, breath choked by smoke.

  I stagger, blinking through tears and smoke.

  But he can’t touch me in that firestorm.

  Neither can the assassin.

  That’s the edge.

  I storm through the flames—half-burnt, bloodied, eyes blazing.

  The mage turns—

  Too late.

  He thought I was dead.

  Big mistake.

  My zweihander arcs through the smoke, lightning snarling from the blade.

  No hesitation. No mercy.

  It cleaves him clean—

  Splits him from waist to neck.

  Lightning burns the wound shut mid-slice.

  His body collapses in two directions.

  Before I can breathe—

  Another dagger buries itself deep into my ribs.

  I snarl, spin, blood in my mouth.

  Sphere floods out, scanning. Desperate. Thinner.

  There.

  A tremor.

  I lock on—

  Staggering now. Knees shaking.

  Every system in me failing one by one.

  But I’ve got one shot.

  I throw a bolt—

  Miss.

  Then another.

  Another.

  Ten. Twenty. A hundred.

  The sky goes white, courtyard erupting in arcs of violent light.

  I will not die here.

  Not to some coward with knives and timing.

  And then—

  A hit.

  A scream.

  A figure tumbles from the shadows—

  Dressed in black, slender, light as a wisp.

  Assassin.

  Dead.

  I got her.

  But the poison’s already inside.

  Muscles giving out.

  Breath gone.

  Heart slowing.

  I collapse onto the scorched stone, vision swimming.

  Then—

  Koln.

  He kneels, quiet, steady, unbothered.

  Pulls out the same red potion.

  Tilts it to my lips.

  The liquid burns down my throat.

  Through it all, I never lose consciousness.

  I just lie there, blinking up at the bright, broken sky.

  He’s here.

  I did it.

  ’Did I complete it…?’

  Then the exhaustion wins.

  Not the wound.

  Not the poison.

  Just everything else.

  Darkness.

  ***

  Morning.

  I wake in a massive bed—king-sized, covered in velvet red sheets that feel too smooth to be real.

  The air’s warm, not stifling. Still. Quiet.

  Stone walls shimmer faintly with mana, pulsing slow and steady like a heartbeat.

  This place isn’t just a room—it’s a statement.

  Luxury stitched with power.

  I’m fully healed. No burns, no dagger wounds, no punctures where my ribs should be.

  Just smooth, intact skin.

  I feel the sting—ghostlike—but it fades as fast as it comes.

  I sit up slowly, scanning the room.

  My instincts are still wired, but… no threats. Not yet.

  Koln sits beside the bed, quiet as ever, arms folded, unreadable.

  And at the foot of the bed, sprawled out like he owns the place—Voi.

  The panther barely lifts his head at my movement.

  I blink, still piecing it all together.

  The fortress… the assassin… the burns…

  I lived.

  “What happened?”

  “You passed out,” Koln says calmly.

  “Did I… deal with them all?”

  “Yes.”

  “They almost got me.”

  He shakes his head. “No. Your foresight would’ve made you triumph.”

  “…So we captured the place. What now? How do we garrison this? Or do we just leave?”

  “No. It’s our temporary base,” he replies. “And I’ve already gathered willing volunteers.”

  “Who?”

  “The previous occupants.”

  I blink.

  ‘A hostile takeover.’

  “Okay—so what now?”

  “You’ll play king. I observe.”

  “What?” I sit up straighter. “Me? Play king? For what—part of the promise? I thought I was just here to fight.”

  Koln leans back slightly. “Look—you need to learn this side of battle too. Especially if you want the answers you’re looking for.”

  “…Okay, but I have barely any leadership experience. What am I even supposed to do?”

  “Wing it.”

  He says it without a hint of irony.

  I rub my temples, sighing.

  He’s like Swart—just in the opposite way.

  Frustrating as hell.

  But maybe… it’ll be fun.

  It’s not like I have anything to lose.

  Wait—

  Commanding an army?

  Vanguard style?

  Charging into battle at the front?

  That actually sounds sick.

  Exhilarating, even.

  Sure, it’ll probably be a lot of work.

  But one great thing I learned from modern corporations?

  Outsource.

  Outsource.

  Outsource.

  Easy, right?

  Honestly… I might be the most absurdly accepting person alive.

  “Well… should I go introduce myself?”

  Koln actually looks a little surprised at how easily I’m going along with this.

  ‘So I’m the freak.’

  “Follow.”

  He stands up and heads for the door.

  I roll out of bed and grab some fresh clothes from a nearby drawer—my last outfit got torched, so I doubt it’s wearable. As I dress, Voi slips into my shadow again without a sound.

  I glance down.

  ‘I wonder if he’ll ever help, or just nap in there forever.’

  I follow Koln through the winding hall, down a flight of stairs. We’re nearing the main hall doors—the ones that lead outside.

  The hall itself… yeah, definitely not ready for guests.

  Corpses still litter the floor—burned, mangled, most in various stages of disobedience.

  So much for reception standards.

  Koln doesn’t comment. He just strides forward and throws the main doors open.

  Sunlight floods the space. He gestures me through.

  I step outside.

  In front of me: a sea of soldiers—survivors. The ones who surrendered.

  Dozens. Maybe hundreds.

  They stand in loose formation, wary and tense.

  Their eyes are on me.

  Every one of them.

  Koln’s words echo in my head.

  “Willing volunteers.”

  Right.

  I look out at the gathered troops, their faces tight with fear, uncertainty, expectation.

  And I can’t help but think—

  ‘Yeah… totally willing.’

  I step out into the courtyard.

  Hundreds of them. All staring.

  Tense. Silent.

  Trying to figure out if I’m about to give a speech or vaporize them where they stand.

  I raise my voice.

  “Guess what?”

  It cuts through the air like a knife.

  “I didn’t come here to lead an army.

  Didn’t even want one.”

  A few soldiers exchange glances.

  Good. Let the confusion marinate.

  “But fate—” I throw a hand in the air, dramatic, mockingly regal “—decided to toss a crown on my half-burned head and drop you people at my feet.”

  I take a step forward, boots crunching rubble.

  “So here we are.”

  I let that hang for a beat, then smile. Not kindly.

  “You’re mine now. Lucky you.”

  They stay quiet. Real quiet.

  “And if we’re all gonna die someday—and let’s be honest, we are—

  might as well do it loud.

  Lightning in our teeth, fire at our backs, that sort of thing.”

  I scan their faces—fear, confusion, a few flickers of awe.

  I shrug.

  “Who knows? Maybe we’ll even win something.”

  I raise my voice, loud and clear, for the grand finale:

  “Who’s with me?”

  And—

  Silence.

  Deafening.

  Not a word. Not a breath.

  They stare like I just asked who wants to be first into the meat grinder.

  Still terrified.

  Definitely not inspired.

  Behind me, Koln clears his throat—pointedly.

  I sigh, then repeat—louder, meaner:

  “Who’s with me?”

  This time, lightning crackles across my body—loud, bright, and angry.

  It arcs over my arms, through my chest, biting at the edges of the cheap replacement clothes I grabbed.

  They start to smolder.

  Not the mana-woven ones Koln gave me.

  Oops.

  The soldiers flinch. A few take a step back.

  Then—like a single nervous system triggered at once—they cheer.

  Loud, shaky, fake as hell.

  But hearty enough to pass for enthusiasm.

  Fear-powered patriotism.

  I just start laughing.

  Didn’t think this would be so fun.

  The cheers die down.

  And then… silence.

  Everyone just stands there, looking at me.

  Waiting.

  Are they—

  Oh.

  They’re waiting on me to command them?

  I slowly turn to Koln for guidance.

  He shrugs.

  ‘Wing it—okay.’

  I clear my throat.

  “Uh—clean up this mess. Get the command officers to me. Thanks.”

  It takes them a moment to process, like the words had to be translated through fear.

  Then they spring into action.

  Not bad.

  Not bad at all.

  A few minutes later, a group of ten soldiers in officer garb form a line in front of me.

  The rest scramble about, dragging bodies, scrubbing blood, restoring some illusion of order.

  The officers stand at attention—some stiff, some trembling.

  But one of them…

  Hard as steel. Eyes forward. Unflinching.

  He’s not scared.

  Good.

  “You—fearless face,” I say casually, pointing straight at him.

  One of the others next to him flinches, like I’ve just delivered a death sentence.

  “Sir!” he barks.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Alfrick, sir!”

  “Alfrick.” I nod. “Take command of this bunch. Sort out the mess. Report to me after.”

  “Sir! Yessir!”

  Simple. Efficient.

  I turn and head back toward the stairwell. Koln follows behind without a word.

  As we climb, I glance over.

  “Won’t they run?”

  “No,” he replies. “Their home makes defeat and retreat… unpleasant.”

  “Charming.”

  I pause. “So… how’d I do?”

  “…Fine.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Which tells me everything I need to know.

  We reach my room.

  I turn to ask where he’s staying—

  But he’s already gone.

  Figures.

  I stare at the empty space where Koln just was.

  Of course he vanished.

  Guy’s allergic to sticking around after conversations.

  I turn back to the room—mana-lit stone walls, velvet red sheets, total silence.

  Command of a fortress.

  A whole army waiting outside.

  Me. In charge.

  I let out a breath and mutter to myself—

  “Sure. Why not.”

  Not exactly how I pictured my part of the promise.

  But hey—

  Lightning in my veins, blood on my boots, and a throne made of fear.

  Could be worse.

  Let’s see how long I last.