Part 1
The sun crept over the horizon, veiled in a fog so thick it felt as though death itself had summoned it.
There was no sound. Not the stillness of peace, but the silence before an execution—absolute, oppressive.
Atop the eastern wall, Harlem stood tall. His elven cloak fluttered softly in the icy breeze, but his gaze remained unwavering.
Around him, the ten SSS-ranked adventurers made their final checks—blades, enchantments, strategies rehearsed until they became instinct. They were Arkenfel's last line of defense.
Hunters who had once brought down calamities… now bracing themselves to face one.
"Stay sharp," Harlem ordered—not loudly, but with the quiet authority of someone who had already watched hundreds die.
"That thing doesn't move like a beast. It doesn't act on instinct. It's a killing machine."
Behind them, the soldiers swallowed hard. Their armor rattled—not from the wind, but from the trembling in their legs. No one spoke. No one asked what would happen. They already knew.
Meanwhile, from the top of his tower, Balliard watched the scene unfold like the emperor of some bloody play. His cape billowed. His knuckles cracked against the stone railing. His eyes didn't blink.
"There you are… you damn abomination…" he rasped. "So still. So quiet. Like you know you're already crawling under my skin…"
Behind him, his three closest aides stood in silence. One held the emergency grimoire. Another, the tactical map. The last simply stared at the floor.
"Night Guard!" Balliard roared. "Dragon Guard! Prepare to move into support formation!"
"Yes, General!"
"And someone find me those damn hero brats already! Where the hell are they?! They should be here! Right here beside me! Damn traitors…!"
He slammed the railing with such force that a shard of stone flew off into the void.
No one dared say a word.
Balliard's fury had grown with time… and with fear. That fear now crept through the cracks in his voice.
Because somewhere beneath all his barking orders, something whispered that this time, shouting wouldn't be enough.
The fog began to lift, slowly, like a curtain rising on the most sinister play ever written.
And there it was.
Mortem.
The skeletal dragon stood motionless. The kind of calm that didn't need to prove its power.
Its hollow gaze—an empty skull stripped of flesh—seemed to stare at everyone and no one. A god with no faith. A judgment with no redemption.
Then, its voice came.
Not loud—but heavy. Each word warped the air, weighing on the soul.
"HUMANS… CLINGING TO THAT PITIFUL THING YOU CALL LIFE…"
The echo stabbed into the heart of Arkenfel. Not just into ears—but into the stone, into the blood, into every shattered conviction.
Harlem, standing firm on the wall, raised his head. His white hair danced as the wind bent under Mortem's presence.
He stepped forward.
Turned to face his men—hardened adventurers, their scars testaments to long-forgotten battles. None of them young. All of them legends.
"I won't lie to you," he said, voice deep, clear, resolute. "We might not make it out of this alive."
A pause. A silence that wasn't fear—it was respect.
"That dragon… and its siblings… have ended countless lives throughout history."
He pressed a clenched fist to his chest. Hanging there was a worn locket, engraved with a silver tree. A memory that needed no explanation.
"If any of you want to leave… do it. I won't judge you."
"Maybe Valdheim won't even reward us properly."
"Maybe the people will forget us."
"Maybe the world will never know what we did here today."
But the gazes surrounding him didn't waver.
They didn't break.
They didn't falter.
One by one, the adventurers nodded.
Some smiled—that half-smile of those who know they're walking straight toward death… and accept it. Others simply raised their weapons.
"I can only promise you one thing," Harlem said, lifting his legendary staff high. "That I'll fight by your side. Shoulder to shoulder. As one of you."
He turned toward the horizon.
Mortem had begun to move.
"And if we don't make it…"
His voice rose—not in desperation, but like a vow etched into fate.
"Then we'll make a grand entrance into Yoru's Hall! The Realm of Night will welcome us for what we are… true heroes!"
The cheers erupted.
Fierce. Genuine. Unafraid.
And then…
Mortem roared.
Not like a beast.
But like the collapse of an era.
A shockwave ripped through the walls, shattering part of the left parapet. Several soldiers were blown away like dry leaves. The sky warped. The air turned bitter.
And Harlem… just smiled.
"To your positions!" he ordered, as the first large-scale magic circles began to ignite. "Let's show that pile of bones why this city has never fallen!"
Mages summoned compact meteors. Archers enchanted their arrows with sacred fire. Elite warriors drove their spears into the ground with steady hands.
The wall of Arkenfel roared with life.
And as the dragon took flight…
The kingdom's final line of defense stood waiting.
Not trembling.
Not fleeing.
Not praying.
Only ready
To die with pride.