The crimson dawn painted the sky in blood and fire as Valen strode through the endless sea of tents, his footsteps echoing across the frost-kissed ground. Around him, soldiers scrambled in synchronized motion, their thoughts bound by the weight of impending war.
Rigor emerged from the war tent, still unsteady, watching as Valen's silhouette cut through the grasslands. The ancient forest loomed ahead, its shadows writhing with unseen threats. Morning mist clung to the earth like ghostly fingers.
"Over a million personnel, with hundreds of thousands of Hytts," Rigor muttered, the number bitter on his tongue. It hung in the air like a hollow promise. His weathered face creased as he watched—seeing not an army, but a sea of vulnerable souls. Most weren't even rank one, still bearing the "farmer" designation.
Civilians in warriors' armor. Their hands better suited to plows than to blades. Even with amplifiers or transmuters, a hundred thousand trained soldiers would outweigh this mass of untested flesh.
A curse escaped Rigor, swept away by the chill breeze as he spotted a woman racing toward Valen. The commander's aura, a tangible force, blanketed the army like a protective shroud—the burden of amplifier and navigator etched into every line of his face.
Silence fell like a blade.
Valen Alzarren sat astride Throne-Eater—a Chief Htty whose obsidian scales drank the dawn light, its pearl-tipped horns cutting the sky like shattered scepters.
Fifteen feet of war-forged divinity, yet the beast stood utterly still beneath him, crimson mane smoldering like banked coals.
The earth itself seemed to hold its breath; grass blackened where its hooves pressed the soil, as if the ground feared to crack beneath its sovereign weight.
Soldiers froze mid-motion—farmers-turned-warriors clutching spears, their eyes wide as the Htty's emerald gaze swept the field. This was no mere mount. It was a relic of dead kings, a creature that had trampled fortresses and tasted the hymns of false gods. And it obeyed only him.
Valen's hand rested on its neck. Not a grip of control, but a communion.
Scales hotter than forge-iron seared his gauntlet, yet he didn't flinch. Ashbringer glowed at his hip, its phoenix sigil pulsing in time with the Htty's low, tectonic hum.
Then the air shifted.
Crimson light bled from Valen's armor—deepening, thickening—until it drowned the field in bloody twilight.
The Htty's mane ignited, flames licking upward like sacrificial smoke. Soldiers dropped to their knees, not in fear, but in awe. This was power made flesh; a commander and his living siege-engine bound by oath.
Valen's voice cut through the silence, quiet as a grave and sharp as broken glass:
"I will die if even a single one of you falls."
The words hung, etched in fire above the Htty's crown. Beneath him, Throne-Eater slammed a hoof—a crack like splitting stone tore through the camp. As if the beast itself swore the vow.
Ethereal text appeared above him, burning letters visible to all. The memory of his actions before that moment fluttered at the edge of consciousness—like leaves in a dying wind.
[Phoenix Risen]
Dies if a single person other than him dies
Temporarily ignites Rasvian energy into visible flames around weapons and armor
Each near-death experience strengthens the skill
Enables temporary invulnerability during critical moments
The woman's armor shimmered with intricate phoenix motifs, golden flames etched across each plate. Her pauldrons flared like wings, her helm crowned with a phoenix crest, ruby eyes gleaming in the dawn.
"Sir, I know you did all this, everything. But don't you—" she began, voice trembling with awe and concern.
Valen's reply was cold steel.
"Look around." His voice hardened, words crystallizing in the air.
"This isn't a game. It's war. People die here."
Ashbringer lifted, its tip leveled at her chest.
"You—" the word hung like an executioner's axe,
"—you fight for more than my name. You fight for yours. For the one that will echo after this moment."
His gaze, burning with inner fire, searched hers—hunting for that spark that separates warriors from casualties.
"So tell me, woman—do you want your name remembered, or erased?"
The silence was heavy with futures.
"Remembered."
The word fell like a stone into still water. She turned and walked away, her back straightened with purpose.
The air thickened with anticipation as Valen's title skill materialized like a battle standard in morning light.
[Unbroken Commander of Ghent]
Must be actively engaging enemy forces
Grants enhanced combat reflexes and battlefield awareness
Each wound increases attack power
Stronger when fighting alongside Ghent's forces
Valen's voice thundered:
"I tell you now. No one dies."
His words etched themselves into every heart.
Rigor rushed forward.
"You're telling everyone your skillset... are you?"
Valen answered with sunrise certainty.
"I am their savior. I should show them everything—they've put their faith in me. I live for them."
A slight chuckle softened the steel.
"And during battle, they'll know whether to run or fight based on my compensation or title skill."
Then came the cascade of power, each new skill a rallying cry.
[Attachment Skill]
[Phoenix Blade Dance] (Navigator)
Precision sword control with Ashbringer
Lingering heat damage on each strike
Creates afterimages during complex techniques
Targets enemy weak points precisely
[Unwritten Skill]
[Crushing Authority] (Amplifier)
Boosts striking power and speed
Each hit builds amplification
Ashbringer glows with intense heat
Ideal for aggressive offense
[Commander's Rampage] (Navigator + Amplifier)
Combines power and precision
Each kill boosts speed and power
Triggers a self-escalating loop
Enables multi-opponent engagement
Rigor chuckled softly.
"I'm… I'm sorry, brother. I had a false view of you."
His own skills manifested with quieter grandeur:
[Attachment Skill]
[Transmuting Inferno] (Transmuter)
Converts anything into pure fire
More effective with higher grade materials
Flame intensity is controllable
[Unwritten Skill]
[Spirit Blaze] (Transmuter)
Adjusts properties of fire
Most efficient with refined materials
The crowd roared in celebration—but it was short-lived.
From the forest's edge, shadows writhed. Thousands of eyes gleamed in the dark. The trees began to sway unnaturally.
And Valen's slight cough heralded the moment of truth.
"Men of Ghent. Sons of fire and iron.
Today, we do not merely stand upon a battlefield—we stand on the edge of legend. Before us looms a darkness so arrogant, so blinded by its own illusions, it believes victory is already theirs. They think themselves untouchable.
But they have not faced me.
They have not witnessed the fury of Valen Alzarren and the men who march at my side.
Today, they learn no shadow is impenetrable, no Skill unassailable—not when met by men who fight not for coin or glory, but for the soul of their homeland."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the ranks. Hands clenched hilts. Backs straightened with pride. Valen's gaze swept across them, voice rising.
"The Demons," he sneered, "false gods cloaked in feeble skills, believe themselves invincible. But they know nothing of being human.
They've never felt the fire that drives a heart with purpose or the will of a mind that does not break.
Look around you! You are not mere soldiers—you are warriors forged in flame and fury. Brothers who will not yield.
They have never seen what I've seen.
They have never faced men who would set the sky aflame and scorch the earth beneath their feet."
The soldiers turned to one another, their eyes lit with purpose. Valen raised his blade toward the horizon, a figure vast as the shadow they faced.
"Do you feel that tremor in your soul?
That is not fear.
That is the call to immortality and more—the echo of every ancestor who stood where you now stand.
It is the voice of every child who will say:
'My father fought with Valen Alzarren. My brother forged a new dawn.'
You are more than soldiers—you are legend incarnate.
We are Ghent.
And today, we become the hammer that breaks destiny."
A rumble of approval rolled through the lines. Shields pounded. Even the youngest stood taller. Valen let the moment settle, then his voice dropped, cold and certain.
"Outnumbered. Outmatched, they say.
Let them say it. I have faced worse and walked away unscathed.
The Demons think their many skills make them gods. But they have never stood before men who wield the only power that truly matters—
The will to win. And the steel to back it.
They hide behind lies.
We fight with hearts unyielding, with strength unmatched."
The wind carried his words to the farthest line. Valen turned slowly, burning his presence into every soul.
"Their skills may spark. Their illusions may twist the light.
But they are nothing compared to the fire in our hearts, the steel in our hands, the might of Ghent.
Look beside you. These are not just comrades. They are your brothers.
Your family.
We fight as one. And in that unity—we are unstoppable.
No curse can break us.
No creature can tear apart what we defend."
Men clasped hands. A storm of purpose swelled in the silence. Valen's gaze hardened.
"Think of your homes. Your children.
Think of the day they'll speak of—when Ghent did not falter.
We will not fade.
We will rise, bleed, and roar.
And we will show them what it means to challenge us.
To challenge me."
He paused. The air held its breath.
"The Demons killed your children. Razed your homes. Stole your loved ones.
And still, you let them linger?
No more.
Today, we make them pay.
Today, they learn the cost of underestimating men with nothing left to lose—
But everything worth fighting for."
Weapons rose like a forest of steel. Valen raised his sword. A radiant beam burst forth, slicing the sky, a second sun blazing among the Eras.
"I ask you—not as your commander,
but as the one who will walk beside you to the edge of eternity:
Will you fight with me?
Will you make them remember the day they defied Ghent?
The day they defied Valen Alzarren?"
"WE WILL!"
The roar shook the city.
Valen's voice rose, final and thunderous.
"Then rise, men of Ghent!
Rise, and let the world burn with our fury!
Let it remember this day—the day we tore destiny apart and carved our names into history.
FOR GLORY! FOR HONOR! FOR GHENT!
TO BATTLE!
AND LET THE NIGHT REMEMBER WHO WE ARE!"
The response was immediate and deafening. A primal scream erupted from thousands of throats, every voice joining in a wild cacophony of rage and defiance.
"Commander Valen!!!!!"
"ARGHHHHHHHH!!!" rose like a tidal wave of raw emotion, a sound that contained within it all the rage, hope, fear, and determination of thousands of souls united in purpose.
The very ground trembled beneath their feet, not from fear but from the sheer force of their unified will, a living storm of human spirit ready to crash against the shores of destiny itself.
The army stood transformed, no longer a collection of farmers and civilians in armor, but a force of nature, each soldier burning with the fire of Valen's words, each heart beating in time with a rhythm that spoke of victory yet to come.
Then the collective breath of Ghent became light.
A silent, searing nova erupted from the massed ranks, so intense it felt like a physical blow. Valen staggered, not from force, but from the overwhelming wave of belief crashing over him.
He saw it clearly: this radiance was their trust made manifest, a tangible force. And that force, channeled through their desperate hope, was reaching into the core of who they were.
Story skills, the shared narrative of their defiance, began to thrum, resonate, and evolve, shedding old limitations like ash in the blaze.
Valen patted the beast's neck, "You're no dragon," he muttered, ash on his tongue. "Just another ghost I'll bury."
"Charge! For we shall endure and we shall thrive—we fight for all that humanity dares to dream and be!"