The seven sin pathways have countless walkers, some at the bottom and a few who managed to claw their way into transcendence.
But the strongest among each pathway is granted a special title: Sin Lord.
These lords usually act as representatives of their pathway, and the first-ever Sin Lords of every path carved out a domain for themselves, where they built their territory and cities that would later be shaped by the sins of their inhabitants.
As time passed, wars ravaged the human territories. Some domains couldn't withstand the tests of time and were eventually destroyed.
Now, only five domains still stood strong.
All but one remained in Seravelle. All except Sloth, which was tasked with the duty of guarding Esperra, humanity's last and most vulnerable stronghold.
As for the others…
The Lust domain was tucked in the safest part of Seravelle, with only the tutorial area being safer.
Three domains created a buffer between it and the frontlines, and they were the Gluttony, Greed, and Envy domains.
Finally, the Wrath domain stood at the very center of the frontline, but calling it a domain now wouldn't be accurate since only a single Citadel still stood strong among the numerous cities and bastions that had fallen.
And the Frontline Regiment, better known as the Bloodwall army, was only one of the three main armies of the human race.
They acted as the wall, but one soaked in blood, a wall rebuilt every day with corpses. Hence the name, Bloodwall.
The vast majority of Seravellian civilians called them guardians, but they were more known as meat grinders by those who really knew their reality.
Stationed right behind them were the Territorial Regiment, more commonly known as the Houndwardens. They were called such since their main task was to hunt the monsters that slipped through, almost like hounds sent after hounds.
They were usually seen more as hunters, stalkers, and sometimes "cleaners" of the Vanguard's failures rather than a unified army. They lived more in the wilds than in their own beds.
Finally, the City Regiment, also called the Bastion Guard, came in last, stationed at the rear of the human domains.
It was the army that had the least amount of casualties, and they acted more like a police force across the cities, keeping order and watching over their fellow humans rather than monsters.
They were often mocked by the Vanguard as "parade soldiers." Civilians still trusted them the most, though, since they were the face of order.
And despite the mocking they usually received, anyone who got the chance to join this force would still do so in a heartbeat, since it was the safest and most distant from the battlefields.
Sadly for Ashen, since he joined the Ashbastion, he was automatically relegated to the Bloodwall army.
The man in question, though, didn't seem that bothered, since he knew mindlessly patrolling streets like a dog wouldn't achieve anything in the long run.
'My goal is to become a war hero after all...' Ashen thought mockingly to himself as he finally rested his back on the worn-out sleeping pad after setting up his tent.
'Let's rest for now. That march nearly killed me half a dozen times, and this deep, bone-weary exhaustion is ready to finish the job.'
Unfortunately for him, he still underestimated the brutality of his current situation.
RING. RING
A bell rang throughout the camp, and Ashen knew from sound alone what it meant. It was the same sound that haunted him every dawn back at the Ashbastion.
"UP UP."
"ENEMY ATTACK."
"IT'S THE NARKALS"
If the bell wasn't enough, then the shouts echoing across the camp left no room for doubt.
'We're being attacked...' Ashen thought resignedly as he equipped his armor and fetched his spear.
The spear felt heavier than ever remembered as he stumbled out of his tent with legs still aching from the march.
The camp was already alive with chaos.
Soldiers snapping into formations, torches flaring, the banner of the Bloodwall whipping in the wind as the bell rang on.
The first screeches split the night. Then shadows poured from the horizon.
Narkals.
And they came in the thousands.
They weren't beasts. Ashen could vaguely see it in the way their hunched figures moved and their yellowed eyes glinting with malice.
They carried crude weapons—hooks, jagged blades, clubs wrapped in iron scraps—but their well-known cruelty made up for their lack of craft.
Unlike beasts that struck to eat or defend, these things struck for the joy of tearing and breaking. They were all about killing and consuming.
It didn't matter when or where. As long as a Narkal was seen, it was guaranteed to be causing destruction or on its way to causing it.
The soldiers moved quickly, their shields locking into place like a wall while the newcomers were pushed into position behind them.
"Spears up!" came the command, and Ashen obeyed, leveling his weapon at the writhing dark. His arms trembled, exhaustion gnawing, but he gritted his teeth.
The Narkals came in their own semblance of formation, but it soon devolved into chaos as they approached their prey and started smelling the meat.
Shrieking and laughing was their unique symphony as they hurled themselves at the shield wall.
The first wave slammed into the line, their jagged weapons scraping against steel. The impact rattled Ashen's bones, but his spear thrust forward on instinct.
Crack.
The point pierced a Narkal's chest, the thing coughing black spit before collapsing at his feet.
They kept coming. Always more. For every one that fell, three more leaped from the dark. That was their strength: endless numbers… that were only eclipsed by their endless cruelty.
Ashen heard a scream further down the line. A soldier pulled half-over the shields before the wall surged to push the creatures back.
His breath came ragged, but he forced himself steady.
'Even though these creatures are individually weaker than Wild Beasts, their endless numbers more than make up for that weakness.'
"KEEP HOLD!"
"...HOLD."
"DON'T LET THEM PAST. SHOW THESE PARASITES WHY WE ARE CALLED THE BLOODWALL."
Above the clash and roar, the general's voice cut through like thunder.
He stood behind the line, a steady figure as mana flowed invisibly toward him, siphoned from every man and woman holding the wall.
The Bloodwall wasn't just flesh and steel. It was this—an army's collective strength funneled into its commander.
The formation wasn't merely for keeping order and maximizing combat effectiveness.
It also unified an army's power into a single entity by siphoning a fraction from every soldier, allowing for feats that would normally be beyond the means of a simple army.
Ashen felt the drain in his chest, faint but constant, like a thread pulling at his lungs. But with it, the general's shout carried weight that bent the air.
"Push!"
The line surged forward, spears stabbing, shields slamming. The Narkals shrieked, caught off guard by the sudden counterattack, their crude ranks buckling.
Ashen forced his body onward, spear cutting without pause. Every thrust burned his muscles raw, but every fallen Narkal bought one more heartbeat of survival.
As he kept slaughtering, he started seeing the difference between the Narkals more clearly now.
Some were smaller, wiry and fast, others brutish with swollen muscles and tusked faces. Different tribes were mixed together.
And at the back of their army, taller and more intimidating variants loomed. They stood like champions of their own tribes, the leaders.
They were bigger, stronger, and everything that made their weaker versions look inferior.
As they saw the Narkal army gradually losing ground, some of them broke through the press, swinging a cleaver that clanged against a shield, caving it in with raw strength. The general was swift in intercepting, with the weight of a whole army behind him, the wall held, but only just.
Ashen's gut twisted. 'Those things are comparable to Gorefiends...'
Every man in the Bloodwall knew this truth: without the general at the eye of the formation, the line would crumble in minutes.
He was the one who killed the most, the one who killed the strongest, and the one who bore most of the pressure.
That was the price to pay for bearing the power of an army.
The fight kept dragging on, and dull looks started emerging among the soldiers; some even collapsed mid-fight from sheer exhaustion. But everyone fought until their last breath.
It wasn't just the solidarity and spirit that drove them… against beasts, some might be spared when hunger was sated, but against Narkals, there was no mercy. Only slaughter. Even corpses were not spared from their cruelty.
And so Ashen fought, even as he wanted to just drop dead from tiredness. Because to stand still was to be buried.
Because this was the Bloodwall.
And the Bloodwall never broke.