The world was made of mud and blood. Rain fell in cold, heavy sheets, turning the ground of Grey-Tooth Pass into a thick, brown soup. The air smelled of wet dirt, rusted iron, and the coppery tang of death.
Everywhere you looked, soldiers of House Stark were falling, their shining armor stained with mud and red.
Standing on a small, hastily built wall of wood and stone was Commander Justin. He was not born a noble. He came from a simple family, but his mind for battle was anything but simple.
He was a genius, and everyone knew it. His armor was a work of art, a gift from Duke Stark himself, decorated with the family's wolf symbol. Right now, however, it was covered in something that was definitely not art. It was splattered with green, sticky monster guts.
"Great," Justin muttered to himself, wiping a bit of slime from his face. "That's going to be a nightmare to clean."
Below him, the battle was a disaster. The Stark army was not just losing; it was breaking apart. A massive wave of monsters, called Void Beasts, was crashing against their lines.
These beasts were nightmares come to life. Some looked like giant, snarling wolves with too many eyes. Others were like huge insects with sharp, clicking claws. They were a tide of teeth and hate, and they were winning.
Worst of all, the Duke's eldest son, Marcus Stark, was trapped. Marcus was a proud young man who thought he was the best warrior in the world.
He had charged forward with his special group of knights, thinking he could be the hero of the day. Now, he was just a scared boy surrounded by monsters. His knights, for all their fancy training, were being torn to pieces.
SPLAT!
A knight's shield was ripped away, and a beast with long, sharp arms pulled him into its embrace. There was a wet crunch, and the knight was gone.
Marcus looked pale, his heroic expression replaced with pure panic. He looked like a wet cat who had fallen into a pond full of hungry crocodiles.
Justin sighed. It was time to go to work. He didn't need to shout and scream like the other commanders. His voice was calm and clear, but it cut through the noise of battle like a sharp knife.
"Third company!" he yelled to a group of men who were about to run away. "To the left! Form a wall with your shields! NOW!"
The men, hearing the confidence in his voice, stopped running and did as he commanded.
"Archers!" he pointed to a group on a small hill. "See that big, ugly one with the giant mouth? Aim for its eyes! Don't just tickle it with your arrows!"
He then turned to a captain near him. "We need to hit them from two sides," Justin said, his eyes scanning the entire battlefield.
You take your men and circle around that way. I'll take the cavalry and hit them from the other side. We'll squash them right in the middle."
The captain's eyes went wide, but he nodded and ran off, shouting orders.
Justin leaped down from the wall, landing softly in the mud. He ran to the horsemen waiting behind the lines. "With me!" he commanded, swinging himself onto his horse. "We're going for a little ride!"
He led the charge himself. The ground shook with the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of dozens of horses. They were a storm of steel and horseflesh, and Justin was the lightning at its very tip.
He broke through the enemy line with a massive crash!
Once inside the chaos, Justin became a blur of motion. He fought with a terrible beauty. Every move he made was perfect. There was no wasted energy, no clumsy swing. His sword moved in silver arcs, each one ending a monster's life.
SWISH!
His blade cut clean through the neck of a dog-like beast. It fell without a sound.
CLANG!
He blocked a claw from a beast that looked like a giant crab, then spun around and drove his sword into its soft belly with a sick
THUNK!
He wasn't just fighting. He was cutting a direct path through the horde, his eyes locked on one target: the trapped heir, Marcus Stark.
More and more beasts swarmed him, drawn to the man killing so many of their kind. But for every beast that came, another fell. He was a machine, carving his way to the Duke's son.
Finally, he saw him. Marcus was on his last legs, his sword arm trembling. Standing over him was a truly huge monster. This was a B-Rank beast.
It had six arms, a thick hide like rock, and a mouth full of teeth like daggers. It let out a deafening ROAR! and raised one of its massive fists to smash Marcus into a paste.
BOOM!
The monster's fist hit the ground, sending mud and rocks flying. But Marcus wasn't there. Justin had arrived just in time, pulling the young noble out of the way.
"Stay behind me," Justin said calmly, not even looking at Marcus. His eyes were fixed on the B-Rank beast.
The monster turned its full attention to Justin. It swung its six arms in a wild flurry of attacks. Justin didn't try to block them all. He was smart.
He dodged and weaved, letting the heavy fists hit the empty air. He was waiting for his chance. The beast was strong, but it was also slow and stupid.
After a powerful swing, it left its chest exposed for just a second.
That was all Justin needed. He moved in a flash. His sword shot forward like a needle.
SHIIING!
The blade slid perfectly between two of the monster's ribs, piercing its black heart.
The giant beast froze. It let out a soft, confused gurgle and then fell to the ground with a world-shaking thud!
The battle was over soon after. With their leader dead and the Stark army attacking from two sides, the rest of the Void Beasts broke and fled.
Later that evening, in a large tent lit by warm lanterns, the mood was joyous. Soldiers laughed and cheered, celebrating their hard-won victory.
Duke Stark himself walked into the tent. He was a tall, powerful man and respected ruler of the northern lands, the head of the great and noble House Stark.
He walked straight to Justin.
He placed a heavy hand on Justin's shoulder. The soldiers quieted down to listen.
"Commander Justin," the Duke said, his voice booming with pride. "You are the finest commander in all of Valderra." He smiled warmly, a rare thing to see. "When I see you fight, when I see how you lead my men, I do not see a commoner. I see a true son of House Stark."
The soldiers erupted in cheers. "Commander Justin! Commander Justin!" they chanted.
It was the greatest praise a man like him could ever receive. But Justin was a master of reading men, just as he was a master of war.
As the Duke smiled, Justin looked deep into his eyes. He saw the pride, yes. But behind it, hidden in the very back, he saw something else. It was a flicker of something deep and cold. It was fear.
In that moment, Justin understood everything. The Duke wasn't just proud. He was afraid. He was afraid because the common soldiers didn't cheer for his own son, Marcus.
They cheered for Justin. The hero was becoming too popular. The loyal commander was becoming too important. And to a man like Duke Stark, anyone who was too important was a threat.
The cheers of the soldiers suddenly sounded hollow. The warmth of the victory tent felt cold. Justin had just saved the day, but he had a sinking feeling that he had also just made the most powerful enemy of his life