My encounter with Hinata came exactly two weeks later, just like we expected.
She didn't sneak in under cover of night. Instead, she launched a fireball into the sky—full signal, full warning. Was she showing off, or was she simply reckless? I couldn't tell. Either way, she announced herself.
"Signal's up," Souei reported, voice flat as always. "They've committed."
"Good," I said, though my teeth ground a little. "Proceed as planned."
Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity. A true tactician would have aimed for surprise. Yet Hinata picked the loudest, most blunt method possible: brazen, direct, unbelievably honest. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was just plain stubbornness. Whatever the reason, the choice simplified things for us.
We moved into position exactly as planned. The tunnel mouths were sealed but ready. Benimaru's line took their places. Geld tightened his formation. Gobta and the riders went over their hit‑and‑run routes. Veldora lay in the dark below, simmering like a coiled thing waiting for a prod. Everything ticked like a machine.
There were times, standing there watching my plans unfold, when I thought: why not end it with one blow? Sweep them aside and be done. It would be easy. It would be clean. It would cost less blood on our side.
But I didn't. I won't.
"Lord Atem," Benimaru asked quietly at my side, sensing my distant look, "if you could finish it in one strike…why don't you?"
I looked at him. "Tempting," I admitted. "But no. They need to learn. My executives and army need to fight, to adapt, to feel the pressure and grow. If I always fight their wars for them, they never become capable of standing without me."
Benimaru nodded, tight and ready. "Then we follow your lead."
"Precisely. We execute the plan. They get tested. We win the lesson either way." I told Souei to hold the observation posts tighter; told Diablo to keep the sky clear for a quick strike if something unforeseen happened. Commands were crisp, practical, impatient.
Inside, I felt ire and a sting of disbelief. How did things wind into such a mess? How had we been reduced to this game of announced attacks and staged traps? The thought flickered and died just as fast. Emotion was useless now; only action mattered.
I was speechless at the scene unfolding before me.
Sixty paladins had come to attack—exactly as predicted. On paper, it was fine; everything was going according to plan. What I hadn't expected was their choice of battlefield. Instead of striking by surprise, they came to choose a battlefield. Worse, the ground they picked ahead of our tunnel was narrow and twisted—exactly the kind of terrain I'd feared. I'd worked to channel them into the open with the tunnel, but they forced us into cramped ground; refusing would have been the same as admitting we hadn't prepared. If the enemy had set a trap there, we'd have walked into it willingly. I felt the irritation flare hot and sharp.
"Sorry, Veldora," I thought, as we shifted our positions. You might not get the chance to shine.
I faced Hinata from the edge of that narrowing field. Around us the fighting began.
What struck me first was the Yomigaeri leading the clash.
"P‑preposterous! Attacks don't work on them!" one paladin shouted, voice cracking in confusion.
"They're not true undead—what is this!?" another barked.
Their astonishment was loud, but they didn't finish the thought before the Yomigaeri moved. One of them darted in like a shadow and, using his own body as bait, flashed a blade. A paladin who was stronger in raw strength staggered as the knife found a mark.
I had expected the Yomigaeri to be ground down in minutes. They were undead—good at absorbing punishment, but not built to win prolonged fights against warriors of that caliber. My plan relied on them holding long enough to pin the paladins in place. I'd assumed a three‑minute window before things turned one‑sided.
Things did not go as I'd estimated.
In less than three minutes the paladins began to fall. Not just slowed—falling. The Yomigaeri sustained themselves without taking lasting wounds; their flesh knit or never failed the way I expected. The paladins, by contrast, faltered and collapsed like a line of dominoes.
"What—how—?" a captain gasped as he hit the ground, his breath leaving him ragged.
Around us, Gobta's riders worked with frightening speed. They swept in, gathered the fallen paladins, bound them tight, and sank them into shadow to seal their movements. The shadows ate limbs and armor, swallowing the captives so they couldn't move.
"This wasn't supposed to happen—this fast!" Souei reported quietly into my ear, even as he observed. His voice was flat, but there was the barest edge of surprise.
I didn't answer right away. I watched a Yomigaeri flip away from a blade strike and come up clean—no bleeding, no stagger. My prediction had been wrong. Either our estimate of the paladins' resilience had been off, or the undead had some adaptation I'd not accounted for. Either way, the battlefield shifted under my feet.
"Goblin Riders! Secure them and move!" I ordered, voice low and controlled. "Keep them bound and hidden. No mercy; no spectacle."
"Got it, boss!" Gobta crowed, already barking commands as his riders dragged away the sealed paladins.
The paladins' shouts of confusion turned to curses and orders. "Form up! Hold the line!" someone screamed, trying to reassert control.
Hinata didn't shout orders; she moved with that tight, clean precision of hers—eyes searching for the leader I intended to draw out. Their captains tried to reorganize, but momentum had gone against them. The narrow ground meant their formations couldn't flex; once gaps appeared, the Yomigaeri and the riders exploited them mercilessly.
I felt the adrenaline spike in me—not the urge to end it with a single strike, but cold satisfaction at the plan's unexpected effectiveness. Still, the situation demanded caution. If this was a feint, if Hinata had more up her sleeve—then the fields could turn in an instant.
The battlefield redrew itself in moments. Where I had expected to be the hunter, the decoys and tricks turned the first bites against the knights. Yet that didn't mean we were safe—far from it. Hinata would adapt. She would test and she would press. The Yomigaeri and the goblin riders bought us time, but only if the rest of my forces held their discipline.
"Collect the wounded," I ordered quietly to my subcommanders. "Seal them. Do not expose them. Keep the formation tight. Benimaru, Geld — hold to the line and pressure their flanks when they overcommit. Shion, use the Yomigaeri to keep their captains occupied."
Benimaru grunted. "Understood."
Geld's voice was a low promise. "We'll keep them from getting away. They won't break through."
I watched Hinata, standing among her remaining men, eyes hard as flint. She hadn't shown panic; if anything, her face settled into a blade's edge. She'd expected a fight, and she would find one. I tightened my grip on the plan and spoke one last command.
"Do not, under any circumstances, let them regroup. If they regain formation, the advantage slips away. Keep the pressure. Keep the seals tight. And be ready—if Hinata calls for single combat, make sure the arena is clear."
The riders continued to bury the fallen in shadow, the Yomigaeri kept the forward push relentless, and the narrow ground turned into a funnel of controlled violence. The paladins' doctrine—no mercy—had met our adaptability. The first round had gone in our favor, but war rewards the bold and punishes the careless. Hinata had not yet shown her full measure. Whatever came next would be the true test.
"Heheh, hey, Paladin-san. One strike from this, and you're out cold. This knife's coated with a potent sleeping powder. Unless you've prepared an antidote or have poison resistance, you won't last a moment, you know?" a lowly Yomigaeri soldier said, his smirk carrying a mixture of confidence and mischief.
I froze for a moment. Are you serious?
The image of a hardened paladin being lectured by a lowly soldier briefly twisted the battlefield into something almost comical—but only for a second. Reality crashed back immediately. This wasn't just about words; this was an ingenious opening move.
That first troop of paladins facing the Yomigaeri had been caught off guard. The strategy worked perfectly once. But the soldiers behind them were far more disciplined. They advanced cautiously, leaving no opening, denying the Yomigaeri even a single strike.
The multicolored, glowing armor of the paladins covered nearly every inch of their bodies. Even if the Yomigaeri could touch them, breaking through was almost impossible. The early scratches that had incapacitated a dozen paladins had been possible only because those paladins had underestimated their opponent, assuming the wound was fatal.
Still… even a few casualties among the paladins was enough. It gave our forces the opening they needed. Around fifty remained, but they were now engaged on equal terms. Our Yomigaeri attacked in coordinated teams of three, while Hiryu and goblin riders circled, providing support and closing off escape routes.
Being linked by thought, they moved as a single, fluid unit. No confusion, no hesitation—just precise, ruthless cooperation. The initial reduction in paladin numbers had been critical, laying the groundwork for this seamless synergy.
The Yomigaeri didn't hesitate. Their attacks were lightning fast, precise, designed to exploit even the tiniest lapse in defense. Hiryu swooped from above, claws and wings working in tandem to pin movements, while goblin riders struck from angles no paladin could cover simultaneously.
It was a brutal dance—unyielding, efficient, and terrifying in its clarity. Every step, every strike had purpose. The paladins were strong, disciplined, and skilled, but this coordination, this singularity of intent, allowed our forces to hold them on equal footing.
I allowed myself a small grin. This was exactly the kind of calculated chaos I thrived on. The battlefield had become a proving ground, not just for the Yomigaeri, but for every element of my plan.
And as I surveyed the fray, I knew one thing with certainty: the tide of this battle would not just be decided by raw strength, but by strategy, discipline, and the ruthless efficiency of those willing to act as shadows.