I gripped the shaft of my spear tighter, feeling the coarse wood dig into my palm. The plains stretched before us, endless and unbroken, the grass whispering under a tentative wind. My eyes traced the horizon again. Nothing moved—at least, nothing I could see. The scouts had reported ground demons nearby, creeping just beyond sight, and a few flying forms gliding lazily above the hills in the distance. The wind carried their stench: a mixture of decay and smoke, acrid enough to make my stomach churn despite the warm midday sun.
We hadn't marched far in days. The last war had left scars deeper than any blade could carve, and the memory of our fallen lord clung to us like a second skin. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him, mounted on his pale charger, chest heaving, deflecting blow after blow until the end came too soon. His death was still fresh, though months had passed. Captains spoke with a professional calm, but we all knew the quiet dread that had settled over the troops. Each of us walked on eggshells, expecting that the next war might be our undoing.
I adjusted the strap of my pack and felt the reassuring weight of my shield on my back. The mixed-race infantry unit was tense but disciplined, their breaths measured, eyes darting to the ridges and treelines, waiting for a sign. The captain had tried to boost morale earlier, speaking in that practiced tone meant to ignite courage: "The new lord comes with the commander. Our morale will hold!" Some of us nodded politely, but the lie was obvious. How could anyone restore hope when the last hope had died under their own walls?
I glanced around at my comrades. Torren, the beastman beside me, stood taller than most, horned and dark-skinned, muscles taut beneath his armor. He was a warrior born, and the others looked to him with a mixture of respect and fear. Even now, he wasn't speaking, just scanning the horizon with those amber eyes, alert as a predator. I envied his composure. If Torren faltered, the entire unit might crumble. I tightened my grip again, drawing courage from his steadiness.
The plains were eerily quiet. It was a deceptive calm. I could feel it in my bones—something was waiting. The flying demons above were teasing us, their screeches faint but carried in the air. Ground demons were near, I knew, just beyond sight, perhaps hidden behind small rises of earth and scattered rocks. We were trapped between what we could see and what we couldn't.
The death of our previous lord hung over us like a thick fog. Every soldier whispered about it in the shadows, away from the captains' eyes. We had survived the last war through stubbornness, brute force, and some reckless luck. But that survival left us hollow, burdened with the knowledge that even the strongest could fall. Now, rumors floated that the new lord was young, untested, and arriving with the commander only in a few days. That thought twisted in my gut. Could anyone fill the void left behind? Could a boy—no, a youth hardly older than some of the new recruits—command respect and stave off annihilation?
We set up small encampments near a shallow rise, the only slight elevation for defense. Torches were lit, not to illuminate, but to mark our positions, sending flickers of light dancing across the grass. Soldiers murmured quietly, some sharpening weapons, some checking armor, others simply staring at the horizon, lost in thought. I joined the latter, letting my mind drift while my hands flexed over my spear.
My thoughts returned to the captains. Older men, seasoned and cunning, they tried to speak of strategies and contingency plans, but their words carried the same uncertainty that plagued us all. They had been through the last war, survived the chaos, yet even they paused when discussing the approaching demons. We depended on them, yet we all knew that orders could only do so much against creatures that defied our understanding. The captains spoke of holding the line until the commander arrived, their tone firm but with undercurrents of worry.
We were infantry, but not just ordinary soldiers. The mixed race among us brought differences that mattered on the battlefield: strength, resilience, and adaptability. Torren was the perfect example—horned, armored naturally, and immune to some of the more corrosive miasma the demons exuded. The humans among us relied on our endurance, and in turn, we relied on them for coordination. A delicate balance, one that could shatter if fear spread too quickly.
I could see the horizon ripple with heat, a mirage forming above the plains. Maybe it was the sun, or maybe the creeping anticipation of battle playing tricks on my eyes. My mind raced, calculating distances, imagining approaches, potential ambush points. But I was infantry—my calculations meant nothing until the enemy made the first move. We were pawns in a way, though pawns with teeth and claws.
The memory of the last war clawed at me. We hadn't retreated then, not because we had the strength to hold, but because the chaos demanded we hold, lest everything collapse. The plains had been scorched, rivers tainted with blood, and still the enemy pressed forward. Our lord had died standing, leaving command fractured, and morale shattered. That experience shaped every thought, every cautious movement now.
Even as we waited, the demon army had not advanced. Their forces were close, out of sight but within a day's march. Reports from scouts were delayed, some never returning. Whispers among the soldiers speculated that the ground demons were testing our lines, probing for weakness. The flying ones circled, perhaps counting, perhaps mocking. We didn't know, and not knowing was worse than facing them head-on.
I shifted, feeling the cold metal of my spear under my palm. The soldiers near me mimicked my stance instinctively, feeding off the tension that we all shared. Torren finally spoke, his voice low and rumbly. "Stay alert. Don't let fear take root. The young lord may arrive, yes, but the battlefield doesn't care about age or bloodlines." His words were simple, yet they carried weight. We needed reminders like that.
The captains had divided us, assigning sectors and points of focus. I had a small squad under my command, and while the rank-and-file were capable, the psychological strain was palpable. Every rustle of grass, every shadow cast by clouds moving over the plains, sent a ripple of anxiety. Our minds were sharpened, yes, but on an edge we feared to cross. One misstep, one panic-stricken movement, and the domino effect could unravel the line.
Yet, even in this tense stillness, small acts of life continued. Soldiers murmured prayers; others sharpened swords, some ate quietly from rations. We tried to cling to routine, even as the world leaned toward chaos. I watched a young recruit, not more than fifteen, adjust the strap of his shield, hands trembling slightly. I clapped him on the shoulder. "Focus. Fear is natural, but control it. Your life depends on it, and so does ours." He nodded, swallowing hard. I could see it in his eyes—the shadow of our lost lord, the weight of expectation, the terror of what might come.
The wind shifted, carrying faint scents of smoke and scorched earth from distant hills. A reminder of the last war, and perhaps a warning of the one to come. I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling the air thick with anticipation. This waiting was almost worse than fighting. Every passing hour brought demons closer, and with each, the doubt in men's hearts grew. We were soldiers, yes, but human—or half-human, or beastman—and fear clung like a second skin.
Torren moved among us quietly, inspecting positions, offering small words of reassurance. Even he, though steady and imposing, could not erase the tension entirely. We all knew it: the commander with the new lord would arrive in days, and until then, we were alone—a fragile line between safety and slaughter.
The sun began to dip low over the plains, shadows stretching long across the grass. The wind carried a chill, and with it, the silent promise of confrontation. Yet still, the demons had not moved. I could see flying forms far above, but their intent remained hidden. We waited. We feared. We prepared. And I, infantry soldier of Valoria Dominion, bore witness to the calm before the storm, knowing that in a few days—or perhaps hours—the plains would become a crucible.
The war we all dread is so close,like we could pick the weapons and fight right now. But our heart is heavy.
I wonder if I will survive. If my friends will survive.
During the meals we talk about the delicious meal we will have once we defeat all those vile creatures. Some tell how magical their wife's food is and some about the delicious fruits they grow in their garden .
Such talks bring smiles but those smiles never reach the eyes.
But I will fight and end this dread.
I am Kaelen Varys.