They did not charge at dawn.
They constructed.
For the first time since Eiden had arrived on this front, the battlefield did not open with horns.
No immediate advance.
No artillery.
No aggressive push meant to impress someone far behind the lines.
Instead, both armies built.
That was worse.
Eiden stood near the third-rank assembly point, watching engineers hammer reinforced stakes deeper into the ridge soil.
Extra mantlets were dragged forward.
Barricades thickened. Shield walls staggered in layered intervals.
This was not momentum.
This was anticipation.
Rynn approached with her helm tucked beneath one arm.
"They didn't call advance," she said.
"No."
"High command's nervous."
"They should be."
She studied the field.
Across the mud-streaked distance, the demon formation had changed again.
Wider.
Deeper.
The front rank appeared thinner than before—but behind it stood layered shadows.
Three ranks visible.
Possibly four.
Structured depth.
Not brute force.
Preparation.
The portable mantlets the demons had constructed yesterday were now positioned along the forward line—angled slightly inward rather than straight ahead.
They weren't protecting from direct impact.
They were channelling.
"They're shaping lanes," Eiden murmured.
Rynn followed his gaze. "For what?"
"Movement."
A low demon horn sounded.
Long.
Resonant.
The human line braced instinctively.
Not advance.
Brace.
Shields interlocked.
Spears angled.
Mage corps stepped into staggered formation between infantry blocks.
Wilfred Webstere lifted his staff but did not release power.
He was waiting to identify the threat.
Good.
Across the field, movement began between the demon mantlets.
Three compact structures were pushed forward.
Not large enough to be siege towers.
Not heavy enough to be full-scale artillery.
Iron-reinforced frames mounted on short, wheeled bases.
Metal braces along their sides.
Each one manned by four demons.
Eiden narrowed his eyes.
Mobile projection.
Not destruction.
The red-trimmed demon stood behind the central device.
Still.
Observing.
A sharp horn command echoed from their side.
The first device fired.
The projectile did not arc high.
It cut low across the field.
It struck the outer human barricade and shattered.
Not into flame.
Into thick, black smoke.
The cloud erupted outward with unnatural density—heavy, oily, clinging.
The wind did not disperse it immediately.
It crawled.
The second device fired.
Another smoke burst.
Further right.
The third landed near the mage formation.
Black haze swallowed the forward ridge.
Visibility dropped to near nothing within a twenty-pace radius.
"Hold!" Rynn shouted.
The human line stiffened.
No charge came.
Not immediately.
That was the point.
The demons advanced inside the smoke.
Not running.
Walking.
Disciplined.
Their silhouettes emerged as darker shadows within the black cloud.
This was not chaos.
It was obstruction warfare.
Wilfred raised his staff, hesitated.
Blind fire risked friendly annihilation.
He lowered it slightly.
Correct decision.
The demon flanks began angling inward again—but slower than before.
No snapping trap.
Gradual compression.
Inside smoke, depth perception died first.
Sound distorted second.
Eiden felt it.
Clarity was being reduced deliberately.
And reduced clarity meant delayed reactions.
A blade cut through haze toward his shoulder.
He parried late.
Half a beat.
Steel scraped along his Armor instead of splitting muscle.
Too close.
He stepped back early this time, not waiting for full confirmation.
"Two paces left!" he shouted.
Rynn heard him.
"Shift left! Maintain spacing!"
The human front adjusted awkwardly through limited vision.
A soldier to his right swung wildly into empty air.
Another misjudged distance and collided into a shield edge.
Disruption increasing.
The red-trimmed demon stepped forward into the smoke.
For a moment, his silhouette was visible—unmoving amid the chaos.
He was not striking.
He was reading.
Cataloguing response time under visual obstruction.
Another projectile launched from the central device.
This one landed deeper—closer to the officer cluster near the ridge crest.
Black smoke engulfed command.
Confusion spiked audibly.
Human horns overlapped.
Orders collided mid-air.
"…fallback—"
"…hold formation—"
"…shield up—"
Eiden's jaw tightened.
They're isolating command rhythm.
Not killing leadership.
Desynchronizing it.
He moved laterally instead of forward, breaking the instinct to meet pressure head-on.
A demon emerged through smoke, striking low.
Eiden pivoted, deflected, then withdrew two paces rather than countering.
Do not pursue inside reduced clarity.
Rynn mirrored him instinctively.
The human line contracted toward the second barricade.
The demons did not pursue beyond calculated limit.
They stopped just before full barricade depth.
Perfect restraint.
The smoke began thinning.
Wind finally caught it.
Silhouettes resolved into armoured figures again.
Bodies lay scattered—but not many.
Casualties were lighter than expected.
Which made it worse.
This was not meant to kill.
It was meant to study.
As visibility returned, the demon devices were already being pulled backward behind mantlets.
Portable.
Efficient.
Structured.
Wilfred barked sharp orders at the mage division.
"Adjust wind control! I want dispersal within twenty paces on release!"
Countermeasure already forming.
Escalation loop tightening.
Across the field, the red-trimmed demon spoke briefly to a taller officer clad in heavier Armor.
Higher tier.
Hierarchy intact.
The taller demon nodded once.
Mantlets were repositioned half a pace inward.
Subtle.
Precise.
Rynn exhaled slowly.
"They're not panicking."
"No."
"They're experimenting."
"Yes."
She looked at him more closely now.
"And you're worried."
"I'm calculating."
"Difference?"
"Worry is emotional. Calculation is structural."
She almost smiled at that.
The human officers began speaking louder again.
"…increase magical saturation…"
"…counter-smoke barrage…"
"…push before they stabilize…"
Push.
Always push.
Eiden watched the demon line instead.
The smoke devices had not been placed randomly.
Three equidistant launch points.
Centralized command alignment.
Smoke density measured.
They were layering variables.
Day one: range.
Day two: reaction to breach.
Day three: structural slicing.
Day four: clarity reduction.
Sequential.
Not random.
Accumulation.
He felt it settle into his chest like weight.
The battlefield was no longer chaotic.
It was becoming engineered.
Engineered systems do not collapse from small errors.
They collapse from structural failure.
And structural failure required build-up.
Behind the human ridge, carts rolled past carrying select demon bodies.
Not all.
Only those with higher-tier Armor.
Marked.
Separated.
Transported under guard.
Rynn noticed his gaze drift.
"You think that matters?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because they're doing the same."
Across the field, demon units were removing specific fallen as well.
Not leaving them behind.
Collecting.
Information was being extracted from both sides.
The red-trimmed demon turned once more toward the ridge.
Not hostile.
Not triumphant.
Balanced.
Acknowledging progression.
You adapt.
We adapt.
You escalate.
We refine.
Eiden exhaled slowly.
No deaths.
Still clarity.
But the margin had narrowed again.
Each engagement removed randomness.
Each adjustment removed improvisation.
Eventually—
There would be no room left for instinct.
Only structure.
And when structure snapped—
It would not bend.
It would break.
The horn sounded disengagement.
Both sides withdrew to calculated distances.
Smoke residue drifted low across churned earth.
The red-trimmed demon disappeared behind layered ranks.
Not retreating.
Advancing a design.
Eiden remained on the ridge longer than necessary.
Watching.
Measuring.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he understood something with cold certainty:
This was no longer about winning a battle.
It was about constructing the conditions for one catastrophic event.
And somewhere within that accumulating structure—
He would either recognize the breaking point—
Or die trying to find it.