I reign supreme in the Western fantasy world for eternity.

On the scorched earth of the valley, the night wind still blew, carrying ashes and the stench of blood in all directions.

When reinforcements arrived, the fire had already spread to the dry grass along the riverbank, and the orange-red flames illuminated half the sky.

The leader was a cavalry captain from the Third Army Corps. He reined in his horse, his face ashen as he looked at the corpses scattered on the ground.

"Search! See if anyone is still alive!"

The soldiers dismounted and searched through the pile of corpses.

Some covered their mouths and noses, while others turned their heads away, unable to bear looking at their companions whose throats had been slit by short knives.

The dark blue robes of the magicians turned into an eerie dark purple in the firelight, stained with dirt and blood.

"Captain! This way!" A soldier's voice came from deep within the pile of corpses, trembling slightly.

The cavalry captain strode over.

A charred hand emerged from the pile of corpses, its fingers twitching slightly as if grasping at something.

On the ring finger of that hand was a silver ring—the mark of the Archmage Herbert.

The captain crouched down, pulled aside the body that was pressing down on top, and revealed Herbert's face.

He had a knife wound on his throat, the blood of which had congealed into a black scab, and several stab wounds on his chest from short knives, but his chest was still rising and falling slightly.

"He's alive! Quick! Put him on a stretcher!" The captain personally carried Herbert from the pile of corpses, feeling the elderly mage's body as light as a bundle of dry firewood. "Notify the medic, notify the general! Hurry!"

The tent curtain was suddenly flung open, and two military doctors rushed in carrying a stretcher, followed by a panting cavalry captain.

General Mike stood in front of the sand table, his charcoal pencil still in his hand.

He turned around and his gaze fell on the figure on the stretcher, whose body was charred and mangled.

"Herbert..." Mike's voice was a little hoarse.

Herbert was placed on a cot, and the medic hurriedly cut open his blood-soaked robes, revealing several shocking wounds on his chest.

The deepest point is below the left chest, where you can almost see the ribs.

They tried to heal the wounds again and again with holy light, but the toxins left by the demonic antidote at the edges of the wounds prevented the healing magic from taking effect.

"General..." Herbert's voice squeezed out of his throat, his eyes half-open, his pupils unfocused, as if he could still recognize Mike.

Mike walked to the bedside, squatted down, and put his face in Herbert's sight.

"I'm Mike." He shook Herbert's hand. "You're safe now."

Herbert's lips moved as if he were saying something. Mike leaned closer and heard broken, breathy sounds: "The guards...the Demon King's guards...they...hunt mages...their crossbows have anti-magic runes...we...can't stop them..."

"I know," Mike said in a low voice. "It was my oversight. You did your best."

A tear slid down Herbert's cheek, leaving two white streaks on his charred face. "More than two hundred people... only... only me... I couldn't... couldn't protect them..."

"It's not your fault." Mike clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "It's my fault. I let you take that road, I didn't send enough guards, it was me—"

Herbert shook his head so slightly it was almost imperceptible.

"General...they...will come back again...you...you must be careful...the scouts might be problematic...don't engage them rashly...don't let the remaining healing mages...again..." His voice grew weaker and weaker, like an oil lamp about to burn out.

"I understand," Mike said. "You can rest now."

Herbert did not speak again.

His eyes slowly closed, and the rise and fall of his chest became slower and shallower until it finally subsided.

The Holy Light spell was still flashing on his wound, but it had no effect anymore.

The military doctor lowered his head and stopped casting the spell.

"General, Lord Herbert... is gone."

Mike crouched by the bed, motionless. His face was expressionless, but his hands, accustomed to holding a sword, were trembling slightly.

No one in the tent dared to speak.

After a long while, Mike closed Herbert's eyes, stood up, and turned to walk towards the sand table.

He stood in front of the sand table, looking at the red and blue symbols, at the blue pieces representing the Third Legion and the black pieces representing the Demon Vanguard.

"Messenger." His voice regained its usual composure.

"exist!"

"Pass down the order: suppress news of the mage corps' annihilation, and place the entire army on high alert. Investigate the mage corps' scouts, releasing only those deemed trustworthy, and expanding the reconnaissance range to twenty miles. Double the number of sentries."

He paused, then added, "The remaining mages will be assigned to various camps and dispersed for protection."

"yes!"

The messenger ran out of the tent. Mike stood there, clutching the blue chess piece representing the magicians, which gleamed coldly in the candlelight.

He recalled what Herbert had told him before he left—"General, if we win this battle, I want to go back to the academy and continue teaching. These children are very talented, and I don't want them to die on the battlefield."

Mike closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice so soft that only he could hear it.

Outside the tent, the night wind howled.

At this time, he was unaware that news of the mage's annihilation had already been spread throughout the army by certain individuals with ulterior motives.

Further away, in the demon camp, fires were burning.

When the Shadow Guard leader charged into the camp with his remaining eight men, the orc warriors guarding the gate barely had time to raise the gate.

Horse hooves pounded the mud, carving a path between the tents.

"Where is the general? Where is the commander of the vanguard?" The leader dismounted and grabbed a demon soldier by the collar.

The soldier, intimidated by his imposing presence, stammered, "General... he... he..."

"explain!"

"The general is dead! The hero squad infiltrated the camp, and they...they beheaded the general and all his lieutenants. Now the camp is in chaos, and there's no one in command!"

The Shadow Guard leader released his grip, and the soldier slumped to the ground. He stood there, his crimson eyes scanning the surroundings—the camp was indeed in chaos, messengers were running around like headless flies, and the soldiers were huddled together, their faces filled with unease and fear.

"A bunch of useless trash," he muttered under his breath, then turned and headed toward the central command tent.

The tent flap was lifted, revealing an empty room. Scattered on the sand table were chess pieces representing military forces, and the candlelight flickered in the night breeze.

The leader of the shadow guards stood before the sand table, silent for a moment. Behind him, a shadow guard asked softly, "Sir, the general is dead. Shall we retreat?"

"Retreat? Retreat my ass!" The Shadow Guard leader turned around, his gaze as cold as a poisoned knife. "Our mission is complete. The mage corps has been wiped out. Now is the perfect time to completely crush the enemy! As long as the vanguard advances, even a dog chained up in the command post can win."

He stepped out of the main tent, stood on a high place, and looked at the heads moving about in the firelight.

"Moreover, the high priest beside His Majesty the Demon King also predicted that our chances of victory are as high as 90%... Send the order to assemble the entire army."

The messengers were stunned for a moment.

The other party is the head of a department directly under His Majesty the Demon King, whose authority is no less than that of a frontline general, and he is indeed qualified to command the vanguard.

More importantly, the priest actually made the prophecy!

In the demon realm, priests hold a transcendent position. They represent the demon god revered by all demons, serving as His eyes and ears, His left hand, and His representatives in the demon world.

Among them, the High Priest's status is even higher than that of the Demon King! He can be considered the foundation upon which the Demon Clan stands.

He was excited and began to run, relaying orders to every corner of the camp.

The bugle sounded, deep and long, echoing across the wasteland.

In less than the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, the main force of the vanguard army gathered outside the camp.

A vast, dark mass stretched from the hills to the valley, spears like a forest, and flags fluttering in the night wind.

The leader of the Shadow Guards stood on a high place, with eight blood-soaked subordinates behind him.

His leather armor was still stained with the blood of the mage corps, and the anti-magic runes on his dagger glowed with a dark purple light in the firelight.

"Soldiers of the Vanguard!" His voice, amplified by magic, echoed across the entire wilderness, "Your general is dead. Slain by the hero."

A commotion arose in the ranks.

"But your mission remains unchanged! The Third Legion's mage corps has been annihilated! Their spears are broken, their shields shattered! Now they are nothing but a bunch of brutes who only know how to wield swords!" He drew his short sword, the tip pointing towards the city of Kold. "His Majesty the Demon King is watching you! The glory of the demons calls to you! Tonight, crush the Third Legion! Tomorrow, raze Kold to the ground! We will make humanity remember—the demons are unstoppable!"

"Crush the Third Legion! Raze Kolde!" The shadow guards behind them shouted in unison.

"Crush the Third Army! Flatten the city of Kold—!" The vanguard soldiers shouted in unison. The sound rolled down the hillside like a flood bursting its banks, sweeping across the entire wasteland.

The Shadow Guard leader sheathed his dagger, turned around, and faced the direction of Kolde City.

Once the Third Legion is defeated, we can easily take Kolde, the formidable stronghold of the Western Frontier. After that, we can conquer the world step by step, just as His Majesty desires, and make the demons the masters of this world!

"All troops—attack!"

The bugle sounded again, this time more urgent and more resounding.

The vanguard began to move, and a black tide of people poured down from the hillside, surging toward the Third Army Corps.

The Shadow Guard leader rode on a demon horse, mingling in the middle of the group. His fingers remained on the hilt of his sword, and his scarlet eyes were fixed on the line of firelight in the distance.

With a 90% chance of victory, the 10% chance of defeat would likely be due to the death of the vanguard generals, leaving no one to command and thus preventing a large-scale invasion.

That's fine.

The Shadow Guards can take over command; they are the Demon King's direct troops and have the authority and ability to do so.

As for potential dangers? The Shadow Guards might die in battle?

Yes, it is possible, and the probability is not small.

But so what?

They're just consumables; if they die, they die. The demon race's ideal of conquering the world is the priority!

He believed in the priest's prophecy, in His Majesty's great talent and strategy, and even more so in the future of the demon race.

The heavy footsteps of the demon vanguard shattered the silence of the wasteland, stirring up clouds of sand as if to crush everything in the world.

Tonight, the demons and the Third Legion have begun their battle.