I reign supreme in the Western fantasy world for eternity.

Before the bugle call had faded, the vanguard of the vanguard army had already clashed with the forward sentries of the Third Army Corps.

The first to engage were the orcish warbands on the left flank.

Three hundred orc warriors stood in three rows, the front row holding iron shields taller than a person, and the back row carrying double-edged battle axes, their steps so orderly that they seemed to defy the discipline expected of this race.

They trudged across the dried-up riverbed, crushing the scorched grass beneath their feet, the soil trembling with each heavy step.

The Third Army's sentries only had time to fire a single volley of arrows.

The arrows struck the iron shield with a crisp clanging sound, like raindrops hitting a tin roof.

Occasionally, a few arrows would slip through the gaps in the shields and pierce the orcs' shoulders or arms, but they wouldn't utter a sound, simply snapping the shafts in half and continuing their advance.

"Hold on—!" the sentry captain shouted, drawing his sword, his voice trembling in the night wind.

Before he finished speaking, the front-line iron shields of the orc warband suddenly parted to the sides, revealing a narrow passage.

A fire demon charged out of the passage.

Its body was as tall as two people, and it was burning with orange-red flames. Its skin was like cracked lava, and with each step it took, the soil under its feet was baked into charred, hard lumps.

It held a giant sword forged from black iron and lava, its blade gleaming with a dark red light.

The sentry captain's pupils contracted sharply.

"spread--!"

Too late.

The Fiery Demon's greatsword swept across, like a red-hot scythe cutting through a wheat field.

The five sentries were cut in half at the waist, their upper bodies flying out while their lower bodies remained standing in place, with no blood at the wounds—they were instantly charred by the high temperature.

The remaining men finally broke down, threw down their weapons, and ran away.

The orcish warband surged out from behind the iron shields, their battleaxes gleaming coldly in the moonlight, reaping the fleeing soldiers like harvesting crops.

Central Army.

General Mike stood on the makeshift platform, holding the longsword that had been with him for thirty years.

His face was expressionless, but the knuckles of his hand gripping the sword hilt were white.

Messengers came one after another, each bringing bad news.

"General! The first line of defense on the left flank has been breached! The orcish warband has crossed the river!"

"General! The right flank is under attack from the Flame Demon; two ballistae have been destroyed!"

"General! The vanguard cavalry is requesting reinforcements! They've been surrounded by demonic archer cavalry!"

Mike didn't speak, but simply turned his gaze to the battlefield.

Under the moonlight, the black-clad crowd surged down the hillside like a flood bursting its banks, submerging line after line of defense of the Third Army Corps.

He saw his soldiers fleeing in disarray.

In theory, as long as morale remains high, even without the assistance of the mage corps, the soldiers of the Third Legion, who have already fought against the demons many times, can still briefly hold off those naturally warlike demons.

The problem was that the news of the mage corps' annihilation had been leaked before he issued the order, seemingly by someone deliberately causing the whole army to panic and become a demoralized force.

They were outmaneuvered by their own people.

The adjutant's voice rang out behind him, "General, let's retreat. If we continue fighting, the Third Army will be wiped out."

Mike spoke in a hoarse voice:

"Messenger."

"exist!"

"Sound the retreat. The entire army shall withdraw towards Kolde. Abandon the baggage train, take the wounded if possible, and if not..."

He paused, then said, "Let them stay and buy time for the legion's retreat with me."

The adjutant opened his mouth as if to say something, but seeing Mike's gaze, he swallowed his words.

"yes!"

The sound of gongs rang out on the battlefield, crisp and urgent, piercing through the sounds of fighting, screams, and clashing weapons.

Upon hearing this sound, some soldiers of the Third Army Corps breathed a sigh of relief and turned to run; some stood frozen in place, unsure of where to go; and some, too exhausted to run any further, could only kneel on the ground, awaiting their fate.

The demons' pursuit did not stop.

The orcish warband continued its advance over the corpses of the fleeing soldiers, with balora ploughing fiery paths through the crowd, and archers flanking and cutting down officers who tried to regroup.

The Third Army Corps went from "defeat" to "rout", and from "rout" to "massacre".

On the walls of Kolde, the Patriarch stood atop the highest arrow tower, gazing at the burning wasteland in the distance.

His silver-white hair fluttered in the night wind, and his robes billowed in the breeze.

Behind him, a Templar officer knelt on one knee.

"Patriarch, the Third Legion... has been defeated."

"I know."

"The hero team has returned to town. Should we send them back—"

The Patriarch interrupted him, "No need. The Hero Squad has done their best; they need rest. Tonight, it's the military's turn to fight."

The officer paused for a moment, then asked, "Should we send troops to provide support?"

The Patriarch hesitated.

He finally spoke up, "The main force of the Knights Templar is not here. Rashly sending them to their aid could lead to their annihilation. Close the city gates, raise the drawbridge, and forbid anyone from entering the city."

The officer looked up sharply: "Patriarch! We still have men below the city—"

"If the demons infiltrate, Kolde will fall." The Patriarch's voice was eerily calm. "Have the remnants of the Third Legion bypass the city and retreat eastward. We will provide them with long-range cover from the city walls, but the city gates... must not be opened."

The officer's lips were trembling, but he still responded heavily, got up, and ran down from the arrow tower.

The Patriarch stood still, watching the approaching flames in the distance.

He closed his eyes, his lips moved slightly, and he prayed silently.

"May the Holy Light forgive us."

On the wasteland, the defeated soldiers surged eastward like a tide.

There was no one to give orders, no one to cover their retreat; everyone was running desperately toward the city with its gates tightly shut, toward the place that refused them entry.

Behind them, the sound of the demons' war drums grew closer and closer, so close that they could hear the panting of the orcs, the footsteps of the fire demons, and the hoofbeats of the archers.

An officer on horseback tried to rally the remaining troops: "This way! Run this way! Don't push—"

A poisoned crossbow bolt flew from the darkness and pierced the back of his neck. He fell from his horse and was trampled underfoot by the fleeing crowd, never to rise again.

A young soldier was running when he suddenly stopped and looked back.

He saw a Balrog not far behind him, its flames leaving long trails in the night wind.

He opened his mouth, wanting to shout, but it felt like something was choking his throat.

The Flame Demon did not look at him.

It simply walked past him, its footsteps shaking the ground, the heat making his face sting.

It walked past.

The young soldier stood there, trembling, his trousers soaked with sweat.

He didn't know whether he was lucky or unlucky.

He just stood there, looking at the burning wasteland, at his comrades who could no longer run, and at the city that was getting further and further away.

Torches blazed brightly on the city walls.

Beneath the city walls, the flames of war raged.

He was caught in the middle, unsure of which way to go.

…………

Inside Kolde, on the second floor of the Adventurers' Guild.

Alex stood by the window, gazing at the distant firelight that illuminated the sky.

His holy sword rested against the table, the runes on its scabbard gleaming faintly in the candlelight.

Mason sat in a chair, holding his staff, his face pale.

They had just returned to Kolde and were preparing to rest when they learned that the two armies had suddenly gone to war and the Third Army was still in retreat.

"We have assassinated the enemy commander-in-chief and done our best. We are just a small team of heroes, not an army of heroes, and we cannot interfere in a war of this scale." She seemed to see what the hero was thinking and comforted him.

Alex remained silent for a long time before finally speaking:

"But I am a hero, I must do something."