I woke up early the next day, still groggy from the events of the game. For some reason, my body automatically fell into its weekday routine. I dressed in my school uniform, grabbed my bag, and headed downstairs, only to stop short when I noticed the eerie stillness outside.

No cars in the driveway. No kids at the bus stop. No rumble of engines or early-morning chatter.

I sighed, the realization hitting me like a bad punchline. It’s Saturday.

"Nice one, Lance," I muttered to myself with a laugh, shaking my head. Rodrick’s comment about the time difference in the game came rushing back. On the bright side, I had the house to myself and no school to drag me down. A free day to spend how I wanted.

After changing back into something more comfortable, I made another breakfast, determined to fuel up for another session in the game. Once I was ready, I fired up the console, the hum of the portal pulling me in.

The swirling vortex deposited me back into Luka Town, exactly where I’d left off. The transition was seamless, almost comforting in its familiarity. The vibrant, biomechanical elements of Luka Town came alive around me—the glowing vines creeping up the buildings, the mechanical legs of some structures shifting subtly, and the faint hum of energy that seemed to pulse through the streets.

The roads shimmered beneath my feet, rippling softly like water as I stepped forward. NPCs and players bustled about, their movements leaving glowing trails of light in their wake. It felt like the town itself was alive, adapting to its inhabitants. Kids chased a ball of sentient light through the plaza, their laughter blending with the ambient hum. It was the same Luka Town I’d left, but something in the air felt heavier—unease hung like a low mist, subtle but present.

Retracing my steps, I made my way back to the Cardinals’ base. As I entered the camp, the tension became palpable. Soldiers moved with hurried purpose, their faces grim, and the usual energy of the base was replaced by a quiet nervousness. Something had happened.

I spotted Ivan and Dante near the command tent and headed toward them. Ivan stood as calm and composed as always, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. Dante, however, was pacing back and forth, his gaze locked on the ground as if searching for answers in the dirt.

"Hey, Ivan," I called out as I approached. "What’s going on?"

Ivan turned to me, his expression steady but tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. "Last night," he began, his voice low, "one of our allies, the Raven Army, disappeared."

I blinked, startled. "Disappeared? What do you mean?"

"Rumor has it," Ivan continued, "that another ‘red sea’ was found near their territory."

"Another one?" I asked, the words tumbling out before I could process them fully. Ivan nodded, his calm facade showing the smallest crack of worry.

"The Demon Army," he explained. "They strike at random, vanishing as quickly as they appear. In the past three months, they’ve taken down three of our strongest allies. The Ravens are just the latest."

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. "Then why don’t we work with the other armies to take them down? Surely, with how dangerous they are, everyone else must be just as worried. Wouldn’t they want to join forces?"

Ivan shook his head, his expression grim. "It’s not that simple. Nobody has been able to locate the Demon Army. They don’t leave traces. No trails, no survivors who can offer insight. Every time we’ve joined forces to investigate, we’ve found nothing. The Demon Army doesn’t just fight us—they control the battlefield itself. They find you. And when they’re done, they vanish."

His words sent a chill through me. For the first time, Ivan—the steady, unshakable strategist—looked genuinely concerned.

Before I could ask more, Dante strode over. His sudden presence startled me, and I instinctively saluted like an idiot. "Good morning, sir!" I barked, my voice coming out louder than I intended.

Dante stopped mid-step, blinking at me before letting out a warm chuckle. "Good morning, Lance," he said, amusement flickering across his face. "No need to stand on ceremony. You’re not quite a soldier yet."

I relaxed slightly, though my face burned with embarrassment. Dante turned his attention to Ivan, his tone shifting back to business. "Ivan, have you seen General Bruce? I’ve been looking for him all morning."

Ivan’s sharp gaze flicked toward the camp before returning to Dante. "Not recently, sir. He may be at the training grounds. Shall I send someone to check?"

Dante shook his head. "No, I’ll handle it. If you hear anything, let me know immediately." With that, he gave a brief nod and strode off, his usual commanding demeanor marred by an unspoken tension.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I turned back to Ivan, my mind racing. "So," I asked hesitantly, "what happens now?"

Ivan’s eyes met mine, his expression as unreadable as ever. "We prepare," he said simply. "And we wait. Because whether we like it or not, the Demon Army will come to us eventually."

His words hung heavy in the air, their weight pressing against me like an invisible force. For the first time, I truly felt the scale of the threat looming over us.

Ivan and I walked through the camp toward the training grounds, the tension from earlier still heavy in the air. Dante had asked Ivan to find General Bruce, and now I was along for the ride.

As we reached the training area, a soldier approached us. Ivan stopped him, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. "Have you seen General Bruce?"

The soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. He went into town earlier. Said he was looking for information about the Aspirital Empire."

Ivan considered this for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Understood. Go about your duties."

Turning to me, he motioned for me to follow. "Let’s go find him."

I groaned inwardly. "Great, here we go again," I muttered, falling into step behind him.

"Where do you think he’ll be?" I asked after a moment.

"If he’s looking for information, the inn is the best bet," Ivan replied. "It’s a hub for players and NPCs alike—plenty of people willing to trade rumors and gossip for the right price. If Bruce is anywhere, he’ll be there."

It didn’t take long to reach the inn, but the moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere hit me like a punch to the face. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming, burning my nose as we pushed through the crowded room. The noise was deafening—drunken laughter and slurred conversations competing with the clatter of mugs and plates. It was chaotic, to say the least, and finding Bruce in this mess felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Ivan glanced around briefly before turning to me. "Let’s split up. I’ll check the right side; you take the left."

"Fine," I said, though I couldn’t hide my frustration. "But how am I supposed to recognize him? What does he look like?"

"Look for a tall man in black robes," Ivan replied simply.

I threw up my hands. "Seriously? Half the people here are in black robes! That’s not exactly helpful, Ivan."

He remained as calm as ever. "Bruce isn’t the type to wear anything flashy or colorful. Just ask around for a man named Bruce. Once I’m done on my side, I’ll assist you."

"Alright," I muttered, shaking my head. "Let’s get this over with."

We went our separate ways, weaving through the chaotic crowd. I approached table after table, asking for Bruce, but all I got were blank stares and unhelpful shrugs. The frustration was mounting, but I pushed on, determined not to give up.

As I moved to another corner of the inn, my attention was suddenly drawn to a commotion nearby. A waitress had just set a drink down at a table, but before she could leave, a large, burly man grabbed her wrist. He was armored, his sword sheathed at his side, and his sloppy grin made my stomach churn. I focused on him briefly: Level 17.

"Thank you soooo much, sweet cheeks," he slurred, his grip tightening on her arm. "But I’d like to ask for one more thing."

The waitress froze, her arm trembling. "Uh… yes?" she stammered, clearly nervous.

"How about a little smooch right here?" He tapped his lips, leaning back smugly. "I just need some motivation to start the day. I’ll pay double if you do."

"Um… sorry, but I refuse," the waitress said, trying to stay polite as she pulled at her arm. "Can you please let go?"

"C’mon, sweet thing. Just one. I’ll triple the pay!" he insisted, pulling her closer.

My fists clenched. I stopped asking for Bruce, my full attention now on this jerk. My heart pounded as I debated stepping in, but reality hit hard—I was still level one. Going up against him would be a disaster. My foot hesitated mid-step, my hands tightening into fists. Dammit!

Before I could make a decision, another figure entered the scene. He rose from the bar and walked toward the table with an air of quiet authority. His black robes concealed most of his features, the hood covering his face completely. When he spoke, his voice was cold, emotionless.

"She asked you to stop," he said simply.

The drunk man glared at him. "Hey, don’t be a cockblocker. Get lost."

The robed figure didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed the drunk man’s forearm and squeezed. The man winced, his grip on the waitress loosening. She yanked her arm free and bolted, disappearing into the crowd.

"Now look what you’ve done," the drunk man growled, drawing his sword. "You’re gonna regret this."

The robed figure remained unfazed, his silence unnerving. The drunk man shouted and lunged, his blade jabbing toward his opponent. But the robed figure caught the blade barehanded, holding it with an almost casual grip.

"Is that it?" he asked, his voice a chilling monotone.

Letting go of the blade, he reached behind his back and pulled out a massive chunk of raw iron—a weapon so large it looked almost comical. He raised it high, the iron catching the flickering light of the inn’s lanterns.

The drunk man froze, his eyes wide with terror. He tried to block the incoming strike with his sword, but it was useless. The iron slab came down with a deafening crash, slicing through the man’s sword, his armor, his arm, the table, and even the ground beneath it. The sheer force of the blow left a crater in the inn’s wooden floor.

The hood flew back, revealing the man beneath. He was human, his skin light brown and his short, messy black hair damp with sweat. His expression was as cold as his voice had been, his dark eyes scanning the room.

"Consider this a warning," he said, his tone devoid of any emotion. "The next time you pull something like this, I’ll take more than just your arm."

The room was silent. All eyes were on him, including mine, wide

with shock. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t someone to cross.