Hazard was watching his army as the third village was being raided.

[So far, we have a thousand corpses, but only twenty of them are usable...]

Cerberus raised his head and carefully sniffed the air.

Hazard, who was riding him, noticed his unusual behavior and turned his head in the direction Cerberus was looking—towards the forest beyond a kilometer of open field.

[The village raid is complete. Casualties: none, my lord.]

Hazard then looked at the knight on horseback.

[Good. Gather the army and set an ambush one kilometer west. I believe a force is approaching us from the east.]

[Your command is my purpose, my lord!]

Hazard turned his gaze toward the east. He could swear a foreboding presence was approaching from that direction.

Yet, with the miasmic mana glistening in his eyes, he looked at the knight and ordered:

[Leave the corpses in the village.]

And then, the sky and earth bore witness to the devilish grin on his face.

…

Twenty kilometers away, an army of twenty thousand was marching forward, including approximately 8,500 champions from the city of Solar. Some rode horses, others walked, and some were in carriages.

As they approached the location indicated in the reports, their commander—a man clad in black, his face concealed—was drawn to something.

"The smell of burning and blood ahead."

Four figures, each radiating an aura that was unmistakably beyond ordinary, rode closer on horseback.

The first was the master of the Blue Swallow Guild, a woman with a harsh face yet an athletic physique, a three-meter-long spear strapped to her back. The second was the lord of the Wrath of Solar Guild, a one-eyed man with two axes resting behind him. The third was the head of the Golden Eagle Guild. And the last was a girl known as the Saintess, exuding immense magical power.

The one guiding them was a local baron named Oscar. His small domain contained three villages. He had been forced into this mission by orders from a noble of higher rank, whose identity he hadn't even discerned. Nevertheless, as he observed the army under his command, he smiled.

Never before had he wielded such a formidable force, yet his smile was bitter. Three villages under his rule—and from the distant horizon, thick black smoke rose to the sky from the last of them.

He knew all too well what was at stake. If he lost more taxpayers, just like the village taken from him a month ago due to his failure to ensure its safety, he could lose everything. His father-in-law had also perished in that village. His anger boiled over.

"Double the army's pace! If the foot soldiers lag, whip them!"

His serious command was met with laughter from the four guild leaders, which only fueled his fury.

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"What are you laughing at?"

The leader of the Golden Eagle Guild unsheathed his sword and pressed it against Oscar's throat. His champion level was five, equivalent to a rank-four lord. Oscar, a mere rank-one lord, couldn't even blink before the sword was at his neck.

"You're just a scarecrow pretending to lead. Don't think this army is yours to command however you please."

Seeing the killing intent in their eyes, Oscar didn't dare move. He continued forward, muttering curses under his breath.

"Percival..."

One hour later…

As the army of champions and local soldiers emerged from the forest, they were met with a burning village. In its center, a mountain of corpses was piled high, with crows circling above, feasting on the dead.

Oscar scanned the scene.

"If we had arrived earlier, the enemy army would still be here!"

The four guild leaders ignored him and passed by, sending their people to investigate the area.

"Damn it!"

Oscar spurred his black horse forward, following them to the mound of bodies. These villages were part of his domain—he knew their population. Something was wrong.

"Why are there so many bodies?"

Minutes later, the four guild leaders stood before the corpse pile, giving orders while conversing among themselves.

"The cause of death—arrows, deep claw wounds, and bites from large beasts..."

The Golden Eagle leader turned to the others, noticing the Blue Swallow master gripping her spear tightly, eyes fixed on the surrounding forest.

"This was a fast, mixed army. Large beast tracks and arrows… I have a bad feeling about this."

"Hah! If you're scared, turn back. This could be the work of forest monsters. The Demon King's domain is far from here, but the arrows are still suspicious."

The Saintess, hearing the Wrath of Solar leader's words, let out a growl. Her gaze fixated on the ground beneath the pile of corpses.

"I don't know what this means, but... do any of you feel the presence of the Demon King?"

The Golden Eagle leader looked at her as if she were mad. They always felt the Demon King's presence, growing stronger with proximity. But this… required absolute focus.

"What do you mea—"

The Golden Eagle leader's eyes widened, followed by the other leaders and everyone nearby.

Oscar, standing at the village entrance, watched the 5,000 champions searching the area.

"A bunch of rookies... If we had arrived sooner, we might have saved them. Now I have to answer to the Viscount, and I'm sure he'll strip me of my rank."

Oscar cursed all four leaders—until he heard an explosion louder than any he had ever witnessed.

The shockwave sent him flying from his horse, rolling thirty meters across the ground. When he looked up, he saw soldiers and champions soaring through the air, their bodies torn apart, limbs scattering in all directions.

His head rang from the explosion. Blood and shattered bones were hurled in all directions. The force was like a razor-sharp blade slicing through metal, and the flying bones struck with such speed that each impact triggered smaller detonations. The miasmic mana corrupted anything alive upon contact.

Struggling to his feet, Oscar scanned his surroundings. No one in the village remained standing. The survivors had been blasted over 300 meters away, their fates determined by the strength of their bodies.

"Anyone who can hear me, grab your weapons! Prepare to fight!"

His instincts as a knight who had fought alongside Duke Percival in grand wars kicked in. Such explosions could only be caused by high-level fire mages or the giant bats of Vlad.

Yet, despite his orders, the champions paid him no mind. Those who could still move lacked the mental capacity to process what had just happened.

Through the blood-drenched mist settling over the battlefield, Oscar spotted his loyal horse's corpse—its neck impaled by a thin bone shard. The animal lay in agony, twitching and whimpering in its final moments.

Before he could comprehend it, he was suddenly kneeling beside his horse, pressing his hand against its wound. But he had no healing abilities. The Saintess was nowhere to be seen. The clerics who had accompanied them—none of their white-and-gold robes were visible.

Only blood. A sea of blood and shattered bodies.

Oscar turned back to his horse, staring into its lifeless eyes—until an ominous presence from the village center sent a chill down his spine.

Where the pile of corpses had been, a skeletal, blackened hand with golden veins burst from the ground, followed by the entire figure of an undead—a towering, horned entity drenched in blood. It raised its hands toward the sky.

For seconds, Oscar could only stare in horror, frozen—until a sharp pain seared his neck.

Looking down, his eyes widened in disbelief.

His own horse—its lifeless, blackened eyes now bulging with engorged blood vessels—had sunk its teeth into his throat, tearing at his flesh.