After disposing of Kevin, I wasted no time asserting my authority over the Demonic Guild.

"Gather everything," I commanded, my voice cold and unyielding.

"All important items—artifacts, demonic spheres, resources. Everything."

The remaining members scrambled to obey, their fear palpable.

Within hours, a trove of items had been amassed and sent to my dungeon.

These treasures would serve to upgrade my army and fortify my domain, tools to bring my reign to its peak.

But my focus wasn’t on the future—it was on the Lionheart base.

This was the perfect moment.

Their elite members were scattered, hunting remnants of the Demonic Guild, blind to the threat looming on their doorstep.

I summoned my forces. Golems stood in unyielding lines, their stone bodies glinting under the faint light.

Chimera ants hissed and clicked, their sharpened mandibles hungry for battle.

Magal, fully healed and glowing faintly with renewed strength, towered beside me, his eyes burning with a cruel hunger.

"Krothe," I muttered.

The raven-like creature perched on my shoulder let out a low caw, its gaze sharp.

It had already departed earlier, scouting the paths and fortifications around Lionheart’s stronghold.

With its ability to share its vision, I saw the defenses as if through its own eyes.

Some routes were teeming with hunters, their presence strong and alert.

Others were sparsely guarded, their watchmen weary and poorly positioned.

I analyzed every detail, my mind calculating the path of least resistance.

"This way," I murmured, setting the plan in motion.

With a simple gesture, my army began its march.

The ground trembled beneath the synchronized steps of the golems.

The air filled with the chittering and screeches of chimera ants as they surged forward.

The first resistance came quickly—small squads of hunters who had either been stationed on patrol or who stumbled upon my army.

"Stand your ground!" one of them yelled, raising a glowing sword.

A group of hunters charged, their weapons shining with mana.

Spells flew through the air, fireballs and lightning bolts illuminating the darkened sky.

They were brave—determined even—but woefully unprepared.

The first golem stepped into their line, swiping its massive stone arm and crushing two hunters in an instant.

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A chimera ant lunged, its mandibles snapping through shields and armor.

"Fall back!" another hunter screamed, but it was too late.

My army was a force of nature, relentless and overwhelming.

The few who fled were allowed to run—not out of mercy, but to spread the terror of what was coming.

Each skirmish was a variation of the same story.

Hunters tried to mount resistance, only to be shattered by the unyielding strength of the golems or poisoned by the venom of the chimera ants.

Even those who showed exceptional skill, weaving through attacks and striking at my forces, eventually succumbed to the sheer numbers and unrelenting pressure.

Their screams faded into silence as we pressed onward.

By the time we reached the outskirts of the Lionheart base, the sun was setting, casting a blood-red hue over the battlefield.

The base loomed ahead, its walls fortified and brimming with defenders.

Hunters were stationed in tight formations, their eyes hard and resolute.

Spells were being prepared, and weapons gleamed in the fading light.

I chuckled softly, the sound echoing through the tense air.

They were ready for a siege—but they were fools to think they could hold.

"Attack," I commanded, my voice carrying above the rumble of my army.

The golems surged forward, their massive forms absorbing the initial volley of spells and arrows.

Fireballs exploded against their rocky bodies, leaving scorch marks but no real damage.

They slammed into the outer barricades, smashing through wooden palisades with ease.

The chimera ants followed, pouring into gaps created by the golems.

Hunters clashed with them head-on, their swords cutting through carapace and mandibles.

But for every chimera that fell, two more took its place, their venomous bites taking a deadly toll.

The defenders fought valiantly.

Groups of them formed defensive lines, shielding their weaker members while launching coordinated counterattacks.

One hunter, clad in golden armor, leaped onto a golem’s back, plunging his blade into its neck and shattering its core.

But the victory was short-lived.

Another golem stepped forward, grabbing the hunter and crushing him in its massive hands.

Magal roared as he joined the fray, his speed unmatched.

He tore through hunters like a storm, his claws ripping apart shields and flesh alike.

Those who tried to engage him were struck down in seconds, their cries silenced by his relentless fury.

The Lionheart defenders began to falter. Exhaustion and dwindling numbers took their toll.

Even the strongest among them started to show cracks in their resolve.

I stood at the rear, watching the chaos unfold with a cold satisfaction.

The battle was turning, the tide overwhelming the once-proud defenders.

"Push forward," I commanded, my voice cutting through the din of battle.

My forces surged with renewed ferocity, breaking through the final defenses.

The walls of the Lionheart base began to crumble, the once-mighty fortress reduced to a battlefield of ruin and despair.

The Lionheart defenders were falling, one by one. Soon, all that would remain would be ash and silence.

The battle was going well.

My army tore through the defenders with ruthless precision.

The Lionheart hunters were faltering, their numbers thinning, their resolve breaking under the unrelenting might of my golems and chimera ants.

Victory was within my grasp.

But then, a shift in the battlefield caught my attention.

Among the chaos, a group of hunters in strange, flowing robes emerged.

Their garments bore intricate symbols, glyphs glowing faintly in the fading light.

My eyes narrowed as I recognized them.

"The Mystic Tower," I muttered, disdain lacing my voice.

A mysterious faction, their motives often shrouded in secrecy, had now joined the fray.

Their arrival tipped the balance—if only slightly.

The robed figures moved with unnatural grace, their spells tearing through my chimera ants and damaging the golems.

Arcane blasts of light, shadow, and elemental fury rained down, creating cracks in the battlefield.

Yet, despite their efforts, the Mystic Tower hunters were not enough.

My forces were vast, unrelenting, and superior.

Their resistance was little more than a flickering candle against the storm that was my army.

Or so I thought.

Then he appeared.

A strange chill prickled at the back of my neck.

The once chaotic sounds of battle seemed to dampen, replaced by a growing, eerie silence.

A faint mist began to form across the battlefield, curling through the wreckage and debris like ghostly tendrils.

"So, he’s finally here," a voice whispered in my ear.

It was calm, almost amused, but it carried an undeniable weight.

I didn’t need to turn to know who had arrived.

The temperature began to drop rapidly.

Frost crept over the ground, turning the blood-soaked earth into a frozen wasteland.

And then I saw him.

A figure emerged from the mist, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the dim light.

He walked slowly, almost leisurely, but each step was deliberate.

His skin was pale, tinged with a faint blue hue, as though his body had been carved from ice itself.

His hair, as white as freshly fallen snow, glistened with frost.

Every breath he exhaled released a visible plume of cold air, and his icy gaze swept across the battlefield with a calm detachment.

Where his foot touched the ground, frost spread in jagged veins, freezing the earth beneath him.

A group of my golems charged at him, their massive forms barreling forward like boulders.

He didn’t flinch.

With a single, fluid motion, he extended his hand.

Frost exploded outward, enveloping the golems.

Their bodies froze mid-motion, their massive stone forms crystallizing into shimmering ice sculptures.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, an ice spear materialized in his hand.

Effortlessly, he swung it in a wide arc.

The frozen golems shattered into a thousand glittering fragments, their remains scattering across the battlefield like broken glass.

I watched, transfixed, as a cold, primal fear began to creep into my heart.

It wasn’t just the literal cold that emanated from him—it was the way he carried himself.

Calm, methodical, and utterly unstoppable.

He was no ordinary hunter.

For the first time in this entire campaign, I felt the sharp pang of uncertainty.

No. It wasn’t uncertainty.

It was fear.

This man, this entity… he wasn’t human.

He was something else. Something primal.

Something I couldn’t control.

My instincts screamed at me to retreat, to abandon this fight and preserve myself.

The thought infuriated me, but as the frost crept closer and my forces began to fall, frozen in his wake, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was facing a force far beyond my understanding.

For the first time, I realized I might not win this battle.