Chapter 17 Lance the Soldier

Alvin of Iron Wall stood with his back pressed against the two career soldiers Luiz had sent to accompany him. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and sweat poured down his face, mixing with the grime and soot that clung to his skin. His shield arm ached, the weight of his so-called title bearing down on him.

They called him the Iron Wall because of his skill with the shield, but it was a name that now felt like a cruel joke. A shield could only protect what was in front of him—his back was as vulnerable as any other man’s.

He cursed himself for not being able to hire proper A-rank adventurers for this excursion, even with his father’s influence. But those connections could only stretch so far, and the adventurers he had managed to secure—though B-ranks—were nowhere to be found.

The reality was sinking in now. His party was dead. The spearmen behind him were the only reason he wasn’t entirely alone. He tightened his grip on his sword, raising it in a defensive posture, trying to appear composed.

But he wasn’t composed. He was terrified.

That orange cat had spoken. It had talked.

It wasn’t just the shock of hearing a cat’s voice—it was the malice behind it. The intelligence in its gaze. Alvin’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced his feet to stay rooted. If he bolted now, he’d be as good as dead.

The spearmen weren’t as disciplined. One of them, a younger man who looked barely out of training, turned and broke into a sprint.

“Stay put!” Alvin shouted, his voice cracking. “Don’t—”

But the soldier didn’t listen. He dashed into the open, only to be intercepted by a gray blur. The gray massive cat tackled the man with enough force to knock him flat. The spearman screamed, but it was cut short as the tabby, Scruffy, materialized from the shadows and slit his throat with precision.

The second spearman, older and more experienced, hesitated for only a moment before following his comrade’s example. Unlike the first, he managed to outrun the pursuing cats, disappearing into the burning forest.

Alvin was alone now.

He cursed his luck, his father, and his own cowardice. He should have run when the spearmen did.

And then he met the gaze of the orange cat.

Its amber eyes burned with a focused hatred, locking onto him with predatory intent. It didn’t need to speak for Alvin to understand—this creature wanted him dead.

The cat began to stalk forward, its movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Alvin’s hands trembled as he raised his shield, trying to hide behind it like a child hiding from a nightmare.

“Stay back!” Alvin shouted, his voice rising to a near-squeal. “I’m warning you!”

The orange cat didn’t stop.

Alvin’s mind raced. His shield wouldn’t protect him from the fireballs it had unleashed earlier. He couldn’t run—the gray and tabby were still out there.

He was trapped.

The cat leaped.

Alvin swung his sword wildly, but the orange blur twisted midair, avoiding the blade entirely. Its claws raked across his shield, the force of the impact knocking him off balance.

He stumbled backward, his heel catching on a root, and fell hard onto his back. His sword clattered from his grasp, leaving him defenseless.

The orange cat landed gracefully, its gaze never wavering. It approached him slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment.

“Wait!” Alvin begged, his voice breaking. “Please, I can pay you! I have gold—connections—anything you want!”

The cat tilted its head, as if considering the offer. Then it bared its teeth in what could only be described as a smile.

“No deal,” it said in a low, guttural tone.

And then the flames came.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

For Alvin of Iron Wall, his last memories had been pain—searing, unrelenting, and final. But for Lance, it was relief.

Lance had always been an unremarkable soldier in the grand schemes of Felor’s army. He had spent decades as a footsoldier, never advancing in rank, not for lack of effort but for lack of talent or connections. Despite his modest career, he had always been damn good with a spear, his skill honed through years of disciplined training and survival.

Now, all of that seemed meaningless. The burning forest behind him, the fire devil and its monstrous feline minions, the screams of his comrades—all of it had shaken him to his core.

Lance ran like a madman, his heart pounding as loudly as the roar of the flames. His spear, his trusted companion for so many years, became dead weight in his hands. He let it go, the polished wood clattering against the forest floor, and focused solely on escaping the hellish scene.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs burned with exhaustion, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The image of that orange demon-cat with its burning eyes and fiery claws haunted his every step.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lance stumbled out of the forest and into the clearing where Luiz had set up a temporary encampment.

The camp was a chaotic mixture of soldiers, adventurers, and mercenaries, all weary from the battle and struggling to regroup. Supplies of food and potions were stacked haphazardly in the center, and the air buzzed with tension.

Lance collapsed to his knees, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear. A few soldiers rushed to his side, helping him to his feet and offering him water, but he waved them off.

“I need to see the commander,” Lance rasped. “Now.”

Moments later, Lance stood before Luiz Amoro Martinez. The commander’s soot-streaked face was a mask of grim determination, his eyes scanning Lance with a mixture of suspicion and concern.

“What happened out there?” Luiz demanded, his voice sharp.

Lance swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the water he’d been given. “They’re dead,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alvin… the others… all of them. The fire devil got them.”

“Fire devil?” Luiz’s brow furrowed.

“It’s a cat,” Lance explained, his voice growing steadier as he recounted the events. “An orange one. It spoke—used magic. Fire everywhere. And there were others—gray and tabby cats. They… they’re not normal, sir. They fight like soldiers. No, better than soldiers.”

Luiz’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. “And the others? Alvin’s men?”

Lance shook his head. “Gone. Dead or scattered. I saw them, torn apart by those beasts. The other ran, but I don’t know if he made it. Alvin…” He hesitated, the memory of the Iron Wall’s final moments flashing through his mind. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

Luiz exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. He turned to one of his captains. “Double the perimeter guards. We need to secure this position and protect the supplies.”

The captain saluted and hurried off, leaving Luiz to face Lance once more.

“You did well to make it back,” Luiz said, his tone softer now. “Rest and recover. We’ll need every man we can get.”

Lance’s breathing was still uneven, his mind a whirlwind of fear and urgency as he processed the chaos he had just escaped. But amidst the haze, a sudden clarity gripped him, and his eyes widened in realization.

“No!” he blurted, his voice breaking through the din of the camp. “Sir Luiz, we can’t stay here!”

Luiz Amoro Martinez, who had just begun to turn away to address his captains, froze mid-step and turned back to Lance, his expression a mix of irritation and curiosity.

“What are you talking about, soldier?” Luiz asked, his voice sharp but measured.

“If we make camp here as it is, they’ll escape!” Lance exclaimed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “The cats—those devils—they have too few numbers! If we give them time, they’ll slip away, regroup, and strike again when we’re vulnerable. We must attack them now, with everything we have! It’s the only way to corner them!”

Luiz’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest. “And how do you know this? You just said their leader is some kind of fire-wielding demon. Charging in blindly could be suicide.”

Lance shook his head emphatically. “I saw it with my own eyes, sir! There weren’t many of them. A few dozen at most! And so much fewer than that in reality. They rely on tactics and ambushes, but they can’t stand against overwhelming numbers. If we press them now, we can end this once and for all.”

Luiz studied Lance for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The other soldiers and adventurers nearby had fallen silent, their attention focused on the exchange.

“Sir Luiz,” Lance continued, his voice steadying as he found his resolve. “You’re an admirable knight. One of the best Felor ever had. And because of what those cats did—because of that heist—you lost your post, your reputation, everything. This is our chance to end this madness and restore your honor. Don’t let them slip away. Not now.”

The weight of Lance’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, Luiz said nothing. Then, slowly, he uncrossed his arms and let out a deep breath.

“You’re certain of their numbers?” Luiz asked.

Lance nodded. “Positive, sir. They’ve been whittling us down with traps and ambushes, but they’re stretched thin. They’ve lost some of their own, too. If we hit them hard now, they won’t be able to recover.”

Luiz turned his gaze toward the burning forest, the flickering flames reflected in his eyes. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This was his chance—not just to end the Whiskered Uprising, but to reclaim the respect and honor he had lost.

“Gather the captains,” Luiz ordered, his voice firm and resolute. “We’ll prepare an assault immediately. I want every able-bodied man ready to move within the hour. No one rests until this is over.”

The camp erupted into activity as soldiers and adventurers scrambled to follow Luiz’s orders. Lance watched the scene unfold, a mixture of relief and apprehension washing over him. He had done his part, but the battle ahead would be unlike any they had faced before.

As Luiz walked away, barking orders and rallying his forces, Lance couldn’t help but glance back toward the forest. The image of the orange fire devil was seared into his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were about to face something far more dangerous than any of them realized. Lance regretted speaking out of turn just then… It wasn’t his fault the soldier in him was just ingrained that much.