The tops of flags emerge first, stark silhouettes against the horizon. Soon after, the demon army comes into full view. A formidable force: cavalry, knights, supply wagons, and foot soldiers—a thousand strong.

The murmurs of surprise ripple through the townsfolk. Henrik—a man most knew only as the gruff, reclusive blacksmith from the outskirts—now stands as the chosen leader of Kundor's defense. Even among the defenders, the decision feels almost surreal. I guess he hid his identity quite well.

Henrik and Hubbert stand tall atop the city gate, their presence commanding. Both are clad in full plate armor, the dull gleam of steel catching the morning light. Hubbert grips a large sword, while Henrik holds his warhammer with his right hand while holding a helm with his left armpit, his expression betraying no emotion.

To my right, a row of archers stands ready, their fingers testing the tension of their bowstrings. To my left, the young men of my squad clutch their spears, their faces pale and tense. David, beside me, is the lone exception. Despite the weight of the iron helmet on his head and the spear in his hands, his eyes are steady and focused. He doesn’t look scared—perhaps he’s hiding it better than the rest of us.

The demon army halts in perfect unison. The stillness is almost eerie, broken only by the occasional snort of their horses or the rustle of distant banners. From their ranks, a single figure begins to ride forward atop a massive horse, both rider and steed encased in shiny armor.

The rider halts just within shouting distance of our gates. Slowly and deliberately, they reach up and remove their horned helmet. The polished steel splits cleanly into two pieces, revealing a pale face beneath. To my shock, the horns I assumed were part of the helm remain.

They weren’t part of the helmet at all.

This is a demon.

The demon’s blonde locks and piercing light blue eyes stand in stark contrast to the black horns protruding from his forehead. His clean-shaven chin only serves to emphasize the unsettling smile spreading across his face.

“Greetings, gentlemen!” The demon’s deep voice thunders, resonating across the field. Prancing leisurely atop his armored horse, he continues with a smug grin, “What a dandy morning for a battle, wouldn’t you say?”

“Enough of your theatrics, demon!” Henrik roars, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Forgive my excitement, dear human.” He says, his tone polite. “Let me introduce myself—I am Alfred Blackhorn, the commander of the army behind me. Hand over your city peacefully, and no blood will be shed.”

So, this is the infamous Alfred. His excitement seems genuine, almost unnervingly so. Seeing a demon for the first time feels surreal, as though he’s more a symbol from a storybook than a living, breathing adversary.

“No,” Henrik responds firmly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

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Alfred chuckles, unfazed. “It’s impolite to forgo introductions. I gave you my name; it’s only fair you share yours.”

Alfred doesn’t seem to recognize Henrik. He mentioned meeting him before, but it must have been long ago. The weight of that forgotten encounter lingers in Henrik’s silence.

A strange thought stirs within me: if a battle between Alfred and Henrik does happen, I want Laura to witness it. Alfred is most likely a Red Frost mage, and as a commander, he’s undoubtedly a master. Seeing such mastery in action might teach her something.

Henrik leaves the wall without a word, his expression unreadable. In response, Alfred turns his horse and rides back to his army. The tension in the air remains heavy, but the interaction is over.

With that silent exchange, our fate is sealed.

Hundreds will die.

We soldiers remain stationed on the wall in shifts. My first is with David, the mid-October chill biting at our skin as we sit and watch the demon army setting up camp.

“So this is what a demon looks like,” David murmurs, his voice tinged with awe.

I suppose it’s a first for everyone. Strangely, I find myself grateful I’m not alone. The experience feels surreal, almost dreamlike. The demon’s appearance wasn’t monstrous—it was ethereal, unnervingly human.

“But…” David continues, his voice lowering. “The way he talks—it’s unnerving, you know?”

Henrik did warn us about Alfred’s infamy. A true sadist, he embodies every stereotype about demons. I can only hope there are few like him. After all, the Goddess herself said that both sides pray for an end to the conflict.

Hours drag by as we sit in the biting cold, watching the demon army. They move with unsettling efficiency. After erecting their tents, they quickly shift to cutting trees—likely for trebuchets, siege towers, and other siege implements. The realization sends a chill deeper than the October air.

Our shift finally ends, replaced by another pair of young men. Relief washes over me at leaving the cold behind, but nervousness gnaws at me. Not having my own eyes on their movements feels unsettling, like an itch I can’t scratch.

Rest is essential, though. The thought of warm food keeps me moving toward the keep. I wonder what Laura and her new friend have prepared for us tonight. It’s probably soup again—not that I’d complain.

As the day winds down, I find myself alone with Laura in our room. She looks drained but carries a spark of excitement as she recounts her day, especially her time with Pamela. It’s a relief to see her connecting with someone else—it feels like a step forward for her.

I reflect on my own day. It seems I’ve found a new friend as well. David, as irritating as he can be with his constant teasing, reminds me of a little brother I never had. Annoying, yes, but oddly endearing. Maybe I needed that kind of bond too. Perhaps, in a way, I’ve been too dependent on Laura myself.

“I was thinking we should leave this city after the siege is over,” I muse aloud.

“You mean the university plans?” Laura asks, her tone curious.

“Yes,” I reply, nodding. “But we’ll need to figure out where one is first. Then there’s the matter of enrollment—I imagine that will take some time.”

“And after that?” she asks.

My heart skips a beat. The question lingers in the air, heavy with the weight of a past I’d rather forget. It’s a question I’ve heard too many times before—a reminder of my shortcomings.

From my mother.

Back home, thinking about the future was something I avoided like the plague. The mere thought always felt suffocating, and now it’s no different. I clutch my chest, feeling the erratic pounding of my heart. My breath quickens. Not now—not in front of her. Please, not now.

I glance at her. Her expression shifts, confused and surprised. My eyes begin to sting.

Without warning, she wraps her arms around me in a firm, reassuring hug.

“Everything is fine; I’m here,” she whispers softly into my ear.

I close my eyes, letting out a snort through. “Thank you, Laura,” I manage to say, my voice shaky.

And just like that, the crushing weight on my chest begins to melt away. With her by my side, the fear doesn’t feel so paralyzing. Somehow, her presence makes me feel strong.