The meeting with Commander Edran didn’t stretch out for long. Both Rifi and Kaelin saw no need to take command from someone as seasoned and competent as Edran. Despite the chaos and devastation surrounding the western border, the man remained calm, precise, and deeply aware of the strategic landscape. Commanding the western Legion in his stead would have been more of an inconvenience for the two battlemages. Their mission, though crucial, required freedom of movement and the ability to act swiftly, not the weight of managing the entirety of the encampment.

What mattered was that Edran prioritized their "advice." The Commander, experienced as he was, understood the gravity of the situation. Rifi and Kaelin’s suggestions were not mere words of caution but directives rooted in the desperate need to counter the imminent threat. It was enough for now.

It wouldn’t be until the following day that they could embark on their reconnaissance mission. The Legionaries chosen to accompany them were still recovering from the relentless battles of the past few days. Fatigue was etched into them, their wounds, hastily patched, a testament to the brutal combat they had survived. The Legion had been stretched thin, and even the hardiest among them needed rest before venturing into the unknown once more.

As Rifi and Kaelin exited the soundproof tent of the commander, the cacophony of the encampment hit them like a physical force. The distant but unmistakable sounds of battle, the clamor of weary soldiers tending to their duties, the moans of the injured, and the cries of orders being barked through the camp’s winding paths—it was a world alive with tension. The brief respite inside the commander’s tent was over, and now, they were back in the reality of the western front.

Rifi finally took in the full gravity of the situation. The encampment, once designed to hold roughly a thousand Legionaries, now swelled beyond capacity. Over ten thousand people—Legionaries, refugees from the border villages, and surviving scouts from the outlying posts—were packed into the camp’s perimeter. The tents that had once been orderly were now overcrowded. Legionaries huddled outside, some leaning on their spears or swords, others slumped in exhaustion. Many civilians, with vacant, haunted expressions, gathered in small clusters, their meager belongings piled at their feet. There were too many people for the encampment’s modest facilities to support.

The usual disciplined air of a Legion camp was tainted by desperation. The Legionaries of Hepestus, normally unflinching in their resolve, now moved with a weariness that spoke to the toll the past few days had taken on them. Their eyes were shadowed by exhaustion and fear, and while they still held their weapons, the once-unshakable confidence of the Legion seemed fractured. The battles they had fought were not the skirmishes they had prepared for; they were something far worse. Something none of them had truly been ready for.

The legionaries and civilians alike gazed at Rifi and Kaelin as they passed through the crowded paths. It wasn’t just curiosity; there was a flicker of hope in their eyes, a small light that hadn’t been there before. For the first time in days, some of these battle-hardened legionaries looked up, their grim expressions softening, if only slightly.

Rifi could hear the whispers as they spread like wildfire through the camp: The battlemages have come.

It was a title that carried weight. The western legion had only three red-core spellbound mages at the outset of this conflict, and after the recent attacks, only two remained—Edran and one other, who was severely injured and unable to fight at the moment. The sight of two battlemages, whose power was equal to or greater than several red-core mages combined, brought a glimmer of hope to the legionaries.

To them, it almost felt as if their fighting power had doubled. Rifi understood that the soldiers were grasping for anything that resembled a chance of survival, of victory, or at the very least, of holding the line long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Battlemages weren’t just warriors; they were legends on the battlefield, figures who could turn the tide of war with their mastery of both magic and combat. In a world where their enemies wielded dark powers and corrupted beasts, battlemages represented something stronger—something greater.

As they moved through the camp, Kaelin broke the silence. "They’re looking at us like we’re saviors," he muttered, though there was no hint of arrogance in his tone. He wasn’t used to it.

Rifi nodded, his eyes scanning the legionaries around him. "It’s because we’re not what they usually see. The West hasn’t had battlemages stationed here in years. To them, we’re their last hope."

Kaelin grunted. "Then we’ll have to live up to that hope." His voice was resolute, but Rifi could sense the burden weighing on his friend. They had just arrived, and already the expectations of ten thousand souls rested on their shoulders.

"Indeed." Rifi nodded with a grim look on his face "Hepestus has been enjoying years of peace, but it feels like that is about to change. Hope is what the Legion needs now."

As they reached the far side of the camp, where the defenses were being hastily rebuilt, Rifi couldn’t help but feel reassured by one simple fact. The enemy was taking measures to cut off communications—going so far as to intercept messengers, destroy outposts, and isolate the western encampment. This, more than anything, told him that they were not yet prepared for their final strike. Whatever dark plot was unfolding, the enemy needed more time.

That meant there was still a chance. If the battlemages could gather enough intelligence, if they could disrupt the enemy’s plans long enough for reinforcements to arrive, they might stand a fighting chance.

"The enemy’s going above and beyond to isolate us," Rifi said aloud, as much to himself as to Kaelin. "That means they’re not ready yet. Whatever they’re planning, we have time. But not much I would bet."

Kaelin nodded grimly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Then we’ll make sure they don’t get the time they need."

As the tension between them subsided, Rifi and Kaelin exchanged a glance, a mutual understanding passing between them. The legionaries of Hepestus needed more than just hope; they needed time to breathe, to recover. And there was only one way to give them that—by taking the fight to the enemy themselves.

"The legion is in a very bad condition, they need relief." Kaelin muttered, his gaze hardening as he scanned the far side of the camp, where the makeshift barricades barely held against the pressure of the ongoing skirmishes. "We can’t let them keep fighting like this, not in their condition."

Rifi nodded, his senses already flaring outward, reading the ebb and flow of mana in the distance. The enemy was relentless, but they weren’t pushing with their full force just yet. It was more like they were constantly testing the defenses, probing for weaknesses, sending beasts in wave after wave. The Legionaries, exhausted and bruised, were barely holding the line. But if he and Kaelin stepped in, even for a few hours, they could tip the balance, giving the defenders the break they so desperately needed.

"Agreed," Rifi said. "We hold the line ourselves. Give the soldiers the time to recover. A few hours might be all they need."

Kaelin grinned, the weight of the situation settling on his broad shoulders. "Then let's show them what battlemages are capable of."

Without another word, the two battlemages made their way toward the outskirts of the camp. The soldiers who caught sight of them gave small nods of respect and relief, and the whispers continued to ripple through the ranks. The battlemages are going to fight. For the Legionaries, it was more than just a statement—it was a promise that their saviors were ready to stand at the frontlines, that help had arrived.

As they reached the battle-scarred perimeter, they informed the Centurions in charge of the defenses of their intentions.

Rifi and Kaelin exchanged a brief, determined look before splitting up, each heading to a different section of the line. They spread out across the field, their presence evenly distributed to provide the most coverage. The Legionaries who had been struggling to hold back the waves of corrupted beasts and mercenaries fell back gratefully, retreating to the safety of the camp’s interior to catch their breath.

Rifi took his place at the south end of the defenses, his hands craclinging with lightning mana. The familiar hum of power coursed through him as he focused on the enemy forces gathering in the distance. He could feel the corrupted beasts closing in, their mana twisted and foul. It was the same sensation he had felt earlier—the mark of the Devils’ influence he figured.

All the way in the back, Rifi could sense more mana signatures, human ones. The mercenaries that were controling the beasts it would seem.

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Kaelin, positioned farther north the line, drew his sword and let his fire mana flow freely. Flames roared to life along the length of his blade, illuminating the battlefield in a brilliant blaze. He stood like a beacon on the battlefield, his fiery presence enough to make even the most hardened of enemies hesitate.

The first wave came quickly, a horde of corrupted beasts charging forward, their twisted forms illuminated by the flickering light of Kaelin’s fire. The air buzzed with tension, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the very earth was holding its breath.

Then, with a flash of movement, Rifi was the first to strike.

Lightning surged from his hands, arcing across the battlefield in blinding streaks of blue-white energy. The bolts tore through the beasts’ ranks, their shrieks of pain echoing through the air as the electrical current seared their flesh and disrupted their corrupted mana. Rifi moved like the storm itself, his body a blur of speed as he darted between enemies, each strike precise and devastating. His twin swords crackled with energy, slicing through flesh and bone with deadly efficiency.

The beasts never stood a chance.

From the moment Rifi stepped onto the battlefield, the outcome was decided. Most of the creatures in the first wave were low-ranked, their twisted forms no match for the sheer force he wielded. He didn’t need to pour dense mana into his strikes; even at minimal output, the results were devastating. Lightning mana surged from his core, arcing across the field in bright, searing flashes, each bolt finding its mark with deadly precision. The air hummed with energy, and the smell of ozone filled the battlefield as one by one, the corrupted beasts fell, their bodies collapsing under the relentless assault.

Rifi moved like a force of nature, his speed so extraordinary it defied comprehension. To the onlookers, it was as if he were teleporting from one place to another, his form blurring and reappearing in flashes of lightning-infused motion. One moment he was at the far end of the battle line, the next, he was slashing through the heart of the enemy’s ranks, his swords crackling with electric energy. The very ground beneath his feet scorched with the intensity of his mana as he unleashed a storm of strikes.

His movements were fluid, almost like a dance, each step perfectly timed and precise. His swords, both infused with crackling lightning, cut through the higher ranked beasts as though their hides were made of nothing more than parchment.

Lower-ranked creatures were obliterated in a single strike—torn apart by the explosive force of the electricity coursing through Rifi’s blades, or the lightning bolts that Rifi conjured constantly. Their twisted bodies sparked and sizzled, collapsing into the dirt as lifeless husks.

But it was the higher-ranked beasts that truly revealed the depth of Rifi's prowess. In order not to waste mana using higher density lightning bolts, Rifi made sure to finish these beasts with his swords. These creatures, towering and monstrous, were built for destruction—hardened hides that could withstand lesser attacks, claws that could tear through armor, and dark, corrupted mana that fueled their aggression. Yet even they faltered under Rifi’s relentless assault. His lightning-infused swords met their ferocity head-on, slashing through scales and muscle with ease.

One particularly large beast—a hulking creature with spiked armor-like plates and glowing eyes—charged at Rifi with a bellowing roar, its massive claws carving furrows into the earth as it bore down on him. But Rifi stood his ground, his expression calm, his body thrumming with controlled power. As the beast lunged, he vanished, leaving only a faint shimmer of static in the air where he had stood.

Before the creature could react, Rifi reappeared behind it, his blades already in motion. Lightning surged along the edge of his swords as he brought them down in a swift, calculated strike. The sharp crack of electricity split the air as the blades sliced cleanly through the creature's thick hide, sending arcs of lightning rippling through its massive frame. The beast froze, its roar cut short as the electricity tore through its body, its corrupted mana disintegrating under the overwhelming force. In a heartbeat, the creature collapsed, lifeless, its once imposing form now nothing more than a charred, smoking heap on the ground.

Rifi didn’t stop to savor the victory. His instincts drove him forward. Another beast—this one smaller but faster—rushed at him from the side, its eyes glowing with dark energy. With a flash of movement, Rifi sidestepped the attack, his form flickering like a bolt of lightning as he dodged the beast’s savage claws. In one swift motion, he drove his sword deep into its side, releasing a surge of lightning mana that exploded from the point of contact. The creature howled in agony, its body convulsing violently as the electricity coursed through its veins, until it collapsed in a twitching heap at his feet.

The south battlefield was a storm of lightning and chaos, and Rifi was its center. Each strike of his blades was a precise, lethal stroke, each bolt of lightning a deadly force of nature. His movements were beyond the comprehension of the lesser creatures that faced him; to them, he was untouchable, a blur of destructive energy that moved too fast to track.

North along the battle line, Kaelin was another force of nature, an inferno in human form. His presence alone seemed to warp the very air around him, the temperature rising with each step he took. His sword, a massive blade infused with fire mana, blazed with an intensity that mirrored his resolve. The flames licked hungrily at the steel, not just for show, but as a living extension of Kaelin’s own power, ready to be unleashed with every strike.

As the waves of attackers surged forward, Kaelin moved with precision and deadly purpose. His sword swung in wide, brutal arcs, each slash igniting the very air as it cut through the enemies before him. The flames didn’t just burn—they consumed. Every time his blade made contact with a beast, the corrupted creature erupted into flames, its body disintegrating under the sheer heat and force of Kaelin’s mana. Fire spread quickly across the battlefield, turning the twisted forms of the attackers into little more than ash and embers before they could even let out a death cry.

Kaelin's fire wasn't merely destructive; it was relentless, a constant force that devoured everything in its path. With each swing of his sword, waves of molten fire followed in his wake, turning the ground beneath him into molten slag. The earth itself seemed to tremble beneath his feet, scorched and blackened as the heat radiating from him intensified with each passing moment. The very ground was left smoldering and charred, glowing red with embers that refused to cool, a testament to the raw power Kaelin wielded.

When a large beast—a hulking creature with claws like jagged stone—charged at Kaelin, it barely had time to swing before he countered with a forceful strike. His sword met the beast's claw mid-air, and the resulting explosion of fire was so intense that the creature was engulfed in flames instantly. The fire wrapped around its form, consuming it from the inside out. Within seconds, the beast collapsed into a pile of ash, its body incinerated before it could even hit the ground.

As beast surrounder Kaelin, roaring as they charged at him from all sides. With a roar of his own, Kaelin slammed his blade into the ground, sending a ripple of fire mana surging through the earth. The molten wave of energy raced toward the beast, and within seconds, the ground beneath them exploded into a geyser of molten lava, the heat so intense that their bodies melted before they could even scream. The sheer force of Kaelin’s mana reduced them to nothing more than glowing pools of molten meat and scorched bone.

He was unstoppable. The flames were his shield and his sword, burning hotter with each passing second as his mana coursed through him. There was no hesitation in his movements, no wasted effort—every strike was lethal, every swing of his sword igniting the battlefield with destructive force.

The north battlefield was a furnace, and Kaelin was its master.

For hours, the two battlemages held the line, their power unmatched by anything the enemy could throw at them. They fought without rest, their mana reserves seemingly endless as they unleashed wave after wave of devastating attacks. Each strike from Rifi sent lightning ripping through the enemy ranks, while Kaelin’s flames burned away any hope of resistance.

The relief they provided was immediate and overwhelming. With Rifi and Kaelin holding the front, the Legionaries were able to fall back, tend to the wounded, and regroup. Many of them collapsed from exhaustion, grateful to finally have a moment to catch their breath. The sound of battle still echoed in their ears, but for the first time in days, they weren’t the ones fighting for their lives.

The hope that had been kindled earlier now blazed like a fire throughout the camp. As they watched the battlemages hold the line, the Legionaries began to regain their strength, their spirits lifted by the sight of such power on their side. The camp, once teetering on the brink of collapse, now hummed with renewed energy. Soldiers shared whispered words of encouragement, their eyes fixed on the blazing line of fire and lightning that held the enemy at bay.

Rifi could feel it too—the shift in the camp’s atmosphere. The Legionaries weren’t broken anymore. They were waiting, recovering, ready to fight once more.

"Not much longer," he thought, his swords still crackling with energy as he sliced through another wave of beasts. "Just a little more time."

The enemy, however, was relentless. For every wave of beasts they cut down, more surged forward, their numbers seemingly endless. But Rifi and Kaelin didn’t falter. They couldn’t afford to.

Hours passed, but to the battlemages, it felt like mere moments. Their focus never wavered, their bodies moving on pure instinct as they tore through the enemy ranks. The sky had darkened, the sun now a faint glow on the horizon, but the battlefield remained alight with the power of their mana.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the waves of enemies began to slow. The mercenaries that had kept their distance through the whole battle, realizing that their beasts had been decimated and their forces thinned, started to retreat even further back. The corrupted creatures, their connection to the dark mana severed, fell back in confusion, unable to press the attack without direction.

Kaelin, panting but still standing tall, lowered his sword, the flames flickering out as the last of the enemies fled. He glanced toward Rifi, who stood among the charred and broken bodies of the beasts, his lightning fading into the air like smoke.

"Look at the bastards give up," Kaelin said, his voice rough but satisfied. "We might get some peace for now."

Rifi nodded, his body aching from the prolonged use of mana but his heart steady. The camp behind them had been given the time it needed to recover, the Legionaries now rested and ready to face whatever came next.

"That should have bought the Legion enough time," Rifi said, his voice calm but firm. "Now, we need to recover as well, to be ready for tomorrow."

And as the camp stirred with renewed hope, the two battlemages stood on the battlefield, their presence a testament to the strength that still remained in Hepestus.