Reeve Norman snatched a spear from a nearby soldier and turned toward the city wall, a grin plastered across his face. He pulled his arm back, ready to throw—

A voice cut through the air.

“Reeve… must you waste your energy on such trivialities? The city will run out of food in the coming days. A desperate battle is inevitable.”

Reeve frowned, lowering the spear as he turned toward the speaker. His gaze landed on Langley Proudfoot, one of the original Holy Knights of Lhair under the Bishop’s command.

Despite his age, Langley stood as rigid as a drawn blade, his presence exuding power. Among the Holy Knights, he was the most senior, the most disciplined—trusted deeply by the Bishop himself.

Which made it all the more puzzling why the Bishop had chosen Reeve to lead instead.

Reeve suspected the answer. Langley was soft. Too soft for a war like this, despite his lofty position.

Reeve, on the other hand, had taken his oath only months ago. In that short time, he had established dominance. His strength had soared beyond expectation, and even among the Holy Knights, he was the strongest by far.

“Langley, this is vengeance for Richter and Val.” His voice was calm, firm. He hefted the spear again.

Langley let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Do not lie, Reeve. You held no affection for our fallen brothers. This is nothing more than a game to you.”

Reeve’s grip on the spear tightened. His amusement flickered, irritation creeping in.

“So what?” He scoffed. “Am I not allowed to enjoy myself? We have plenty of weapons from our dead. I get some target practice, and in the process, I scare the shit out of those Marxx bastards. I don’t see a problem.”

He watched Langley from the corner of his eye, his muscles coiling. If the old man tried to stop him again, Reeve wouldn’t hesitate. He’d drive the spear straight through his neck and put an end to his whining once and for all.

Langley sighed and turned on his heel. “Do as you wish, General.”

‘You lucky bastard…’ Reeve grumbled inwardly. How satisfying it would be to finally rid himself of the old man. They were at war, and two Holy Knights had already fallen. What was one more?

Clicking his tongue, he turned his attention back to the city wall. The sky was a deep shade of dusk, but his vision was sharp. He could make out the figures of soldiers patrolling the ramparts.

He took a breath, steadying himself. He waited. Chose his target.

But just as he was about to throw, a low groan of wood filled the air.

Reeve froze.

Slowly, the massive wooden gates of the city began to creak open, as if inviting them in.

“Oh?” A wicked smile curled his lips. “Have they decided to surrender? Or is it time for the final clash?”

Anticipation thrummed through him, coiling in his gut. His fingers twitched. His crotch tingled at the thought of the carnage to come.

His narrowed eyes scanned the opening. Apart from a few scrambling soldiers retreating into the fortress, there was no army in sight. No ambush waiting beyond the gates.

It was an open invitation.

“Interesting…” Reeve muttered, tossing the spear to the ground.

“Come and get us, you bastards!” a voice bellowed from atop the city wall.

Reeve let out a short, amused laugh. This was an obvious trap. The soldiers inside Clayton City were too few to mount an attack beyond their fortress, and their food stores were likely running low. The move reeked of desperation.

A commander approached, his expression tense. “General, what are your orders?”

“For now, we wait,” Reeve stated, his voice steady. Even he wasn’t foolish enough to funnel his forces through that gate. An ambush was waiting for them.

Meanwhile, the man on the wall continued hurling insults, shouting every slur and curse he could muster. At first, Reeve barely paid attention. But then the bastard began mocking their ancestors.

Reeve’s grin faded. His expression darkened.

Without a word, he bent down, snatched up the spear he had dropped earlier, and hurled it with deadly precision toward the loudmouth.

He expected to see the man impaled, to hear a gurgling scream as he toppled over the rampart.

Instead—

A shadow flickered atop the wall.

In an instant, a figure appeared and caught the lightning-fast spear midair with terrifying ease.

Reeve’s blood ran cold.

Before he could fully process what had happened, the figure reared back and sent the spear hurtling straight back toward him—faster than before.

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His instincts screamed. Reeve dove aside.

The commander beside him wasn’t so lucky.

With a sickening thunk, the spear tore clean through the man’s shoulder, shearing off his entire arm in a single, brutal motion.

A wail of agony erupted from the commander’s lips before he collapsed, unconscious.

Reeve rolled to his feet, his teeth bared. “Fucking bastard…” he snarled, fury igniting in his veins. He was about to retaliate when—

“G-General!” A frantic soldier rushed toward him, panic in his eyes. “The enemy has engaged us at the other gates!”

Reeve’s eyes widened. “What?!”

This wasn’t what he had expected. Everything had pointed toward them luring his forces inside the fortress. But instead, they were attacking outside the walls?

‘What the hell are they planning?’ he thought, irritation creeping in. It didn’t make sense.

The soldier hesitated, then pressed, “General, your orders?”

Reeve clenched his fists. “How many enemies are there?”

“I—I don’t know, sir,” the man stammered. “But they’re pushing back our forces.”

For the first time, Reeve felt the crushing weight of his title settle onto his shoulders. He didn’t care about the lives of his soldiers—so long as they won. But if they were defeated because he underestimated the enemy…

Even if he survived the battle, the Bishop would never let him live.

His gaze lifted to the fortress gates, still standing wide open. Wasn’t this the objective? They had come to claim Clayton City.

So why was he hesitating?

‘They’ve split their army across multiple gates… There can’t be more than five thousand men left defending this entrance,’ he reasoned.

His grip tightened.

‘We have ten thousand troops here, including Langley and Godfrey. They won’t be able to stop us.’

He exhaled slowly, his mind sharpening.

‘No more waiting.’

Reeve nodded, his decision made.

“Prepare the men,” Reeve commanded, his voice sharp. “We’re taking Clayton City.”

He turned to a nearby officer. “Send word to the others—tell them to hold their ground as long as possible. We’ll capture the city now.”

With that, he strode toward the assembled army, raising his voice until it echoed across the camp, pulling men from their tents and into formation.

“Men!” Reeve bellowed. “Tonight, we end this farce! The enemy has opened their gates. We need only waltz in and cut them down where they stand! Before the dawn, we will cleanse the world of these Marxx Kingdom heathens!”

A deafening roar erupted from the soldiers, shaking the very air around them.

“Beat the war drums! Ready yourselves for battle!” he shouted.

The rhythmic pounding of drums filled the night, reverberating through the ranks as steel clanged and torches flared to life.

Reeve turned his gaze back toward the open gates of Clayton City. No movement. No sign of an opposing force. The sheer stillness of the scene sent a shiver down his spine.

‘It’s just a trick,’ he told himself. 'Even if they ambush us, we outnumber them.’

And yet, his mouth felt dry.

“Reeve, you can’t seriously be thinking of marching straight through those gates,” Langley’s voice cut through the moment, thick with disapproval.

Reeve’s eye twitched. If he didn’t need this old man, he would have killed him long ago.

“They invited us in,” Godfrey interjected with a chuckle. “It would be rude not to accept.”

“This is madness.” Langley’s jaw tightened. “We’ll lose too many men. Why not reinforce our forces outside first? Destroy their army entirely? Hell, just send Godfrey and I to the north and south walls—we’ll finish this battle in no time.”

Reeve shook his head. “There’s no need. Once we take the city, their forces outside will scatter like rats.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Langley pressed. “This is exactly what the enemy wants us to do.”

Reeve had heard enough.

He moved swiftly, closing the gap between them until he stood just inches from the old knight. Langley was tall, but Reeve was even taller, forcing the older man to crane his neck slightly.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘Yes, General,’ I’ll relieve your neck of the terrible burden of holding up your thick fucking skull.” His voice was low, simmering with fury. “What say you, Langley?”

For a brief moment, Langley’s face darkened. His fists curled as if he wanted nothing more than to strike Reeve down.

But the moment passed.

“Yes, General,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Scary~” Godfrey added with an amused lilt.

Reeve turned away, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck to ease the tension.

“Godfrey, you’ll lead the charge into the fortress. Langley, you’ll hold the center. I’ll bring up the rear.” He cast a glance toward the darkened gate. “If we encounter an ambush, push through. We do not want to get caught in a bottleneck.”

“Yes, General.” Both men responded in unison.

Satisfied, Reeve raised his hand.

At once, the war drums reached a crescendo.

Like a tide of steel and fire, nearly ten thousand men began their march forward, advancing in two tight columns toward the open western gate of Clayton City.

The soldiers marched forward, shields raised and spears at the ready. Reeve watched as they inched closer to the gates, expecting at any moment to hear the whistling of arrows raining down from the walls.

But none came.

In fact, the ramparts were now completely empty.

Reeve’s brow furrowed. ‘Did they abandon the city?’

Perhaps this gate was nothing more than a decoy, meant to distract them while the enemy forces slipped away through the other exits. The thought settled into his mind, and his unease began to fade. If that were the case, then victory was already within his grasp.

A satisfied smirk curled on his lips as the first ranks passed through the massive gates and into the tunnel beyond.

He hefted his spear, walking alongside the right column at a measured pace. Though he might not need to use the weapon in his hand, he fully intended to indulge in his other spear soon enough.

Reeve resisted the urge to break into a jog and catch up with the advancing troops. If the enemy was going to strike, this tunnel would be the ideal place. Yet as more and more soldiers poured in unchallenged, his confidence solidified.

‘They won’t attack.’

But then—

A flicker of motion caught his eye.

Something small, glowing in the night, tumbled down from above.

Reeve squinted, tracking the objects as they fell into the tunnel. At first, he assumed they were simple firebombs—perhaps meant to ignite oil traps on the ground.

But there was no oil.

A soldier in front bent down, cautiously picking up one of the strange, burning rocks. He turned it over in his hands, examining it closely.

Reeve’s pulse quickened. “What the hell is—”

Then the world exploded.

A series of deafening booms tore through the night, splitting the earth with the force of a divine hammer. Shockwaves blasted outward, hurling bodies through the air like ragdolls.

Reeve was flung backward, his ears ringing with a high-pitched whine. Pain lanced through his skull, his thoughts dissolving into chaos.

For a moment, he lay there, dazed. Then, gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision.

And what he saw nearly made him vomit.

The battlefield was unrecognizable.

Corpses littered the ground—some torn apart, others missing limbs, their blood pooling in grotesque rivers. Soldiers clutched at gaping wounds, their dying wails lost in the fading echoes of the blasts.

At a glance, thousands of men had been reduced to little more than scattered flesh.

“W-What is this…?” Reeve rasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling him. “Have the gods… forsaken us?”

Then, from above—light.

He blinked, staring up at the night sky.

Tiny streaks of brilliance descended toward them, glimmering like falling stars. For a fleeting moment, Reeve thought them beautiful—like angels descending into the world of mortals.

One of the objects neared him, and on instinct, he reached out, catching it in his hands.

It was heavy. Cold.

His fingers tightened around it, trying to make sense of what he was holding.

Then the world went black.