"Activate the barrier! Magicians, step forward! Intercept the incoming ranged attacks!" one of the commanding soldiers roared from atop the wall.

Mana crystals flared to life as a shimmering dome of translucent light enveloped the human fortifications. Gunfire rattled from the battlements, bright muzzle flashes tearing through the darkness.

"What the hell happened?!" another soldier shouted, panic in his voice. "How did no one notice this many approaching?!"

Beyond the wall stretched an endless sea of shadows. A vast army surged forward—thirty thousand strong. They weren't human. Pale faces, crimson eyes, and clawed hands glimmered in the moonlight. Most were low-ranking vampires, swarming with twisted rifles and jagged blades forged with dark mana. Behind them rumbled armored carriers and tank-like constructs—machines of war infused with blood-magic, their barrels glowing faintly as they charged spells instead of shells.

"How many are there?" a young soldier asked, his voice trembling.

"Thirty thousand at least," came the grim reply. "Mostly fodder… but some of them… are elites."

The barrier flickered under the first barrage—mana cannons and enchanted rounds slamming into it. Soldiers on the walls returned fire, rifles spitting enchanted bullets while mounted turrets thundered. Explosions tore open the night sky.

Then everything stilled.

From the vampire ranks, a figure slowly rose into the air. He was tall, his hair an abyssal black, his eyes burning with an unholy crimson glow. Power radiated from him like a storm, pressing against the lungs of every soldier on the wall.

"W-what is that…?" a lieutenant whispered, his face pale.

The man extended his hand. Mana spiraled violently, shaking the ground. Crimson flames coiled in the air, consuming the night itself. He looked like a god of war, haloed in blood-red light.

"Put in more mana crystals! Reinforce the barrier!" soldiers screamed.

Crystals shattered one after another, their essence feeding the shield, but the pressure kept climbing. The vampire's lips curled into a chilling smile as he whispered an incantation.

The world turned red.

A wave of law-infused mana erupted outward. The air screamed. Every human artillery shell and enchanted bullet mid-flight disintegrated into dust. The barrier trembled, spiderweb cracks spreading across its surface. Dozens of soldiers collapsed instantly, their bodies rupturing from the overwhelming force.

"Hold formation!" a colonel bellowed, rallying his men.

Ten colonel-rank officers leapt forward, their own shields flaring. Together, they wove their mana into a combined defensive formation, a glowing wall against the torrent of crimson destruction. The impact was apocalyptic. Thousands of scarlet missiles rained down, each one exploding with enough force to level buildings.

The colonels strained, sweat pouring down their foreheads as they reinforced their barrier. But the shockwaves still tore through the wall, blasting apart lower-ranked officers. Heads burst. Chests were shredded open. Screams filled the night.

At last, the wall's grand formation reactivated, pushing back the tide of crimson flames. The barrage ceased. But the price was clear—dozens of corpses littered the battlements, and the defending colonels gasped for air, their mana reservoirs half-drained.

"That man…" one colonel muttered, clutching his chest. "Where the hell is the Marshal?! That vampire—he's beyond Rank 7. His earlier attack… it carried the weight of Law!"

The soldiers froze as the vampire turned his gaze skyward.

The thunder of engines roared across the battlefield. Dozens of fighter aircraft cut through the night, their sleek frames glowing with mana arrays. They unleashed a volley of missiles and mana-beams, screaming toward the enemy lines.

But the vampires were prepared. Their own black-metal warjets rose to intercept, wings crackling with cursed runes. The skies erupted into chaos as jet clashed against jet, tracer fire painting the heavens.

High above them all, the crimson-eyed vampire raised his hand once more. Black fire bloomed in the air, each flame a sphere of annihilation. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the fireballs streaked toward the incoming fighters.

The human jets activated their protective formations—hexagonal barriers unfolding like luminous wings.

It wasn't enough.

One by one, the black fireballs consumed them, swallowing aircraft whole. Screams crackled over the radio before cutting abruptly into silence. Fire rained from the skies as burning wreckage crashed into the battlefield below.

The Rank 8 vampire smiled faintly, his aura crushing down on every soldier like the weight of a mountain. Ordinary men struggled to breathe, their knees buckling just from his presence.

Then, as if the carnage had been nothing more than a warm-up, he lowered his hand and drifted back into the vampire host. The army surged forward again, their Rank 6 elites taking to the air, unleashing volleys of mana at the walls.

——————

The battle had been eating at the night for thirty minutes.

From the parapets, the world was a broken heartbeat: muzzle flashes, the metallic bark of guns, the high keening whine of mana-torches and the low, animal roar of distant engines. The barrier domes shivered like tired lungs. Men and women in uniform fought with the kind of practiced terror that bent them into motion — trained reflexes firing even when their hands shook.

Chu Kuangren had been trapped. The array had closed around him like a steel blossom, every rune a lock. Yun Hao's trick had been precise; an expert's lie woven into the formation. For half an hour he had planted his strength against those runes and found nothing but steel and mockery.

Anger had been a slow, cold thing under Chu's skin. He had trusted Yun Hao. The thought of betrayal tasted of metal.

He stopped brooding and moved. Hands that had guided whole divisions now cracked the array with the same blunt, deliberate effort he used to break a neck. The formation came apart with the sound of a thousand brittle things surrendering. Runes collapsed. The trapping lattice split and fell in an incandescent rain.

Chu flexed his fingers, cracked his neck, and did not smile. There was no room for relief, only the quick, efficient hunger of a man whose duty had been stolen and then reclaimed. He vanished—teleportation like an iron shuttle—and then reappeared on the wall, boots slamming into blood-slick stone.

Soldiers catcalled his arrival like a single explosive cheer. "Marshal! The Marshal's here!" voices rose, ragged and hopeful.

Chu's face was a map of exhaustion and cold purpose. He did not bask in the acclaim. He scanned the field with the speed of a man who'd been awake for longer than he cared to count, counting losses in the blink of an eye.

"How is the situation?" he demanded.

A colonel stepped forward, throat raw. "There is a Rank Eight leading them. He's the spearhead of this assault. Thirty thousand strong—mostly low-ranked vampires, but with elite elements. Our outer formations were broken, but we reformed. We've held them back for now, Marshal, but—" He ran a hand through hair white with dust. "We're draining mana. We don't know how long we can keep this up."

Chu's jaw tightened. He moved like a man trimming the breath from panic. "Don't say we can't," he said flatly. "Say how long, and I will decide how we spend what we have."

Before the colonel could answer, Chu felt it: a disturbance, an edgier scent at the west end of the fort—a split-second ripple beneath the world's skin. He turned, eyes narrowing.

"West," he barked. "Mana fluctuation, west gate!"

Soldiers craned necks. Some of them were still reeling from the last crimson storm, their faces white behind splattered blood. Chu's voice cut through like a blade. "All men—listen. General Yun Hao has betrayed us. General Sergei is engaged at the west flank. They've turned their men there—feel their auras!"

For a shard of a breath, a dreadful clarity passed through the ranks. People who had been holding together on the thinnest of hopes realized the treachery biting at their feet.

Chu did not indulge in outrage. He turned his urgency into orders, voice taut with urgency meant to fight the panic back from the edges. "Gather me twenty thousand. Frontline assault. Full momentum—no hesitation."

The wall still groaned beneath the weight of battle when two figures stumbled into sight. Their clothes were drenched in blood—whether their own or another's, no one could tell at first. Soldiers who saw them parted instinctively, whispering names they did not know but recognizing the exhaustion carved into their steps.

Ezra's boots struck the stone with the rhythm of a man who refused to collapse. Elena followed close, her white hair streaked red, her cloak torn, her hands trembling though she tried to hide it.

Marshal Chu Kuangren turned at once. His eyes narrowed, reading them as though they were lines in a book.

Ezra straightened his back despite the weight of gore and fatigue. "Marshal Chu Kuangren. My name is Ezra."

Kuangren studied him for a long breath. His gaze was sharp, heavy with recognition. "I know who you are," he said, his voice low and steady. "Ren Kurogane informed me. That bastard warned me you'd end up dragged into something you didn't ask for." His expression hardened. "You came here for leisure, for a simple visit to Bloodfort… and now you stand in the middle of a war. Sorry, boy. But I cannot shield you. Not here. Not now."

Ezra did not flinch.

Kuangren continued, his tone edged with iron. "Ren told me you were capable. So capable, he said, that if you were caught in fire, you'd cut a path out with your own hands. I will not waste strength coddling you. From this moment, you fight with us. Consider it… labor repaid for the Sword Emperor's friendship."

Elena blinked at him, dazed, her face pale under the blood. Kuangren's hand rose, not gentle but steady, patting her shoulder once. "Compose yourself, Voncrest. Fear and despair are what traitors want from you. Do not give it to them."

His gaze swept back toward the battlefield. "Report."

Elena's voice trembled, but the anger beneath it steadied her words. "Colonel Mirella betrayed us… along with General Yun Hao. Three colonels of the Magic Battalion joined them. The soldiers at the warp gate were Yun Hao's men all along. It was a plan, years in the making. None of us saw it."

Kuangren's jaw tightened. "So it is as I feared. They have been weaving this net for years." He sighed once, a sound as sharp as steel. "And the vampires chose tonight to strike. The formations will not hold forever. We cannot waste time mourning betrayal."

He turned back to Ezra and Elena, voice like a command written into stone. "I will assign you two Rank Six officers and forty soldiers—nothing more. All of them above Rank Four. You will take the warp gate. Capture it if possible, destroy it if necessary. That gate cannot remain in enemy hands."

Ezra's eyes hardened. "Marshal, Yun Hao has over a thousand men at the gate. With just two Rank Six and forty soldiers… it won't be enough."

Kuangren cut him off. "It cannot be helped. Mustafa and his elites are already engaging at the gate. You will reinforce them. My reserves are needed here to hold the line against the Rank Eight."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a tone meant only for Ezra. "I know what Ren taught you. Do not pretend you are ordinary. You will do what others cannot. That is why I trust you with this task."

Ezra's jaw clenched, the unspoken weight of those words pressing on him like a mountain. Elena looked between the two men, the fire in her eyes rekindling despite the blood caked to her clothes.

"Now go," Kuangren declared, voice booming like a general carved from stone. "You wished for peace, Ezra, but wars do not wait for permission. Today you will rise, you will fight, and you will prove to the world that the Sword Emperor's disciple cannot stand idly by!"

Ezra blinked at him, his expression stuck somewhere between awe and disbelief.

…Translation: Ren's brat is here, good. Free Rank-4+ labor delivered straight to my wall. Thank you, Sword Emperor, for this volunteer package.

Kuangren's eyes burned with authority as he added, "It is not exploitation. It is destiny."

Ezra muttered under his breath, "Destiny my ass… you just don't want to spare your own men."

Elena, still dazed, actually looked inspired. "Marshal… I will not fail you."

Ezra shot her a side-glance, deadpan. Of course you won't fail him, because I'll be doing the actual work.

Kuangren folded his hands behind his back, satisfied, the very image of righteous leadership. To the soldiers on the wall he looked like a savior handing down divine orders. To Ezra, he looked like a very expensive con-artist cashing in on the Sword Emperor's name.

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