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On the Monster Wall – Sparks Empire, Zera Sector
Leo stood at the edge of the towering blackstone battlement, his obsidian boots soaked in blood, ichor, and ash. He stared at the receding tide of undead—grotesque things of bone, rot, and cursefire—with a strange glint in his crimson eyes. Their retreat wasn't natural. The shambling abominations weren't afraid, weren't routed. They simply obeyed the undead king's orders, vanishing back into the necrotic fog that constantly loomed beyond the border.
His thoughts, however, weren't on the enemy. They drifted—to the past, to a quiet garden in the Steel Heart Manor, just a few days ago.
"Power, Leo," his grandfather Louise Steel Heart had said, voice brittle with age but steady with authority, "cannot be inherited. It must be seized. You follow my path in this war, and I will surrender all—my name, my chair, my influence. You shall become the core of the Chamber."
Louise Steel Heart wasn't just the patriarch of a noble house—he was the founder and master of the Steel Heart Chamber of Commerce, which controlled 60% of the empire's mana crystal refinement. In a land where magic was currency and war, that made him one of the most powerful men alive.
And yet, Leo could not move freely.
The chamber owed allegiance to the royal family of Sparks. Louise had fought beside them in the Pale Wars—the same war that saw the rise of the Topis family, who ascended from barons to Counts of the Araclo Empire by holding a city against a twentyfold siege. They later betrayed Araclo and founded the Sparks Empire.
The old man's bonds with the throne were strong. His loyalty, unshakeable. That loyalty was the shackle around Leo's neck.
But now… now Louise had offered to break that chain.
Leo had a plan—one that demanded chaos, not order. A radical dream that would either reshape the empire or grind it to dust. And for that, he needed power. Unchecked, uncontested power.
The clash of swords and the screams of the dying dragged him back to the present. Behind him, the militia scrambled to drag their wounded from the wall's edge. Fires burned in several watchtowers. Bone shards and fragments of black armor were scattered across the granite like cursed snow.
A voice called out—measured, strained.
"My lord." It was Grand Findel, captain of the elite guards. "Of the thousand militia under your command, thirty are dead. Over a hundred are wounded. Among our hundred archers, twenty-eight are injured. We... we request healing support."
Leo turned slowly. Behind him, eight burning beads hovered in the air like miniature suns, four glowing with the common flame, four flickering with the emerging essence of the Flame of Honour—a higher, evolving attribute that shimmered with potential and purpose.
His expression was cold.
"Do not order me, guard," he said, voice like cracked embers. "My magic is for annihilating enemies, not pampering expendable flesh."
"But, my lord," Findel stepped forward, face pale under the Golden helm. "The empire's war doctrine—our orders—clearly state that we must reduce casualties whenever poss—"
Leo's eyes narrowed.
"The twenty elite guards under each seed mage," he interrupted, "exist to ensure the undead never breach this wall. If the militia fails, your elites shall step forward. That is your duty. Not whining."
Findel swallowed hard. He understood what Leo was. A noble, yes, but also something more. Something dangerous. There was a fanatic glint behind the young lord's eyes—one that spoke not of loyalty to nation, but to an idea. An ideal forged in fire.
"But my lord-"
"Grand Findel, at the first hour past midnight, you will lead the elite guard to destroy it"
Leo's eyes gleamed.
"My lord, the undead command center of the Zera Sector is… irrelevant. They don't require such things. They function without centralized control. You know this."
The guard captain stiffened. The command was suicide. Every strategist knew that the so-called command centers were death traps—planted by the undead to lure mages into ambushes.
He realized then. This wasn't a tactic.
This was a purge.
Leo wanted him and the elite guards gone. Because he had questioned him. Because he had dared suggest compassion. Because he represented a thread of discipline Leo did not need in the future he intended to build.
Grand Findel stared for a long moment.
And then he bowed.
"Command accepted, my lord."
Leo nodded, voice smooth.
"Good."
---
Later That Night – Undead Command Sector, Zera
At exactly the first hour of midnight, under the cover of a crimson moon, the elite guards descended from the monster wall like shadows. Grand Findel led them through trenches soaked in old blood and ash, past shattered siege engines, into the heart of the undead zone.
There, in the husk of an ancient watchtower, they found it. A mass of pulsating black bone and withered runes—a construct, glowing faintly with necrotic script.
And then the night erupted.
The ground split open as bone serpents emerged. Wraiths screamed from the sky. The undead had waited. Had watched. The entire "command sector" was a tomb, waiting to be filled again.
Findel roared orders. His men fought like cornered wolves.
Only three survived the onslaught—bloody, broken, limping back through corpse-choked trenches as the undead faded again into the mist, content with their harvest.
---
Back on the Wall
Leo didn't blink when he heard the report.
He merely turned, the eight beads spinning behind him, their flame brighter than ever.
"Now," he whispered to himself, "there's no one left to slow me down."
From the far end of the monster wall, thunder rumbled—not from the skies, but from the earth. Lexatric siege cannons were firing. The next phase of the war had begun.
And Leo—Leo would shape it with fire.
---
Grand looked at his remaining brethren, his hand touched the symbol of the empire on his armour.
"For the emperor, all those who disobey shall be turned as HERETICS".
As he said those words, his eyes locked onto Leo's, before being averted.
(Author's notes, pls comment , or I may go into depression)