The silence before the storm had ended.
Ascendria struck at dawn.
Their new commander, a man named General Varkos, had taken the field. A brutal tactician with a penchant for overwhelming force and no regard for rules of engagement. He brought with him fresh legions, mercenaries, and dark sorcerers from the southern isles. They marched across the scorched land like a tide of steel and fire, and behind them loomed siege towers carved with blood-etched runes.
But Achilles did not flinch.
He welcomed it.
From atop the fortress walls, he watched the horizon as Ascendria formed ranks. Kael stood beside him, silent, knowing better than to speak. Achilles' eyes were cold, calculating, devoid of hesitation.
This was not the Achilles of months ago—the teenager hiding his brilliance, uncertain of his place.
This was the commander who had walked through fire, cut down titans, and burned the dead by the thousands.
And this time, mercy was not an option.
"Signal the archers," Achilles ordered, his voice calm.
Kael gave the nod.
A horn blew.
Thousands of arrows rained down on Ascendria's front line, catching soldiers as they formed up. Screams echoed, but they held formation. Varkos expected the tactic.
Achilles, however, had changed the rhythm.
Moments later, the field erupted.
Dozens of fire runes placed by his shadow units lit the battlefield. Explosions tore through Ascendrian ranks, obliterating two of their flanks before they could reach the fortress gates. Panic spread. Mages rushed forward to cast protective barriers, but Achilles was already moving.
He leapt from the rampart, his aura igniting around him like a comet. The sky tore as he fell.
He landed at the center of their disarray, his blade already cleaving through a commander's chestplate before the man could scream.
Aura flared.
A wave of soldiers rushed him.
He moved through them like a butcher through cattle.
He did not aim to incapacitate.
He did not strike to disarm.
He killed.
Swift. Efficient. Brutal.
A spear came from behind. Achilles turned, his blade shearing through both weapon and arm. A soldier begged for his life. Achilles cut his throat without hesitation.
"No mercy," he said, to no one.
To everyone.
Ascendrian morale broke within minutes.
Their left flank routed. The center held barely enough cohesion to retreat in time. General Varkos, caught off guard by the ruthless tactics, ordered a full fallback.
---
Back at the fortress, Achilles returned bloodied but upright. His men watched him in silence, awe etched into their faces. Some cheered. Others just stared.
Kael met him at the gates. "That was a massacre."
"Good," Achilles said. "Let them remember it."
Kael didn't smile. "You scared them."
"Fear is a weapon. One I intend to use."
Later, in the war tent, he debriefed his officers. When a young lieutenant hesitated to describe an Ascendrian battalion's possible retreat path, Achilles cut across him with ice.
"Guessing costs lives. Be certain, or stay out of my command."
The room went silent. The lieutenant bowed quickly. "Yes, Commander."
Kael approached Achilles after the meeting.
"You're changing."
"Adaptation isn't change. It's survival."
Kael looked troubled. "There was a time you would've taken prisoners. Now you're beheading them before they drop their swords."
Achilles didn't blink. "And if I hadn't, we'd be the ones buried. Ascendria doesn't understand kindness. They understand pain. Fear. Precision."
Kael lowered his voice. "Don't lose yourself. You're not a weapon, Achilles."
"I am. For now. That was the deal."
---
That night, he stood alone on the ramparts.
Above him, stars shimmered faintly through smoke-streaked clouds. His sword rested against the stone, blood still flaking from its edge.
His system pulsed softly.
>>> Aura Efficiency: 94%
>>> Combat Stability: Enhanced
>>> Psychological Drift: Detected… Monitoring.
Achilles exhaled.
"I know."
He could feel it—the distance growing between who he had been, and what he was becoming. The border was no longer just a place. It was a crucible. And he was the blade inside it.
"Just a little longer," he whispered. "Until it's safe. Until they're safe."
But even as he spoke the words, he wasn't sure anymore if that safety would ever come.
Only war.
Only fire.
Only the ruthless edge.