Davrin Thorne sat behind his desk, studying the collection of Ironhide Berserker remains.
Arden Valekrest stood at attention.
White hair still damp from washing off the blood.
Ice-blue eyes calm.
Posture perfect.
"Job well done," Davrin said finally.
"Yes, sir."
"Thirty Eight Ironhide Berserkers eliminated. Zero casualties."
"Yes, sir."
Davrin leaned back in his chair.
"You're appointed student tactical coordinator. Official position. You'll coordinate all student defensive operations and report directly to Lieutenant Vex or myself."
"Sir, I—"
"This isn't a discussion, Valekrest. You've proven your capability. The position is yours." Davrin pulled out assignment documents.
"You'll also provide defensive recommendations for the fortress. I've been watching the patrol reports. The coordinated monster movements. Something's building out there."
"I agree, sir."
"Good. Then we're on the same page. Prepare your students. Whatever's coming, it's coming soon."
"Yes, sir."
"One more thing." Davrin stood, moving to the window.
"Keep them alive, Valekrest. That's your primary mission. All of them."
"I intend to, sir."
"Dismissed."
As Arden left, Lieutenant Helena Vex entered.
"You're really not going to ask him how he knew all that?"
"Why would I? Results speak for themselves." Davrin poured two drinks.
"The boy saved us forty soldiers and weeks of operational delays. His methods are his business. His results are mine."
-----
Arden's perspective—internal knowledge
In the deepest reaches of the mountain range, in caverns untouched by sunlight for millennia, something stirred.
Something ancient.
Something that Arden recognized from his novel but had never expected to encounter this early.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord.
In my novel, he was a late-game boss. Shouldn't appear until Volume 3.
But the timeline is already different.
Which means... he's awake. Already awake.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord was unlike any normal Ironhide Berserker.
Ten feet tall.
Iron-like hide so thick it could turn enchanted weapons.
But that wasn't what made him truly terrifying.
He was the Fire Prelate.
An ancient being who once stole the Flame of Outer Gods—forbidden magic kept secret by the old kingdom's guardian order.
He was imprisoned beneath these mountains centuries ago. Sealed away because he sought to resurrect the power of dead fire gods.
And somehow, he survived. Transformed. Merged with the Berserker bloodline.
Became something new. Something worse.
Iron that couldn't be cut.
Fire that could melt stone.
Intelligence that could coordinate armies.
All in one being.
In my novel, his awakening caused the Northern Front's collapse.
The fortress stood no chance against an enemy that combined three impossible strengths.
But I wrote him appearing much later. When the characters were stronger. More prepared.
Now? With first-years and undermanned garrison?
This could be a massacre.
Arden hadn't mentioned any of this to Commander Thorne.
How could he?
-----
The day was surprisingly warm.
Rare for midwinter.
The sun actually broke through the clouds.
Soldiers who'd been working all morning took advantage of the weather.
Some napped in the sunlight.
Others played dice.
The fortress seemed almost... peaceful.
Arden stood on the eastern wall, reviewing defensive positions.
Elara was with him, helping coordinate student patrol schedules.
"You're worried," she observed.
"Always."
"More than usual."
He didn't respond.
AAAOOOW WOOO!
The horn blast shattered the peaceful afternoon.
A ranger who'd been napping in the sunlight jumped up, grabbed his bow, and called to his friends.
"SHUT IT!" someone yelled at the horn-blower.
"I'M NOT DONE—"
AAAOOOW WOO!
The second blast awoke every soldier still sleeping.
"Oh shit! We got trouble, lads!" one hollered.
The soldiers who hadn't been sleeping dropped what they were doing.
They ran toward the walls.
Everyone ran toward the walls.
A rough wooden door swung open as rangers poured out of the barracks.
They ran down the stairs like birds in flight.
Beneath the walls, soldiers who'd grabbed swords and spears were assembling at the gate, hands trembling.
Orders filled the air.
"First crossbow squad in position!"
"Get archers on the north wall!"
"Where's Commander Thorne?!"
Range commanders barked sharp orders in rapid succession.
"I need more arrows here!"
"Someone clear the battlements!"
"Move faster, you dogs!"
Arden watched soldiers and commanders employing their armaments with practiced efficiency.
"Boil the oil! NOW!"
"Check the gate reinforcements!"
"Mages to designated positions!"
The fortress's air was resounding with battle readiness and controlled chaos.
"Arden!" Elara grabbed his arm.
"Come on!"
They ran up the stairs.
Countless rangers were atop the ramparts, each equipped with crossbows or bows.
They stared beyond the walls.
Not a single one moving.
Complete silence despite the chaos moments before.
And among them stood Commander Thorne.
"Commander! What's happening?" Arden called.
"Look," Davrin said simply, pointing toward the area between the snowfield and the nearby mountains.
Arden strained his eyes.
A white object in the distance.
Moving.
No—
Multiple objects.
"Ah... what is...!"
Then he saw them.
Twelve shadows running through the pure white snow.
Kar'eth rangers.
They wore cracked and battered armor.
Held broken swords and shields.
Ran at a pace that suggested swift pursuit.
They're running for their lives.
Poof... Poof... Poof...
Bright red flares erupted in the sky behind them, fired from various points within the mountains.
Emergency signals.
Warning signals.
This is the beginning.
Poof... Poof...
Mighty horns echoed throughout the fortress, answering the distant flares.
Arden watched as rangers on the wall shifted nervously.
Their breathing became more stressed with every second.
Wild impatience filled their eyes as they watched their comrades traverse the distant snowfield.
"Come on, ye bastards!"
"Run! Run quickly!"
Upon hearing the cheers, the distant rangers accelerated.
Then Arden saw what was chasing them.
And his blood ran cold.
No. Not yet. It's too early.
"What is that?!" a ranger shouted.
"I can't... I can't see clearly!"
"Something big! Multiple somethings!"
But Arden could see.
His Shadow Devil Integration enhanced his vision.
And what he saw made his stomach drop.
Razorback Drakes.
Massive reptilian creatures—eight feet at the shoulder, sixteen feet long.
Covered in blade-like scales that could shred armor.
Fast.
Impossibly fast for their size.
And riding them—
Ironhide Berserker Riders.
This is wrong. This is all wrong.
In my novel, Berserkers didn't have mounts. They fought on foot.
Razorback Drakes were a separate threat. Different region.
But here they are. Together. Coordinated.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord's influence is stronger than I thought.
He's already adapting. Already improving his forces.
"It's Drake Riders!" Commander Thorne's voice cut through the tension.
"Ironhide Berserkers on Razorback Drakes!"
Murmurs of fear rippled through the rangers.
"How is that possible?"
"Berserkers don't ride drakes!"
"They do now," Davrin said grimly.
More riders joined the hunt.
GRAAAAHHH! GRAAAAHHH!
The Berserkers roared with savage excitement as they increased pace.
The gap between rangers and Drake Riders was narrowing.
Fast.
GRAAAAAAHHH!
Several of the rearmost rangers suddenly spun around.
They'd try to earn time for others to escape.
Bravely readying their weapons.
Meeting the Drake Riders head-on.
The Drake Riders crushed them easily.
Massive jaws snapping.
Berserker weapons hacking.
The combination was devastating.
Blood and viscera spattered onto the snow as the rangers fell.
No.
The surviving rangers started running again.
Then halted.
They'd realized that running from the Drake Riders was futile.
Better to face death standing.
"No! Don't stop! You fools!"
"Come! It isn't far! Keep running!"
Rangers on the wall were shouting hoarsely.
Some were crying.
Those still on the snow grabbed their broken swords and shattered shields.
They rushed at the Drake Riders.
One final charge.
Their lives ended like red flowers blooming over the snowy field.
The frantic encouragements slowly faded as reality dawned.
Rangers lowered their bows.
Not a single arrow fired—the range had never been there.
THUD!
The booming sound of the closing gate broke the sorrowful silence.
Arden stood frozen.
Twelve rangers. Dead.
Just like that.
And the Drake Riders...
He watched as the creatures circled the fortress.
Staying just out of arrow range.
Studying the walls.
Learning.
They're reconnaissance. Just like the Berserkers we killed.
But these are faster. Stronger. More coordinated.
This is the Flame-Crowned Overlord's response to losing his scouting party.
He's escalating.
Testing our defenses with mounted units.
And when he's learned enough...
Arden's hands clenched on the wall.
The real attack comes.
Commander Thorne's voice was steady despite the loss.
"All units maintain positions. Watch those riders. Document their movements."
He turned to Lieutenant Vex.
"Triple the watch rotations. I want eyes on those things every moment. If they make any move toward the fortress, I want to know immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Then Davrin looked directly at Arden.
"Valekrest. Your assessment?"
Arden watched the Drake Riders circle.
Counting them.
Eight riders.
Eight Razorback Drakes.
Eight Ironhide Berserkers.
That's not a random scouting party. That's a tactical assessment team.
"Tomorrow night," Arden said quietly.
"Maybe the night after. But no later than that."
"Attack timing?"
"Yes, sir. They're gathering intelligence now. When they have what they need, the real force comes."
Davrin nodded curtly.
"Then we prepare." He raised his voice.
"LISTEN UP! All section commanders report to the command center in ten minutes! We're going to war protocols!"
As rangers scattered to relay orders, Elara moved closer to Arden.
"Tomorrow night," she repeated quietly.
"Maybe sooner."
"Then we use every minute." She pulled him toward the stairs.
"Gather the team. Review defensive positions. Make sure everyone knows their roles."
As they descended, Arden cast one last look at the mountains.
Somewhere in those peaks, the Flame-Crowned Overlord was planning.
Coordinating.
Preparing his forces for the attack.
An ancient being who combined three impossible strengths.
Iron hide that turns aside weapons.
Flame magic that can melt stone.
Intelligence that can coordinate armies.
In my novel, he destroyed this fortress.
The casualties were catastrophic.
But I'll kill this bastard regardless
The sun was setting now.
The warm afternoon was fading into cold evening.
And with the darkness came the certainty:
Tomorrow, they would prepare.
And the day after—maybe sooner—
They would fight.
For their lives.