Arden fell.
Wind rushed past his twelve-foot shadow form.
Fuck. This is insane. What the hell was I thinking?
The ground approached rapidly.
He twisted mid-air, orienting himself toward the charging Obsidian Warden below.
Two seconds.
His shadow-formed blade extended.
One second.
Here goes nothing.
CLANG!
Arden's blade met the Warden's weapon mid-fall.
The impact rattled through his entire shadow form.
Shit, that hurt. Even in this form, that HURT.
His momentum carried him past, landing in a crater of snow twenty feet away.
The Obsidian Warden turned to face him.
Then it laughed.
A sound like grinding stone and breaking bones.
"It is YOU! You who dares wear the shadow of our kind!"
Great. It can talk. Of course it can talk.
Why would anything ever be simple?
Arden hadn't expected that.
In his novel, he'd written the Warden as mostly non-verbal.
Timeline's different. Everything's different.
"The Overlord spoke of you," the Warden continued, its voice like chewing iron.
"A human wielding blasphemous shadow. A thief of essence."
Thief? That's rich coming from monsters using our fortress shields.
It raised its cleaver, and War Essence erupted around it.
Red energy, thick and malicious.
"I will present your head to my master!"
The War Essence washed over Arden.
It wasn't just magical.
It was intent.
Pure killing intent concentrated into energy.
His shadow form held, but his concentration wavered.
Can't maintain focus like this. Need supplements.
From the walls above, crossbow bolts suddenly rained down.
Targeting the Warden.
But the creature was already moving.
It grabbed a nearby dead Berserker, holding the corpse up as a shield.
The bolts slammed into the improvised meat shield.
Using its own dead. No hesitation.
That's what we're up against. Pure ruthless efficiency.
"Fire again!" Commander Thorne's voice echoed.
More bolts.
The Warden discarded the first corpse, grabbed another while retreating.
Its eyes never left Arden.
It's not even pretending to care about its soldiers.
Just tools. Disposable tools.
The Warden's gaze fixed on Arden's shadow blade.
On the darkness that flowed around him.
"That shadow," it growled, "burns our essence. Consumes what we are."
Its battle fervor intensified.
"For that blasphemy, you will suffer!"
Blasphemy? I'm not the one throwing around corpses like toys.
A spear flew from somewhere below.
Arden dodged.
It missed by meters.
But then—
Wait. Tingling. Back of my neck.
MOVE!
Arden threw himself sideways.
A javelin screamed through where he'd been standing.
It tore through his shadow shell's arm, gouging deep.
FUCK!
Pain shot through the connection between his real arm and the shadow limb.
The Warden threw that. From forty feet away wile retreating what a a bastard.
Battle fervor concentrated in the throw.
The wound is draining power to maintain the form.
This is bad. This is really bad.
"Come here and face me!" Arden bellowed.
Keep it aggressive. Don't let it see weakness.
The Warden started climbing a siege ladder nearby.
The wood buckled under its weight.
Then it simply started throwing other Berserkers off the ladder.
They screamed as they fell.
Ruthless bastard.
But effective. Have to give it that.
The Warden was ascending rapidly now.
Its red eyes fixed on Arden.
Getting closer.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Arden could smell its rank breath.
God, that reeks. When was the last time this thing bathed?
Probably never. Great.
Then another wave of battle fervor.
This one stronger.
Concentrated.
Aimed directly at his mind.
Pressure. Can't think. Can't—
NO. Not giving in. Not to some overgrown—
Arden's shadow blade reacted instinctively.
Darkness erupted outward, dissipating the fervor.
Shadow countering battle energy. Good to know that works.
But the effort cost him.
"Elara!" Arden called toward the walls.
"Support pattern Delta! Now!"
He saw her nod.
Good. She understands.
She signaled Serra and Rykard.
A massive hand slammed onto the ramparts behind Arden.
Gripping stone like an iron vice.
The stone cracked.
A huge head popped into view.
The Warden's eyes bore into him.
"SHADOW THIEF!"
It launched itself from the wall.
Landing between Arden and the fortress.
Twelve feet of iron and fervor.
"You the one our Overlord spoke of I shall take your head."
Arden felt urgency spike through his body.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked, buying time.
His shadow form shifted slightly—
Opening a gap in the armor near his waist.
His real hand emerged, still normal-sized.
Grabbed a vial from his belt.
Mana potion. Concentrated. Expensive.
Commander Thorne provided three for emergencies.
This definitely qualifies.
He drank it quickly, shadow shell closing around him again.
Tastes like ass. Why do potions always taste like ass?
The Warden paused, watching the battle rage around them.
"The Overlord mentioned you," it said, turning back.
"A human who wields stolen shadow. Who corrupts what is not his."
Corrupts? I'm not the one commanding an army of monsters.
Its eyes flared red.
War Essence exploded outward.
That energy.
The Berserkers' power source—accumulated through combat.
The more they fight, the stronger it becomes.
Red energy, thick and malicious, swirled around the Warden.
Arden felt mana flow across the battlefield as rangers tried to block the pressure.
"Do not interfere!" Arden commanded toward the walls.
"Stay back! This one is mine!"
Can't let them waste mana on this fight.
They need reserves for the main assault.
This ends here. Now. One way or another.
The Warden's War Essence swirled around it—an eerie blood-red aura.
"I will present your head to my king," it promised.
Arden readied his shadow blade.
The mana potion was working—reserves stabilizing
Not climbing. But not dropping as fast.
That bought me extra minutes.
Better make them count.
The Warden attacked.
A swift overhead strike.
Arden met it with his own blade.
CLANG!
The weapons trembled under the force.
Holy hell, that's strong.
Arden's blade was pushed back inches.
He retreated with it.
A crimson lance of War Essence shot past his face.
Close. Too damn close.
The wind burst knocked him backward.
The Warden's sword bore down toward him.
Shit shit shit—
Arden rolled aside—the blade sparked against stone where he'd been.
The Warden tried to stomp him.
Arden vaulted to his feet using his shadow shell's strength.
The foot slammed into hard ground.
"Stop squirming like an insect! Fight with honor!"
Honor? You just tried to step on me like a bug.
Then—a blur of motion.
Twin blades flashed from the side.
Elara.
She'd descended from the walls.
Her swords struck the Warden's exposed side in rapid succession.
Slash slash slash slash slash!
Not calculated strikes.
Frenzied attacks.
Her eyes were wide, un-focused, moving on pure combat instinct.
The Warden barely parried her blades, forced to turn from Arden.
"Where did you—" it started.
But Elara didn't let it finish.
She pressed the attack relentlessly.
Her twin swords moved like they had minds of their own.
High, low, left, right—impossible to predict.
She's not thinking. Just reacting. Pure combat flow.
The Warden groaned as it sensed her power.
Its eyes glowed fiery red.
"Another pest!"
Arden used the distraction.
His shadow form intensified.
Not just armor now.
Living shadow.
Tendrils emerged from his back—four of them.
Each ending in a blade-like point.
If this thing wants monster tactics, I'll give it monster tactics.
"You smell wrong!" the Warden cawed at Arden, trying to divide its attention.
"Stolen essence. Corrupted form."
Yeah, well, you smell like a dumpster shit. We all have our problems.
Elara stumbled during one exchange.
Dodging a swipe that came too close.
She hit the ground.
No!
The Warden moved in instantly, sensing weakness.
Looking to land a killing blow.
Its blade came within inches of her neck—
Then another blade blocked its descent.
CLANG!
Commander Davrin Thorne.
He'd jumped from the walls.
His sword—glowing with blue mana—caught the Warden's cleaver.
"The thing looks even uglier up close," Davrin stated flatly.
His blade pushed back against the Warden's weapon.
War Essence and mana clashed.
Where the energies met, brilliant flashes erupted.
Elara rolled to her feet.
Her twin blades flashed again.
Forcing the Warden to retreat several paces.
Davrin moved with her.
His sword techniques chaotic yet controlled.
A master's blade work.
"Where is your honor, warrior?" the Warden spat at Davrin.
Being attacked by multiple opponents had angered it greatly.
But before it could say more, Elara charged again.
Her attacks were relentless.
Frenzied slashes that seemed impossible from someone her size.
Strike after strike, the beast was hard-pressed to parry.
"What type of embarrassment is this?" it snarled.
Elara's not fighting smart anymore. She's fighting purely on instinct.
The Warden's Aura Sight—it can't predict random attacks.
Can't read patterns that don't exist.
Arden's shadow tendrils struck then.
All four attacking different angles while the Warden was distracted.
Left side.
Right side.
Above.
Below.
The Warden parried the first two, but couldn't track everything.
One tendril caught its shoulder.
Drew blood.
Elara's blade found an opening—stabbed into the creature's side.
It roared—more shame than pain.
She got through its defense. Actually pierced the iron hide.
The Warden was struggling now.
Against a combination of attacks it couldn't predict.
Arden's shadow techniques.
Elara's frenzied strikes with no pattern.
Davrin's precise master-level blade work.
This could work. We're actually—
Arden had maneuvered during the exchange.
The Warden was now exactly where he wanted it.
Positioned beneath a specific section of wall.
He raised his empty hand—his real hand emerging briefly.
Made a fist.
Rangers on a nearby tower threw down nets made of iron chains.
"You haven't been paying attention, beast," Arden said.
One net slammed into the Warden.
"Pull!" Arden commanded.
Rangers heaved on chain lengths.
The net tightened around the creature.
Sharpened iron cutting into its hide.
But the Warden didn't move.
Didn't show pain.
Of course not. That would be too easy.
"You've polluted what should be an honorable duel!" it bellowed.
"I haven't even tested your true strength yet!"
Tested? You've been trying to kill me this whole time!
Then cavalry horses pulled the chains tight.
The Warden was jerked sideways.
But instead of falling, it dug its cleaver into the ground.
Anchored itself.
Strong. Too damn strong.
The creature began pulling back against the horses.
This isn't working. Need a new approach.
Arden's shadow tendrils lashed out.
Not at the Warden.
At its anchor point.
They wrapped around the cleaver's blade.
If I can't pull it down, I'll remove its leverage.
The tendrils became like living things—flowing, adaptive.
They yanked the cleaver free.
The Warden lost its anchor.
Was pulled off balance.
But it adapted instantly—releasing the net, it jumped toward Arden.
Fast. Too fast for something that size.
Mana running low
The tendrils are expensive. Very expensive.
Need to be smarter about this.
The Warden closed the distance.
Its fist swung at Arden's head.
Davrin's blade intercepted.
CLANG!
"Stay focused, Valekrest!" the Commander barked.
His sword glowed brighter with mana.
But the Warden's War Essence pushed back.
The energies clashed, creating shockwaves.
Elara attacked from behind.
Her twin blades found gaps in the iron hide.
Drew more blood.
But the Warden spun faster than should be possible.
Backhanded her.
She flew backward, crashing into snow.
Elara!
Davrin pressed forward to cover her.
His blade work was masterful.
Each strike precise.
But the Warden was matching him.
How? How is it matching a quasi - sword master?
Then Arden understood.
War Essence. It's accumulated centuries of combat experience.
The more it fights, the stronger it becomes.
And Davrin—he's fighting alone against that.
Arden's shadow form shifted.
The tendrils withdrew.
Re-emerged as wings.
This is going to cost me. But I need speed.
He beat them once.
Launching himself toward the Warden's exposed flank.
His blade found the gap between iron plates.
Drove deep.
The Warden roared in actual pain this time.
Good. Bleed, you bastard.
But its counterstrike caught Arden's wing.
The shadow construct shattered.
Arden crashed into snow.
Mana dropping fast. Too fast.
Davrin was still fighting.
But he was being pushed back.
The Warden's War Essence intensifying with every exchange.
Elara struggled to her feet, dazed.
This isn't working. We're losing.
All three of us fighting together, and we're still losing.
The Warden sensed victory approaching.
"You fight well, warriors," it admitted.
"Better than expected."
Its eyes gleamed.
"But I have learned your patterns now."
Damn. All of us.
It's been studying all three of us.
Aura Sight reading everything.
From the walls, Serra's voice:
"ARDEN! CATCH!"
Something flew through the air.
He caught it reflexively.
Another mana potion.
Elara must have asked Serra to throw it.
He drank it immediately.
Second potion. One left after this.
This needs to end soon.
But how?
The Warden charged at Davrin again.
The Commander blocked.
But the War Essence was overwhelming.
Red energy crashed against blue mana.
Davrin was forced to one knee.
He can't hold much longer.
Elara attacked from the side again.
Her frenzied strikes buying Davrin time to recover.
But she was exhausted.
Slower.
The Warden caught her blade.
With its bare hand.
Threw her aside like a doll.
She hit the ground hard.
Didn't get up.
No. Not like this.
Davrin stood between Arden and the Warden.
"Valekrest! Whatever you're planning—do it now!"
His blade glowed brighter.
Pouring more mana into defense.
But Arden could see it wouldn't be enough.
We need something the Warden can't predict.
Something it hasn't seen.
Something that changes the rules entirely.
Then words rose unbidden to his lips.
From the weight of every life depending on him.
A poem.
"I stood upon a mountain built of iron corpses!"
The words resonated.
Not just sound.
Power.
His shadow form blazed darker.
The Warden's head snapped toward him.
Eyes wide.
"Red streams flowed from it, like hatred's tears!"
Arden's mana didn't drop.
It stabilized.
No—it was drawing from something else.
From the battlefield around him.
From the soldiers watching.
From their collective will to survive.
"I honor our fallen beneath this mountain of mine!"
The shadow form expanded.
Not larger.
Denser.
Darker.
More solid.
The transformation was pushing toward something.
The boundary. Between 3rd and 4th stage.
I can feel it. Right there.
One more verse formed in his mind.
"In the harshest winter, we sing the cruelest songs!"
The boundary cracked.
Not broken.
But cracked.
Then—
A massive wave of presence crashed over them all.
From the mountains.
The real Overlord.
His War Essence, released from miles away.
It felt like Arden's existence was being reduced to nothing.
The shadow form flickered.
The power from the poem wavered.
No. Not now. Not when we're so close.
"Goddamn monsters," Arden swore under his breath.
Gritting his teeth.
Do I open more of my mana core? Risk burning out?
Then—a new voice rang out.
Davrin's voice:
"I stood upon a mountain built of iron corpses!"
What?
Arden's head snapped toward the Commander.
Davrin was standing, sword raised.
His blade glowing brighter than before.
"Commander?" Arden managed.
"Red streams flowed from it, like hatred's tears!"
Davrin repeated the poem.
His voice strong despite the Overlord's oppressive presence.
His mana rings—three of them—began rotating around his sword.
Resonating with the words.
The Overlord's crushing pressure lessened slightly.
He's countering it. Using the poem to resist.
Then another voice joined.
Elara's.
She'd gotten back up, bloodied but standing.
"Red streams flowed from it, like hatred's tears!"
Her twin blades glowed faintly.
"I honor our fallen beneath this mountain of mine!"
The mana in the air shifted.
Started flowing toward Arden.
They're feeding me power. Through the poem.
More voices erupted from the walls.
Rangers. Knights. Infantry.
"I stood upon a mountain built of iron corpses!"
"Red streams flowed from it, like hatred's tears!"
"I honor our fallen beneath this mountain of mine!"
Hundreds of voices reciting Arden's poem.
Not perfectly synchronized.
But the intent was there.
The collective will.
The refusal to give in to the Overlord's pressure.
Arden felt mana flowing through the air.
Hundreds of individual strands.
Each one a soldier's determination.
His breath came in short gasps.
Head dizzy from the power.
This is it. The moment.
I can feel every strand of mana.
From every voice singing the poem.
Need to focus. Unite them.
He gathered the disparate strands.
Drew them into himself.
Unified them through his own recitation:
"I stood upon a mountain built of iron corpses!"
"Red streams flowed from it, like hatred's tears!"
"I honor our fallen beneath this mountain of mine!"
A new verse came then.
Unbidden.
From somewhere deeper than memory.
"In the harshest season, we sing the bitterest songs!"
The collective mana exploded.
Feeding into Arden's shadow form.
Not just maintaining it.
Enhancing it.
The armor became like actual iron.
Darker than midnight.
Harder than steel.
The blade became sharp enough to cut reality itself.
Drawing from everyone. Creating a resonance.
Arden felt power flood through him.
4th stage
His shadow form solidified into something new.
Something beyond what he'd achieved before.
The boundary between 3rd and 4th stage—
It cracked wider.
fully broken.
The Warden sensed the change.
Its eyes showed something new.
Fear.
"Impossible," it breathed.
"You should be depleted. Finished."
"The Overlord's pressure should have crushed you."
Arden looked at Davrin.
At Elara.
At the soldiers on the walls still singing.
"Yeah, well," Arden said, his voice deeper through the enhanced shadow form.
"Turns out I'm not fighting alone."
The Warden's War Essence flared desperately.
He attacked.
Not with technique.
Not with strategy.
With overwhelming power.
The shadow blade struck the Warden's cleaver.
CRACK!
The cleaver shattered.
The Warden's eyes widened.
Arden didn't stop.
Shadow tendrils wrapped around the creature's limbs.
Holding it in place.
"Serra! Now!"
Ice magic erupted.
A massive halbred of frozen crystal.
Fifty feet long.
It fell like divine judgment.
The Warden tried to move.
Couldn't.
The tendrils held tight.
The ice spear struck its chest.
Drove through iron hide.
Pierced the heart.
But Arden wasn't done.
His shadow blade came down.
Through the creature's neck.
Severing head from body.
The Obsidian Warden collapsed.
Finally dead.
Arden stood over the corpse, breathing hard.
His shadow form flickered but held.
The poem bought me time. But it's still draining.
Need to end this form before—
Then he felt it.
A presence.
From the mountains.
The real Overlord.
Watching.
Calculating.
And angry.
The killing intent was so thick Arden could taste it.
It saw everything.
Saw the poem.
Saw me temporarily break through to 4th stage.
Saw its field commander die.
And now it's pissed.
The presence withdrew suddenly.
But Arden knew what it meant.
The main assault is coming.
Soon.
Very soon.
He released his shadow form.
The transformation dissolved.
Twelve feet became five-foot-ten.
Arden collapsed to his knees.
God, I'm exhausted.
Every muscle hurts.
Every bone aches.
From the walls, stunned silence.
Then Commander Davrin Thorne's voice:
"Victory! The enemy commander has fallen!"
Cheers erupted.
But they died quickly.
Because through the mountains, a sound.
BOOOOM. BOOOOM. BOOOOM.
War drums.
Thousands of them.
And with them, a voice.
The real Flame-Crowned Overlord.
Speaking in a language that predated the kingdom.
Arden understood it.
From his novel knowledge.
"Let the final assault begin."
Elara rushed down to him.
"Can you stand?"
"Barely."
"That poem. What was that?"
"Something I... remembered. Or created. I'm not sure which."
"It was incredible. The soldiers—they're singing it now."
Arden listened.
From the walls, hundreds of voices:
"I stood upon a mountain built of iron corpses!"
"Red streams flowed from it, like hatred's tears!"
"I honor our fallen beneath this mountain of mine!"
The mana in the air shifted.
Concentrated.
They're empowering themselves with it.
The poem is spreading.
Then horns.
Different ones.
From the north.
Knight-Commander Michel's reinforcements.
They'd arrived.
Arden forced himself to stand.
"How many?"
"Two hundred knights. Five hundred infantry."
"Not enough."
"It's what we have."
Arden looked toward the mountains.
The drums were getting louder.
Closer.
"Commander Thorne!" he called up.
Davrin appeared at the battlements.
"Valekrest!"
"We need to prepare—"
Then the sky lit up.
Orange.
Red.
Fire.
Hundreds of flaming projectiles arced from the mountains.
Heading toward Kar'eth.
"INCOMING!" Davrin roared.
"SHIELDS UP!"
The projectiles struck.
The walls.
The courtyard.
The buildings.
Not catapult stones.
Fire bombs.
Alchemical weapons that exploded on impact.
The Overlord is done playing.
This is the real assault.
Through the flames and smoke, Arden saw them.
Thousands of Ironhide Berserkers.
Hundreds of Drake Riders.
And at their center—
A figure.
Ten feet tall.
Covered in iron hide that glowed orange from within.
Eyes that burned with genuine intelligence.
The Flame-Crowned Overlord himself.
He's leading the charge personally.
Arden pulled his last mana potion.
Drank it.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
But he drew his sword anyway.
"Serra," he said quietly.
She appeared beside him.
Covered in soot but unhurt.
"I need your help."
"Anything."
"That thing in the center. The big one."
"I see it."
"When it gets close enough, I need you to do something for me."
He whispered the plan.
Her eyes widened.
"That's insane."
"I know."
"It might kill you."
"I know that too."
"But it might work."
"That's all I need."
Serra nodded grimly.
The army was approaching.
The final battle for Kar'eth had begun.
And Arden—exhausted, wounded, barely able to stand—
Was about to face the most dangerous opponent so far.
The real Flame-Crowned Overlord.
Well, shit.
This is going to suck.