The sky was pale gray—neither dawn nor dusk. Just that stillness before something breaks.
Ares stood at the head of his strike team, a curved blade strapped across his back, armor pieced together from Grounder hides and Ark plating. The others followed in silence: Octavia at his side, eyes sharp and cold; Monroe and Miller checking their gear; Kael looming at the rear, hulking and wordless.
Clarke remained at Camp Drakon—by his order.
"You're the spine of the camp," he'd told her. "If I fall, they follow you."
She hadn't argued, but her eyes lingered on him longer than usual as he turned to leave.
OPERATION ACTIVE:ASHWALK
Target 1:Ruin Camp (Crownless Outpost)
Known Resistance: 10–12 Grounders, mid-tier command, light defenses
Bonus Objective: Capture tribal captain alive
System Buff: Territory Expansion – XP and resources +15% upon conquest
They moved like wolves through the brush—silent, swift, coordinated.
By midday, the camp came into view: a rough ring of weathered tents around a central stone altar, carved with sigils for strength, fire, and blood. Three guards patrolled lazily.
Too confident.
Ares crouched low at the ridgeline, scanning the layout.
"Plan?" Monroe whispered.
"No alarm," Ares said. "We breach, end it in under two minutes."
Octavia's mouth curved.
"Two minutes is generous."
Skill Activated: Tactical Imprint
Squad Coordination +15%
Battle Sync Active: Bonded allies mirror Ares's position and target prioritization.
He didn't give a signal.
He moved.
A blur down the slope, boots slamming earth. His blade sang once—then silence. The nearest guard collapsed, throat split clean. Octavia rolled beneath a spear and cut behind the knee, dropping her target screaming. Kael seized a warrior by the neck and threw him into the altar stone.
Chaos erupted.
But it was one-sided.
The Grounders tried to rally—failed. Every shout met steel, every formation collapsed under precision. Monroe and Miller flanked, spears striking like lightning. Ares cut through the center line, a shadow of motion and inevitability.
Ninety seconds.
Then it was done.
Ten Grounders dead.
One still breathing.
SYSTEM UPDATE:
Crownless Outpost Conquered
XP +2500 → LEVEL 7
Attributes +3 | Skill +1
New Territory Secured: Sector 3-C
Trait Unlocked:Warlord's Reach — Orders obeyed +15% faster within captured zones.
The surviving Grounder captain knelt, blood running down his arm. He spat at Ares's boots.
"You fight like no sky person."
"I'm not one of them," Ares said quietly. "I'm something else."
He crouched low.
"Talk, and crawl back to your people. Lie, and I'll feed you to the river."
The man sneered through blood.
"You'll die for this. The Commander will see to it."
Ares smiled—thin, humorless.
"Then tell her I'm coming."
He rose.
"Miller. Bind him. Strip the camp. Burn the altar."
The flames started slow. Then the oil-soaked hides caught—and the fire climbed, roaring high into the sky. A column of smoke and defiance.
A signal.
A challenge.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION:
Regional Threat Level Increased.
Lexa's scouts have detected anomalies.
Response force expected within 48 hours.
Bonus Activated:Counterstrike Preparation – Ambush defenses +20% effectiveness in captured zones.
That night, they camped in the ruins.
Octavia sat beside Ares, sharpening her blade, smirking faintly.
"They're starting to believe the stories."
"What stories?"
"That you're not just some guy with muscles and luck. That you're a monster. A god. A myth."
Ares watched the flames.
"Good."
Kael rumbled from across the fire.
"Let them believe. Fear breaks armies faster than blades."
Ares opened his interface.
[CURRENT STATS — LEVEL 7]
Strength: 15
Agility: 14
Constitution: 13
Intelligence: 13
Charm: 15
Attribute Points: 9
Skill Points: 5
System Trait:Legacy Spark — Bonded allies gain passives +10% faster and at +10% strength.
The team slept in shifts. Ares did not.
He stared into the embers of the altar fire, the flames dancing like ghosts around his reflection in the blade.
He wasn't born a king.
He wasn't given a crown.
He took it.
And anyone who wanted it back would have to tear it from his hands—
still burning.