The ground no longer burned.
From the blackened field, shapes rose—clean, sharp, and wrong.
Bone clicked against bone.
Skeletons marched forward in formation, shields locked, spears angled. Rusted armor hung from bleached frames, yet their movements were precise. Measured.
"They're… organized," a knight said hoarsely.
Aurelia's fingers tightened around the railing.
"Not undead," she corrected. "Soldiers."
Arrows flew.
They were deflected.
Shields absorbed the impact with hollow clacks, shafts snapping uselessly. The skeletons advanced without breaking stride.
"Change ammunition!" Aurelia ordered.
"Blunt tips! Maces to the front line!"
The gates opened.
Heavy infantry surged out, shields forward, hammers raised. The clash was immediate—metal against bone, impact echoing across the field.
Skeleton spears thrust in perfect unison.
A knight fell, ribs shattered from within his armor.
"They target joints," Reinhardt shouted. "They know how to kill!"
Selene stepped forward again, staff glowing faintly.
"Fire won't be enough," she muttered.
She cast.
Flames wrapped around the skeletons—
And failed.
The bones blackened, but they did not burn. The formations held.
Selene clicked her tongue. "Annoying."
Aurelia's voice cut through the chaos.
"Freeze the ground," she ordered.
"Break their footing."
Selene adjusted instantly.
Cold swept outward, turning the earth slick with ice. Skeletons faltered—not from pain, but from physics. Their formations cracked.
"Now!" Aurelia shouted.
Knights surged, hammers smashing skulls, shattering spines. Bones flew apart, collapsing in heaps.
For every skeleton destroyed—
Two more stepped forward.
"They don't tire…" a knight gasped.
"No," Aurelia said quietly. "But we do."
Her gaze sharpened.
This was not a siege.
This was erosion.
Testing endurance. Forcing mistakes.
Aurelia looked toward the inner estate—toward where Leon was not present.
Not yet.
The skeletons pressed forward again, silent and relentless.
And for the first time since the battle began—
The battlefield had lost its rhythm.
Steel struck bone. Magic flared. Orders were shouted—but none of it felt connected. The soldiers moved because their bodies remembered how, not because their minds believed anymore.
The elite skeletons advanced.
Perfect lines. Perfect spacing.
They did not react to pain. They did not break formation when shattered. When one fell, another stepped into its place without pause.
"They don't stop…"
"Why won't they stop…?"
A knight dropped his shield without realizing it. Another stared at his trembling hands, unable to force them steady.
Then the Dullahan stepped forward.
It did not hurry.
Each step pressed down on the air itself, as if the world was warning them to flee. Frost crept along the ground, crawling up greaves and boots.
A young knight screamed and charged, tears streaming down his face.
One motion.
He fell apart.
The scream ended.
That was when fear became despair.
The line wavered.
Aurelia stood frozen above it all.
Her mind worked—furiously, desperately—but every strategy shattered before it could form. Reinforce the flank? It would break. Focus fire? It would fail. Retreat? They would be hunted.
There is no answer, her mind whispered.
"Lady Aurelia…" Reinhardt said, his voice raw. "Orders?"
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came.
For the first time in her life, the girl who had always known what to do—who had carried this house with her mind—had no words to give.
The Dullahan raised its sword.
The elite skeletons tightened formation.
And then—
A banner rose.
Gold and crimson caught the firelight, snapping in the wind like a living thing.
The Baron rode forward.
Augurt Valierous.
His armor was scarred. His hair silvered. His body no longer carried the strength of his legends—but his presence still did.
"Stand," he said.
Not a shout.
A command.
"I have fought wars that never reached the history books," the Baron continued, riding to the front. "I have watched comrades fall and kept walking."
Soldiers turned.
Some stared in disbelief.
Some felt something twist painfully in their chests.
"You wear the name Valierous," he said, raising his sword. "And that name does not break before the dead."
Hands tightened around hilts.
Shields lifted again—shaking, but lifted.
"I will not promise you victory," the Baron said. "I will not promise you survival."
He looked across the line.
"But I promise you this—if you fall today, you will fall as soldiers."
Something shifted.
Fear did not vanish.
But it was shared now.
"Shields up!" Reinhardt roared, voice cracking.
"Hold the line!"
The elite skeletons advanced once more.
The Dullahan turned its empty helm toward the Baron.
They faced each other across the battlefield.
The hero of a living age.
The commander of the dead.
Neither moved.
The clash resumed—harder, bloodier, more desperate than before.
From the command platform, Aurelia watched her father fight—not to win, but to keep the line from breaking.
Tears burned her eyes.
You're buying time, she realized.
Time we don't deserve.
The Baron tightened his grip on his sword.
So it's finally begun, he thought.
The world has decided not to wait anymore.
And somewhere within the estate—
That boy cannot sleep through this forever.