Ch. 39 — The Black Forest Ambush

The Black Forest of Central was unlike anything the Northern army had ever marched through.

Gone were the frozen plains and biting winds. Here, the air itself was alive — humid, thick, and heavy with mana that clung to the skin like oil. The trees were ancient things, roots twisting across the ground like veins, their leaves glowing faintly in hues of jade and blue. Strange insects hummed in the distance, their wings producing a sound almost magical in rhythm.

For the first time in months, Noah's men felt heat. And dread.

"Chrome Hearts, advance formation," ordered Colonel Ren Harven, his voice muffled beneath the layered canopy. "No open fires, no shouting. The forest amplifies sound."

Major Elias "Wolf" Drayne smirked, dragging the flat of his blade across his shoulder. "You're telling me not to shout, Harven? That's like telling the sun not to rise."

Ren shot him a glare. "You shout, we die. This isn't northern tundra. Every sound here carries."

Behind them, the Chrome Hearts — the Northern army's most elite covert battalion — moved like shadows, their cloaks blending into the shifting green light. Each wore mana-dampening bands around their wrists, nullifying traces of aura. They were hunters now, not soldiers.

But even hunters could become prey.

---

Noah Ashbourne stood aboard the Eclipse, high above the forest's emerald canopy, watching through the scout lenses as his men advanced.

The map on the table before him was covered in red ink. Dozens of marked paths, each leading deeper toward the Central-South border.

He studied the terrain carefully. "Ren's team should've reached the ridge by now."

Captain May leaned beside him, eyes narrowed. "I don't like this place, sir. The forest's mana density is abnormal. Even our signal spells can't pierce through."

"That's why I sent Chrome Hearts," Noah replied quietly. "If anyone can move through without detection, it's them."

He paused. His reflection flickered against the glass. "But if Draven's learned how I think… he'll be waiting."

---

In the forest below, Ren's instincts were screaming.

The path ahead was too quiet.

Not silent — quiet. A difference that only men who had lived too long on battlefields could sense.

He crouched, pressing his gloved hand to the soil. The ground pulsed faintly beneath his fingers, like a heartbeat.

"Wolf," he whispered. "Stop your men. Something's wrong."

Wolf blinked, lowering his blade. "What, the bugs too loud for you?"

"Listen," Ren hissed.

They did.

No wind. No birds. No movement in the glowing foliage.

Only the faint hum of mana — and the slow, rhythmic drip of water.

Wolf's grin faded. "...Hell."

Ren stood, eyes scanning the trees. "Draven's watching us."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because this is exactly where I'd strike."

---

The first explosion was soundless.

A ripple of mana shimmered across the ground, and in the next instant, a dozen men vanished — consumed by white light. The earth cracked beneath their boots, roots flaring upward like whips of molten bark.

"AMBUSH!" Wolf roared, throwing himself backward as another blast tore through the undergrowth.

Flames erupted from the soil, tracing patterns of sigils — pre-carved runes hidden beneath the moss. Each one detonated in a chain, turning the forest into a maze of fire and falling wood.

Ren hit the ground, covering his head as shrapnel shredded the air. A burning branch struck his shoulder, cutting deep through armor.

He gritted his teeth, tearing it free. Blood ran down his arm, soaking his sleeve.

"Formation Delta! Spread!"

But there was no formation left to hold. Half the Chrome Hearts were already gone, bodies buried under flaming roots. The survivors scrambled for cover as arrows rained down from the branches above — Central soldiers in green camo cloaks, invisible until they fired.

Wolf's blade flashed upward, slicing one arrow mid-flight before spinning to parry another. "They're in the trees!"

"I see them!"

The northern soldiers fired their rifles, but the dense canopy deflected their shots. One man loaded a mana grenade — too late. A bolt of crimson energy struck his chest, detonating it prematurely.

The blast flung Wolf into a tree. His armor cracked on impact.

He coughed blood, staggering up. "Ren! You still breathing?"

Ren groaned, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "Barely! We need to retreat north—"

"Negative," came a new voice — cold and composed — through the comm rune.

Noah's voice.

"Maintain position. Reinforcements inbound."

Ren's jaw tightened. "With all due respect, sir, the forest's rigged. They knew our route—"

"That's why you're still alive," Noah cut him off. "They expected us to fall back. Hold your ground."

"Hold the—?!" Wolf shouted, ducking as a fireball exploded above his head. "He's mad!"

"Mad," Ren rasped, gritting his teeth as he reloaded his rifle, "but not wrong."

He aimed into the trees and fired — a direct hit. One of the hidden mages fell, his body snapping branches on the way down.

Wolf kicked off the ground, sprinting forward through the chaos. His greatsword glowed faintly with wind mana as he leapt — cutting clean through two enemy soldiers before rolling into cover behind a massive root.

He spat out dirt. "That's one down."

"Six more behind him!" Ren shouted.

"Then I'll make it seven!"

Wolf charged again, his every motion reckless yet calculated. He slammed his blade into the ground, releasing a burst of shockwave energy that flattened nearby enemies.

But before he could breathe, a red glyph ignited beneath his boots.

"Oh—shit—"

The explosion consumed him.

For a moment, everything went white.

When the smoke cleared, Wolf was lying on the ground, his armor smoking, blood pooling from his leg where the metal had melted through.

Ren crawled toward him, dragging his wounded arm. "Wolf!"

Wolf's breath hitched, eyes rolling. "I'm… fine."

"You're not. Stay down."

"Hell no," he growled, trying to rise. "You think I'm dying in a damn jungle?"

But Ren wasn't listening — his eyes had caught something between the trees. A faint movement.

Through the smoke and flame, a figure emerged — white armor gleaming faintly with heat distortion.

"...No," Ren whispered. "It can't be."

The man stepped into view, wiping blood from his sword. He didn't wear the southern insignia — just the crest of St. Eldred's Church upon his pauldron.

Draven Lockwood.

Ren froze. His instincts screamed. "Wolf. Don't move."

Draven raised his gaze — not toward Ren, but to the sky above.

---

On the Eclipse, Noah leaned forward at the observation deck, lenses focusing on the faint outline of a single figure in the forest below.

The mana density distorted the image, but even through the interference — he recognized him.

"That aura…"

May's voice wavered. "Sir, the enemy commander— is that him?"

Noah didn't answer. His eyes narrowed.

He watched as Draven raised his sword — blood running along its edge — and struck it against the earth.

The explosion was precise, controlled. Not for destruction, but signal.

Seconds later, hundreds of red flares lit up across the forest — one after another, coordinated perfectly.

May's eyes widened. "He planned everything."

Noah's pulse quickened. "Evacuate Ren's division. Now."

"But sir, the field's unstable—"

"I SAID NOW!"

Below, Ren tried to drag Wolf back toward the retreat zone.

"Move, damn you!"

Wolf stumbled, one arm slung around Ren's shoulders. "You know… this guy fights like you," he muttered weakly. "Same style. Same traps. Same timing."

Ren grimaced. "Yeah." He glanced up — through the trees, at the faint figure standing unmoving, sword glinting faintly red in the light. "That's the problem."

---

The Northern extraction team arrived in blinding flashes of teleport sigils. Medics pulled the survivors through portals, one by one.

Ren collapsed to the ground of the command deck, his uniform scorched, blood soaking through the bandages.

Noah knelt beside him. "How many?"

Ren coughed, voice hollow. "Too many."

Wolf groaned nearby, still alive, half his armor melted. "Next time… you go first, General."

Noah didn't respond.

He turned to the window.

Through the mist, he could still see the faint red flickers in the forest below — Draven's signal fires, pulsing like veins through the trees.

Every move, every trap, every route… all predicted.

Noah's hand trembled slightly as he touched the map.

"He knows me," he whispered. "Every thought. Every step."

Behind him, the forest continued to burn.

And deep within the smoke, Draven Lockwood stood alone — sword buried in the earth, face turned upward.

No smile. No words.

Just a silent acknowledgment — a strategist recognizing another.

The game had begun.