Ravenwood Fortress — the Capital Gate of the Central Continent — once stood as an emblem of pride, a citadel carved from obsidian stone and sanctified with runes of protection older than the war itself. It loomed over the plains like an unbreakable promise, a monument that once shielded the Central's heart.

Now, it burned.

The siege began before dawn. The night sky was still bleeding from the stars when May's artillery division roared to life from the northern ridge. The horizon flashed white, then red, as mana shells rained down like falling comets. The ground trembled with each impact.

Every shot she commanded was precise — calibrated, timed, and merciless. The shells screamed as they cut through the wind, bursting against the fortress walls with earth-shaking force. The runes cracked. The towers crumbled. The black stone that had once seemed eternal splintered beneath her will.

The smell of ash and oil filled the air. The soldiers cheered her name from the trenches below, calling her "the Stormbringer." But even as the walls began to collapse, May's lips never once curved into a smile.

She stood behind the firing line, coat flapping in the hot wind, hands trembling around the mana conductor. Her crew — what was left of them — had been reduced to less than a third of their original number. Still, she gave the order to fire again. And again. And again.

Ravenwood Fortress answered in kind.

Draven's holy knights emerged from the blinding smoke, their armor gleaming like suns against the gray ruin. Each movement of their blades seemed guided by divine wrath. They advanced through the firestorm with shields raised, holy barriers humming.

The Shock Corps — what remained of Wolf's men — met them at the broken gates.

"FOR GENERAL WOLF!" they roared.

The two forces collided in a storm of steel. The courtyard became a graveyard of banners and blood.

The Shock Corps fought like men already dead. They wielded bayonets and broken rifles, swinging even after their arms failed them. They bit and clawed, using their own bodies as shields for their comrades. Every man who fell bought another second for the line to hold.

Through the smoke, a young sergeant raised Wolf's old flag — torn, burned, and soaked in mud. It fluttered weakly in the wind as arrows and mana bolts ripped past him.

He screamed, "THE WOLF STILL HOWLS!" before a holy spear impaled him through the chest.

But the banner didn't fall. Another soldier caught it, then another, until ten men had died to keep it standing.

By the third day, the northern trenches had become swamps of blood and gunpowder. The artillery had fallen silent. The Shock Corps were barely holding the courtyard, their ammunition long spent.

Still, they fought on — their voices hoarse, their eyes hollow, their faith burning brighter than their fear.

From the skies, Noah watched.

The command blimp circled above the fortress, its shadow cast across the battlefield below. The world beneath him looked like the inside of a forge — smoke, fire, and molten death.

Noah's hands tightened around the edge of the railing. Every report coming through the comms was worse than the last.

"May's unit has no shells left." "The eastern flank is gone." "The Shock Corps are surrounded." "Ren's medics can't reach the wounded."

Every voice bled desperation, but none dared to say the one truth that lingered beneath it all.

They were losing.

Noah closed his eyes, listening to the static hum in his headset. Somewhere beneath all that chaos, he could still hear the faint echoes of laughter — Wolf's voice, from the last transmission before Durnholde Pass had gone up in flames.

He could still remember the words.

"Go all out in this fuckass war, Commander. Go out loud."

And so he did.

On the fourth day, Noah joined the fight himself.

The command deck fell silent when he stepped out in his reinforced exo-gauntlets ...designed to channel destructive force through physical contact. The metal shimmered faintly under the morning sun, its surface engraved with sigils of restraint.

He leaped from the blimp, a streak of light cutting through the haze, and landed amidst the ruins of the northern courtyard. The shockwave sent both allies and enemies staggering.

The Shock Corps saw him rise from the dust — their Commander, silent, eyes cold as winter steel. Their spirits reignited.

Noah didn't shout. He didn't give speeches. He simply raised one gauntleted hand and advanced.

The first holy barrier fell before him like glass. One punch — and the light shattered.

Central knights turned their attention to him, rallying under their captain's voice. They surged forward, blades blazing with divine enchantment.

Noah met them head-on.

The first knight swung down, and Noah caught the sword mid-strike, crushing the steel in his hand. With the other, he slammed his fist into the ground, sending a tremor that rippled through the ranks. The air split with the sound of rending stone and screaming metal.

A dozen knights fell, bones breaking under the invisible weight of his blow.

Another squad surrounded him, shields raised in unison. They chanted — their voices overlapping in divine harmony — and the ground beneath them glowed with holy light. A sphere of sanctified energy erupted, swallowing Noah whole.

When the light faded, he was still standing. His coat was in tatters, his left gauntlet cracked, but his eyes burned with unyielding resolve.

The gauntlets surged with raw mana. His movements blurred — every step leaving an afterimage, every strike carving shockwaves through armor and flesh alike.

One knight lunged, blade thrust toward his heart. Noah sidestepped, twisted, and drove his knee into the man's chest. The armor caved in, the man's scream cut short.

He spun, hammering another opponent into the dirt, then tore through the barrier shielding the next.

For every step he took forward, the ground followed — cracking, shaking, bleeding.

The fortress walls groaned. The mana lines that powered its defenses began to flicker.

May, from her observation post, watched through the smoke with trembling hands.

She whispered, "He's going to bring the whole damn city down…"

By sunset, the fighting had become madness. The Shock Corps had been reduced to scattered pockets of resistance, each man fighting in the name of their fallen general.

Noah tore through the final line of knights, his breath ragged, his vision tunneling into red. His gauntlets were nearly burned through, his mana veins screaming from overload.

And still, he didn't stop.