Messengers ride through the night, hawks carrying sealed scrolls, runners darting along hidden roads. The news spreads faster than wildfire.

The Watervale Clan has fallen. Kore is dead. Watervale has surrendered to the monsters.

By dawn, every subordinate kingdom and clan under the Empire knows.

----

In the Ironspire Hall, where the Blackfang Clan gathers, the clan leader slams his fist into the stone table.

"Cowards! They bent the knee before beasts!" His voice echoes through the chamber, rattling weapons on the walls.

One of his lieutenants sneers. "Watervale always boasted of their discipline, of their honor. And yet they kneel like dogs at the first taste of true war."

Another warrior spits on the floor. "Better to die with a weapon in hand than bow your head to monsters."

---

In the Crystal Kingdom, nobles sit within a shining palace of glass and light. The news reaches them at a banquet.

A noblewoman raises her jeweled goblet, her lip curling. "Watervale has stained the Empire's name. To yield is to admit weakness."

An elder mage shakes his head, more thoughtful but no less bitter. "They had Kore, one of the strongest among the twenty forces. If even she could not prevail, then perhaps surrender was inevitable."

"Do not dress cowardice as necessity," another noble snaps. "When the monsters come for us, we will not kneel."

---

In the Tous Kingdom, where banners of gold and silver flutter, the royal court erupts in anger.

The crown prince slams his chair back, standing tall. "Pathetic! For generations, we fought to rise in the rankings, and now Watervale drops its blade like a common peasant. They shame every vassal under the Empire."

A general, older and calmer, frowns deeply. "Yet they chose survival. Perhaps they believe the Empire itself has abandoned them."

The prince scoffs. "No excuse. If Tous were in their place, we would burn the land to ash before bowing our heads!"

---

Across every hall, every council chamber, every war camp—the verdict is the same.

Anger.

Disdain.

Accusations of cowardice.

The surrender of Watervale shatters not only their honor, but the entire hierarchy of the twenty forces.

Some forces even started questioning, if the Watervale clan—ranked twelfth—could not stand, what chance do the weaker forces have when their turn comes?

Beneath the public outrage, whispers coil through the ranks like smoke.

"If the Watervale clan couldn't win… what hope do we, who are even weaker, have?"

"If the monsters broke her, what will they do to us?"

"Is survival cowardice—or wisdom?"

----

The horns of Lefast City sound before the sun reaches its peak.

From the high walls, banners unfurl in the breeze—crimson and gold, bearing the crest of Yosha. Below, the gates are thrown wide, and soldiers line the streets in precise formations. One hundred thousand men and women in polished armor stand at attention, shields gleaming, spears angled toward the sky. The air hums with anticipation.

At the head of the reception, Lord Savon waits astride a black warhorse. His hair is streaked with silver, his eyes sharp as steel. Though his rank is only Tier 5, his presence radiates authority. He raises a gauntleted hand, signaling silence as the first thunder of hooves echoes down the distant road.

"Here they come," he murmurs.

And then the dust cloud rises.

The ground trembles as Velira's army approaches—a sea of one hundred thousand warriors, their armor glinting like rolling waves of steel. At the front rides Velira herself, her crimson cloak snapping behind her. Flanking her are the two Tier 6 warriors: one a towering man with scars crossing his arms, the other a woman with eyes as cold as winter. Their very presence makes the soldiers on the walls shift uneasily.

When Velira draws close, Savon dismounts and steps forward, dropping to one knee with his head bowed low.

"Lady Velira of the Ashedge Clan," he declares, his voice carrying through the ranks, "Lefast City welcomes you! By order of His Majesty, the city and all its forces stand at your command!"

The soldiers echo as one, their voices booming:

"WELCOME, LADY VELIRA!"

The sheer sound shakes the stones of the walls.

Velira reins in her horse, her gaze sweeping across the lines of soldiers and the sprawling city behind them. She allows the moment to hang, then speaks, her tone sharp but steady.

"Rise, Lord Savon. We don't have time for ceremony. Lefast is the shield of Yosha's northeast. If it breaks, the kingdom falls."

Savon straightens, his weathered face set in grim lines. "The enemy pushes harder and conquering cities with each passing week. We've held so far, but…" His eyes flick toward the scarred Tier 6 beside Velira. "With your forces, the city will stand like iron."

Velira swings down from her horse, boots striking the stone with a solid thud. She walks forward, pulling back her hood to reveal her face—unbowed, unshaken.

"We're not here just to hold," she says firmly. "We're here to crush them. To make sure every monster that looks at this city remembers its fear of humans."

The scarred Tier 6 lets out a low grunt of approval. "Heh. Spoken like your father."

Savon studies her for a long moment before bowing his head again, softer this time, almost in respect. "Then Lefast is yours to command, Lady Velira."

The streets erupt in cheers, soldiers pounding their spears against their shields. The sound rolls like thunder, spreading through the city.

Velira takes in the sight—the men, the walls, the banners—and for the first time since leaving her father's hall, the weight on her shoulders feels steady.

----

In the war room of Lefast, the air is heavy with tension. The long oak table is littered with maps, markers, and hastily written reports. Torches burn along the stone walls, their light flickering over hardened faces.

Savon leans over the map, one gauntleted finger tracing the northern border. His voice is grim, steady.

"The enemy just conquered Zesa City. By our scouts' reckoning, it will take them three days to march here. They have no fewer than four hundred thousand troops, led by five Tier Five monsters."

A low murmur passes among the officers present.

Velira, standing at the table's head, narrows her eyes. Her crimson cloak brushes the floor as she folds her arms.

"What about Tier 6 monsters?"

Savon shakes his head, lips tightening. "We have no reports of Tier 6 among their ranks. But…" He exhales sharply, frustration cutting his words. "For some reason, the enemy knows every weakness of every city they attack. Their intelligence is too precise—it's almost as if someone is guiding them. If they request reinforcements, we should expect at least two Tier 6 monsters."

Odgif, the scarred warrior, lets out a rough chuckle from his corner. His arms are crossed, his frame filling the torchlight like a mountain.

"Two Tier Six? Hah. Let them come. I've been itching for a real fight."

Muv, standing opposite him, doesn't share the humor. Her gaze stays on the map, cold and sharp as a drawn blade.

"Bravado won't hold the walls, Odgif. If their intelligence truly is that refined, then they will not attack blindly."

Savon nods gravely. "Exactly. They're not just brutes marching in. Every city that's fallen, they knew exactly where to press—supply depots, hidden stores, even escape tunnels. Someone is feeding them everything."

Savon glances at her, then at the Tier 6's. "If two monsters of their level arrive, can the two of you hold them?"

Odgif snorts. "I'll take them both if you're worried."

Muv's eyes narrow, unimpressed. "Boasts don't kill enemies. Coordination does." She looks at Velira. "What's your plan?"

Velira straightens, her gaze sweeping across the chamber. The murmur of officers dies at once.

"We know their march—three days from now. Four hundred thousand against our two hundred thousand." Her voice is steady, cutting through the tension. "They expect fear. They expect us to shrink behind our walls." Her eyes narrow, hard as steel.

"We will not. We'll greet them with fire and traps—and bleed them before they ever reach our gates."

She looks at Savon. "How much food and supplies remain in Lefast?"

"Enough for two months of siege," Savon replies. "If they drag this out longer, we're in trouble."

-----

The carriage rocks gently as wheels grind against the dirt road. The low murmur of the marching army outside seeps faintly through the reinforced walls.

Thurn sits back, his eyes narrowing as he glances at the map. His voice is a low rumble.

"The Tier 6 reinforcements will arrive tomorrow."

Sorin doesn't look up from the papers in her hands, her tone crisp.

"According to the report, Lefast's reinforcements come from the Ashedge Clan. They bring one hundred thousand warriors—and two Tier 6."

The words hang heavy in the carriage.

Karnessa stiffens, her head snapping toward Sorin.

"Did you say… Ashedge Clan?"

Veltha tilts her serpentine head, forked tongue flicking briefly before she rumbles,

"Yes. You know of them?"

The others glance at Karnessa, curious.

For a heartbeat, silence presses in. Karnessa remembers Alix's warning—Do not speak of what we did in the Ashedge Clan. Her chest tightens.

"…Nothing," she says finally, her voice quieter than usual. "It's just—when I was still a slave, before his Majesty bought me… an Ashedge warrior walked past and gave me food."

Nyssara leans forward, her eyes sharp with interest.

"A rare kindness from humans."

Karnessa forces a small shrug, her gauntlet tightening slightly against her knee.

"But it was long ago. It means nothing now."

Thurn chuckles, shaking his head.

"Nothing? Even scraps can stick in the heart, Karnessa. But no matter—kindness won't save them when our blades reach their walls."

Veltha hisses softly in agreement, coiling his tail tighter.

"Ashedge or not, they'll fall like the rest, if they don't surrender."