CHAPTER 703: 703

He hated himself for the excitement, yet he couldn’t deny it. For the first time in years, he felt like a knight again.

He leaned back, staring at the roof of the tent.

If only he had a mage...

If only he had reinforcements...

If only they weren’t already losing this war before they even understood the enemy...

His fingers curled into a fist.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, "I will see this enemy with my own eyes."

And he would no matter the cost.

Unknown to the commander, his enemies were already closer than any of them imagined.

Deep in the forest not far from the dead town, the moonlight sifted through the branches, glinting off hundreds of red, predatory eyes. The thralls moved on all fours, their slick limbs pulling them through foliage with unnatural speed. They were silent except for the faint rustle of leaves disturbed by their passing.

They were heading toward their next destination, another small settlement marked for extinction.

To reach it, they passed through a forest they knew well, a forest familiar to them because they had drained it dry only two nights ago.

But then, all at once, every thrall stopped.

Their bodies stiffened, their heads lifted sharply. Nostrils flared as they drank in the night air.

A chorus of low growls rippled through the horde.

The scent should not exist here anymore. Life, warm, beating and fresh. Something they had not expected.

Ears twitched, turning like hunting animals. The forest was silent, but to the thralls, the sound was bright as thunder:

Heartbeats, blood flowing, strong blood. One Stronger than most. A promising prize.

Confusion flickered among them, how could a living being be inside a territory they had already cleansed? But confusion quickly gave way to instinct.

Hunger, opportunity. The chance to create something stronger among their ranks.

The entire horde let out a deafening, unified roar that sent birds exploding from the trees.

Then they turned.

With terrifying speed, hundreds of thralls barreled toward the town where the commander and his soldiers rested.

The commander jerked upright in his tent. A roar, deep, monstrous, close rolled across the night sky like a shockwave.

He burst outside, sword in hand.

His men were already stumbling out of their tents, eyes wide, armor half-buckled. The moonlit forest at the town’s edge seemed impossibly dark now, every tree suddenly menacing.

The commander shouted "Positions! Move! Move!"

Fear was at their heels, but training pushed them forward.

He had no idea how many enemies were coming, only that the roar was not from a pack, or a beast, or a handful.

It was from an army.

The commander made the only choice that gave them any chance of survival.

"Fall back into the town! Defensive formations!"

His men obeyed instantly.

Archers scrambled up the protective walls, nocking arrows with trembling fingers. Foot soldiers rushed into the narrow streets, using buildings and choke points to force enemies into tighter paths.

Shields were raised, torches lit. Barricades dragged into place.

The commander stood at the town gate, blade drawn, aura flaring faintly with third-stage power.

From the forest came the unmistakable sound of hundreds of limbs tearing through brush, growing louder, faster, closer.

And he felt it, a surge of killing intent so immense it made the air feel thicker.

His mouth went dry.

There was no mistaking it now.

"Ready yourselves!" he shouted up to the walls. "They’re coming!"

His men braced.

Silence fell over the town as the soldiers waited, their breaths shallow, hearts hammering. At first, it was only an illusion, but then the dark forest before them seemed to shift and pulse with red light. It wasn’t stationary; it moved, ever closer, crawling toward them through the trees like living embers.

Someone in the crowd swallowed hard, their spit catching in the dry night air. Hundreds of blood-red eyes glimmered among the shadows, peering from behind trunks and branches. Whatever lurked in the forest made perfect use of the cover, hiding its form entirely. Only the eyes, sharp and predatory, betrayed its presence.

The commander’s gaze narrowed. He gave a quick signal to the nearest archer, who immediately released an arrow toward one of the glowing eyes. The projectile flew fast, striking true.

There was silence on both side as a roar tore through the forest, deafening and unnatural, and a thrall stepped into view, a withered, elongated figure on four legs, the arrow still embedded in its neck.

Its gaze locked on the soldier who had fired. Time seemed to slow for a moment, and only the commander reacted. He could see the creature’s muscles twitch, its body coiling like a spring. Then, with inhuman speed, it launched itself forward, a blur of claws and snarling teeth. Behind it, the hundreds of other thralls hiding in the forest began to move, their forms indistinguishable in the dark, but their intent unmistakable.

The commander roared a single command: "Release!"

He knew instinctively that his men could not track the thralls’ speed individually. No hesitation. Not a second wasted. Arrows flew from every bow, blanketing the night sky with sharp streaks of light. The thralls’ cries rang out in unison, half roar, half hiss, and yet the volley of arrows halted their advance, forcing them to pause, claws scrabbling at the earth, bodies recoiling in annoyance.

The soldiers and the commander all swallowed hard, gulping the cold night air as they realized the terrifying truth: the thrall’s speed and distance covered were staggering. Within moments, some had already nearly reached the gate and town walls, ready to climb, to overtake, to tear apart anyone who stood before them.

The commander’s mind raced. The small reprieve bought by the arrows would last only seconds. Every instant counted. He could see it, the inevitability. Even if he tried to strike at some of them, even if a handful fell to steel, it would only slow the others for a heartbeat.

"Retreat!" he screamed, voice sharp and commanding.

There was no room for doubt, no time for hesitation. Every soldier in the town understood now, this was not something they could fight and survive. This was not a foe they could engage and hope to win.

The commander’s heart pounded as he watched the first thralls near the gate. He understood, fully, the danger he faced. He could face some of the creatures, perhaps even destroy a few, but if they jumped him all at once, if even half of the horde struck together, he would fall instantly.

There was no choice left but to abandon the ground they had so recently fought to hold. Survival, not victory, was their only option.

But the moment they turned to run, the commander’s instincts screamed at him. His ears twitched and he froze, a pit forming in his stomach.

The thralls were back in action.

In a blur of motion, several creatures had already reached the rear ranks of his men, dragging soldiers down into the shadows. Screams tore through the night, short and filled with fear, cut off as the victims were swallowed by the thrall’s speed and savagery.

The commander’s mind raced. A sick thought crept in: had he made the wrong choice in ordering a retreat? If they had held their ground, fought as a unit... maybe more could have survived. Maybe fewer would have fallen prey to the relentless, hunting horde.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Hesitation now meant death.

He saw it then: the creatures were not just targeting his men indiscriminately. They were moving with purpose, their red eyes fixed, scanning, calculating.

A large number of thralls, the strongest and fastest, began to surge forward, pushing through the scattered soldiers. Their movements were terrifyingly coordinated, almost intelligent. Every step they took closed the distance between predator and prey.

The commander’s hand clenched around his sword hilt, there were too many. Too fast. Too relentless.

Even a single misstep would mean being torn apart.

And yet... some part of him, the part that had felt alive again for the first time in years, burned with anticipation. This was what he had trained for. This was what he had always dreamed a knight’s life could be.

But hope alone would not save him. Not here. Not now.

The commander planted his feet, scanning the advancing thralls, calculating the fleeting seconds he had before they were upon him.

There was no turning back.

The commander planted his feet firmly on the cracked cobblestones, gripping his sword with white-knuckled intensity. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, iron, and something far fouler he could not name. From the shadows of the forest, thralls burst forth like a crimson tide, moving with incredible speed, their claws scraping stone and wood as they closed in.

He struck first. A four-limbed creature lunged at him from the corner of a building, jaws snapping. The commander pivoted, sidestepping with near-perfect balance, and drove his sword into the creature’s shoulder. A sickening crack echoed through the night as bone splintered. The thrall shrieked, twisting violently, but he rolled backward, striking its neck in a clean arc. Its body went limp, yet even in death its eyes burned with unnatural light for a moment before finally dimming.