A Warning in the Dark
The ruins of the old bell tower stood in eerie silence, illuminated only by the pale light of the moon. The once-majestic structure now bore the scars of battle, its stone walls cracked, its bell long fallen from its perch. The night air was heavy with the scent of charred wood and dried blood, remnants of the battle that had taken place just days ago.
Ashborn stood in the center of the tower, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. A strange chill ran down his spine—not from fear, but from the overwhelming presence of the figure before him.
A tall man clad in pitch-black armor, adorned with intricate demonic runes that pulsed faintly as if alive. His silver hair moved unnaturally, as though responding to a breeze that did not exist. His red eyes, glowing like embers in the dark, bore into Ashborn with an intensity that sent warning signals through every fiber of his being.
The oppressive aura surrounding the man was suffocating—stronger than Snape's, sharper, more refined. Ashborn had faced many enemies before, but this was different. This man wasn't just powerful. He was in control.
"Who are you?" Ashborn asked, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his muscles.
The figure smirked, stepping forward with a slow, deliberate grace. Every movement exuded confidence, an unshakable certainty that sent an unspoken message—I am stronger than you.
"You may call me Claude," he said, his tone smooth, yet laced with authority. "Second General of the Demon Lord's Army."
Ashborn's heartbeat quickened.
Another one? Already?
The victory over Snape had come at a cost, and he was still recovering. Yet now, before he could even rest, another of the Demon Lord's generals had come knocking at his door.
Claude's eyes studied him, analyzing, measuring.
"Do not be mistaken," he continued. "I did not come here to fight—merely to observe. I wanted to see the human who defeated Snape."
Ashborn remained still, but his mind raced. If he's not here to fight, then why appear at all?
His grip on his sword tightened, his instincts screaming at him to be ready.
"Snape was weak," Ashborn said coldly. "If you're just here to talk, then leave."
Claude chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, you misunderstand. Snape was weak, yes—but he was still one of us. His loss is unfortunate. However, it changes nothing."
Ashborn narrowed his eyes. "Nothing?"
Claude turned his back to him, gazing up at the night sky. The stars above twinkled faintly, their light swallowed by the darkness creeping over the world.
"The true war is only beginning," Claude said.
Ashborn's jaw clenched.
Claude continued, his voice calm yet filled with an ominous certainty.
"Your little victory will not go unnoticed. The Demon Lord is watching."
The words sent a shiver down Ashborn's spine.
The Demon Lord himself… is watching?
That meant one thing—his battles were far from over.
Ashborn clenched his fists. "Tell your 'lord' that I'm coming for him next."
Claude laughed, a deep, amused sound that echoed through the ruined tower. His glowing red eyes glinted with something almost like excitement.
"I look forward to it," he said.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he vanished. No smoke, no magic circle, no sound—just a faint ripple of mana left behind.
Ashborn exhaled sharply, his body finally relaxing, though his mind remained on high alert.
The war had only just begun.
---
The Road to Bolton
A week passed in Grasia. The town, though battered, was alive with activity. The people were rebuilding, finding hope in the aftermath of destruction.
News of Ashborn's victory over Snape had spread, and with it, the reputation of the Skylark Party soared. Their rank had been officially elevated to S-Rank, a title few in the world could claim.
Yet, there was no time to celebrate.
The morning was calm, the sun casting long golden rays over the town when a frantic messenger arrived. His clothes were torn, his face covered in sweat and dirt, and his breaths came in desperate gasps.
"Monsters… everywhere! They're destroying the city!"
Bolton.
The name struck like a hammer in Ashborn's mind. A major city to the east, known for its massive walls and strong defenses. If it was under attack, then the enemy wasn't just sending small raiding parties.
This was a full-scale invasion.
Ashborn didn't hesitate.
"Lida, Rick, get ready. We leave immediately."
Within minutes, the trio had gathered their supplies, refilled their potions, and mounted their horses. The journey to Bolton would take four days at full speed—if the city even lasted that long.
---
A Growing Shadow
As they rode through dense forests and open plains, the sense of unease only grew. The further east they traveled, the more signs of destruction they found—villages burned to the ground, corpses of merchants lying by the roadside, carts overturned and stripped bare.
The attacks had not been random.
"They were moving with purpose," Lida murmured, guiding her horse over a fallen tree.
Ashborn nodded. "They weren't just killing. They were advancing toward Bolton."
Rick clicked his tongue. "Damn monsters didn't even leave survivors."
Ashborn's eyes darkened.
This wasn't just a raid. This was war.
---
The First Signs of Battle
By the third night, the sky had turned a deep crimson, the distant glow of flames licking at the horizon.
Bolton was burning.
The city walls, once unshakable, had massive cracks running through them. The gates had been torn open, twisted and shattered. Screams echoed through the air, mixing with the monstrous roars of demons feasting on the city's remains.
Ashborn, Lida, and Rick pulled their horses to a stop, taking in the sight before them.
"No…" Lida whispered, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword.
Ashborn's jaw tightened.
"We're too late," she said, her voice trembling.
"No," Ashborn replied, stepping forward. His eyes burned with determination. "We're just in time."
Suddenly, a deep, guttural roar erupted from within the city, shaking the ground beneath them.
Something massive was moving.
And it was waiting for them.
Rick cracked his knuckles, a grin forming on his face. "Looks like we've got a real fight on our hands."
Ashborn unsheathed his sword, feeling the familiar weight settle into his grip.
The Demon Lord's army had begun its true assault.
And he would be there to stop it.