Juan woke up to the scent of burning incense and the distant hum of the city stirring to life. The golden light of dawn filtered through the curtains of their small rented room, casting long shadows against the wooden floor. He stretched his arms with a groan, his muscles aching from the long journey.

  Frankfield stood by the window, arms crossed, his face unreadable.

  "You finally awake, sluggard?" Frankfield said, glancing back at Juan. "We have a situation. The Tzae-Vaan battalions have been spotted."

  Juan rubbed his face. "Madre mia, can I not get one morning of peace before death come knocking?"

  Frankfield sighed. "The enemy is about seventy-eight miles from every side of Glux'n, except for the east. There, they are much closer. We have about a week until they arrive. And they mean business."

  Juan sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. "And let me guess, we ain't gonna be sittin' around drinkin' tea and eatin' pastries while we wait, huh?"

  Frankfield chuckled. "No. We're making a trip. I'm taking you to my village. It's not far from the capital."

  The journey to Frankfield's hometown was unlike anything Juan had seen before. They passed through forests of crystalline trees that refracted the sunlight into dazzling colors. The rivers here shimmered with golden hues, and small floating islands dotted the skies, tethered to the ground by thick, enchanted vines. Juan had traveled for months, but every time he thought he had seen it all, this world threw something new at him.

  "This place is crazy, man," Juan muttered, kicking a stone as they walked. "One moment, I think I'm in some fairy tale, the next I'm about to get eaten by a dragon."

  "That's Glux'n for you," Frankfield said. "My village is just ahead."

  As they approached, Juan saw the people of Frankfield's homeland, Elves and Solar Elves going about their daily routines, Some were smithing weapons, refining iron, while others shopped.

  What caught Juan's attention the most, however, were the slimes. Small, gelatinous creatures that bounced around the village, splitting into smaller versions of themselves before merging back together again. Juan crouched down, poking one with his finger.

  "Ey, what the hell? They don't lose no mana when they multiply? How is that even possible?" Juan squinted at the little creatures. "They gotta be cuttin' off mana from the real body somehow, right? Otherwise, wouldn't they be drainin' themselves dry?"

  Frankfield raised a brow. "Interesting thought. Slimes are odd creatures. Most people don't pay them much attention."

  Juan grinned. "Well, most people ain't as handsome and genius as I am."

  Frankfield rolled his eyes. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

  After their brief visit, they returned to the city to make preparations. Time was slipping away, and the looming shadow of war drew closer. Reports poured in, scouts had estimated the eastern Tzae-Vaan forces numbered around twenty thousand strong, divided into six classes, cavalry, spearmen, archers, mages, front-liners, and priests or supports.

  As the final days ticked down, Glux'n's streets became a hive of activity. Blacksmiths worked day and night forging weapons, while enchantments were placed upon armor. Soldiers trained in the courtyards, and merchants made a fortune selling last-minute supplies to warriors who would soon march to battle.

  Juan stood at a market stall, flipping a gold coin between his fingers. "So, Franky, what do I get? A big ol' claymore? Maybe a magic staff?"

  Frankfield crossed his arms. "You're a shield mage. You don't need a weapon."

  Juan groaned. "Man, I wanna look cool! Can't I at least get a coat or somethin'?"

  Frankfield sighed. "Fine. Get a coat. But you're paying for it."

  Juan grinned as he snatched a cape with dark fur on the sides from a rack, throwing it over his shoulders dramatically. "Aha! Now I am ready for war!"

  "You're ready for a costume party."

  "Same thing."

  Then, the day came.

  The first Tzae-Vaan unit wasted no time. As soon as they reached the outskirts, they began torching evacuated villages, burning everything in their path. Smoke rose in thick columns across the horizon. The sounds of war drums echoed through the hills.

  Juan stood at the city walls, gripping the edge with tense fingers. "...This is real, huh? This ain't no spar. This ain't no crazy adventure."

  Frankfield placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is war, Juan. And it's only just beginning."

  As they were speaking, the Tzae-Vaan attacked the wall.

  The sky darkened as hundreds of flaming arrows soared through the air, crashing against Glux'n's golden fortifications. The sound of impact echoed across the city as war horns from the enemy's side blared, signaling the beginning of a full-scale assault. Siege engines rumbled forward, massive catapults launching boulders wreathed in unnatural green fire. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and something far more sinister—magic laced with death.

  Juan flinched as an explosion rocked the outer defenses. The first volley had barely struck, and already, parts of the outer barricade were ablaze. Solar Elf archers stationed along the wall retaliated with arrows of their own, enchanted bolts that shimmered like miniature suns, burning through flesh and armor alike.

  Frankfield grabbed Juan by the shoulder. "It has begun. We must move."

  Juan gulped, watching as the warriors of Glux'n readied themselves. The mercenaries from the royal auditorium were already engaging in battle, some charging down from the ramparts while others waited for the enemy to breach. Necromancers chanted in guttural tones, raising skeletal warriors from the earth, their bones clattering as they rushed to meet the enemy. Jinns streaked through the sky, fire trailing behind them, launching molten projectiles at the incoming cavalry.

  Juan exhaled. "Ay dios mio... so this is a war, eh? Why does it feel like a festival, but with extra screaming?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Frankfield smirked. "Stay close, Juan. This is only the beginning."

  The enemy reached the walls, and siege ladders slammed into place. Tzae-Vaan warriors clambered up like rabid animals, their armor dull gray and crimson, their weapons crude but deadly. Their war cries were guttural, animalistic. Spears and swords clashed as the defenders met them in brutal combat. Blood painted the golden stone.

  Juan drew his sword and raised his hand. A translucent barrier shimmered to life, protecting a group of elven archers from incoming projectiles. His magic, once considered the weakest of all, had become an invaluable shield on the battlefield. But he wasn't here just to defend.

  A massive Tzae-Vaan warrior lunged at him, axe raised. Juan sidestepped and swung his blade, only for it to bounce off the enemy's thick armor.

  "Hijo de!" Juan barely dodged a second swing, rolling backward as the axe buried itself into the stone. He summoned his barrier and, in an instant, reshaped it, not into a wall, but into a blade. An invisible edge, sharp as a whisper, slashed forward. The enemy's armor split, and with a wet gurgle, the warrior fell.

  Frankfield, who had just incinerated a group of soldiers with a burst of light magic, glanced at Juan. "You're improvising well."

  Juan panted. "Si, si, but I'd rather be improvising my way out of here, amigo. Maybe find a nice tavern, drink some wine, forget this war."

  Frankfield chuckled but turned serious as he pointed toward the east wall. "We have a problem. The eastern gate won't hold much longer."

  Juan followed his gaze. The Tzae-Vaan had brought battering rams, their monstrous warriors smashing the gate repeatedly. Elven mages did their best to reinforce it with spells, but cracks were already forming.

  "We need to go," Frankfield said. "Now."

  Juan groaned. "You know, I was really hoping for a siesta after this."

  They sprinted toward the eastern wall, dodging debris and stepping over bodies. The battlefield was chaos incarnate. Frankfield threw out blasts of light magic, disintegrating enemies in flashes of pure radiance. Juan, meanwhile, conjured barriers in rapid succession blocking incoming strikes, trapping enemies, and even using them as makeshift stepping stones to move quickly across the battlefield.

  As they neared the eastern gate, Juan noticed something odd. Among the Tzae-Vaan warriors was a figure unlike the others. Clad in deep black robes, his face obscured by a silver mask, he stood motionless, merely observing. Even as the battle raged around him, he did not move, as if waiting for something.

  Juan elbowed Frankfield. "Hey, amigo. See that guy over there? The creepy one who looks like he enjoys dramatic stares?"

  Frankfield's expression darkened. "A warlock. And not just any warlock. He's a commander. If he's here, it means the Tzae-Vaan are more organized than we thought."

  Juan sighed. "Of course they are. Because why would this ever be easy, eh?"

  Then, as if responding to Juan's remark, the warlock raised his hand, and the ground trembled.

  Dark tendrils of magic erupted from beneath the earth, wrapping around elven warriors and pulling them into shadowy voids. Screams echoed as soldiers were dragged away, vanishing into nothingness. In the same moment, the eastern gate gave way with a thunderous crack, and the Tzae-Vaan stormed in.

  Frankfield swore. "We're losing ground! Juan, focus! We need to hold them back until reinforcements arrive."

  Juan gritted his teeth. The warlock locked eyes with him from across the battlefield, and though Juan couldn't see the man's face, he swore he could feel a smirk beneath that silver mask.

  "Well," Juan muttered, gripping his sword tighter. "Guess I just found my new least favorite person."

  The sound of war horns echoed through the air, followed by the thunderous roar of siege weapons. Boulders, alight with arcane fire, crashed into the fortified walls of Glux'n, sending showers of molten stone and debris across the battlefield. Arrows darkened the sky, a rain of death descending upon both sides. The clang of steel rang like a violent symphony, accompanied by the cries of soldiers as blood stained the golden fields before the capital.

  Juan barely had time to react before he was separated from Frankfield in the chaos. He had no choice now but to fight on his own.

  His heart pounded as he gripped his sword, his shield magic flickering around him instinctively. Everywhere he turned, the battle raged. He could see the Solar Elves, proud and radiant, cutting down their foes with expert precision. The mercenaries fought like rabid beasts, driven by greed and the promise of unimaginable wealth. Among them, Juan's eyes caught sight of one warrior in particular, an absolute blur on the battlefield.

  A man, clad in black and dark red armor, danced through the battlefield like a demon. He was fast, inhumanly fast. Tzae-Vaan warriors barely had time to react before their heads were severed from their bodies, their blood painting the ground in splashes of crimson. His twin swords gleamed, moving in impossible arcs, cutting through steel and bone with equal ease. Juan could only watch for a moment, stunned by the sheer brutality of the man. But he had no time to marvel, another enemy was already upon him.

  He turned just in time to block an incoming spear with a hastily conjured shield. The force sent him skidding back, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward. He focused, his shield magic extending outward to form jagged blades along the edges. With a powerful swing, he shattered the spear and drove his own shield-blade through the attacker's chest. One down, countless more to go.

  The battlefield was a storm of chaos. He weaved through the carnage, cutting down any Tzae-Vaan soldier that dared attack him. He parried, dodged, and countered with everything he had, but he could feel himself tiring. He needed to end this quickly.

  And then he saw her.

  A powerful magus stood in the distance, watching the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes. Her hands were outstretched, controlling molten iron like it was an extension of her body. The liquid metal moved like mercury, forming tendrils that lashed out at anyone who dared approach. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a wave of molten death toward a group of Glux'n warriors, incinerating them in an instant. She turned her gaze toward Juan, and he knew he was next.

  He barely had time to react before a lance of molten iron shot toward him. He raised a barrier just in time, but the heat was unbearable. The iron hissed as it met his shield, solidifying on impact before breaking apart. He gasped for air, sweat dripping down his face. He couldn't fight her head-on. She controlled her element with precision, and she was relentless. He needed to think.

  If he could control his shield magic as freely as she controlled iron, then perhaps...

  An idea struck him. He remembered Frankfield's hunting technique, ricocheting beams of light to catch wild boars off guard. What if he could do the same with his shields?

  He formed a thin, needle-like barrier, no longer using his shields defensively but offensively. With a sharp breath, he aimed and let it fly. The barrier needle bounced between several hastily conjured reflective shields, gaining speed with each ricochet until—

  It struck.

  The needle pierced through the magus's skull, embedding itself deep. Her control over the molten iron wavered instantly, and the liquid metal collapsed to the ground. She staggered, eyes wide in shock before she crumpled lifelessly. It worked. It actually worked.

  Juan didn't hesitate. He refined the technique, creating a barrage of thin barrier needles, ricocheting them off shields he positioned in midair. The Tzae-Vaan soldiers around him barely had time to react before they were struck down by the invisible projectiles. He weaved through the battlefield, a force of destruction in his own right.

  Hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon, but the battle continued. The sounds of war began to die down, and soon, silence replaced the chaos. Glux'n had won.

  The numbers spoke for themselves. The enemy had been utterly crushed. Out of the 314,000 warriors that stood ready to defend the capital, only 280 had fallen. In contrast, the Tzae-Vaan eastern unit had been completely annihilated.

  Juan stood amidst the wreckage, panting, his body aching from exhaustion. He turned, searching for Frankfield among the victorious warriors. But before he could begin his search, the royal herald's voice rang out across the battlefield.

  "King Vaelar Sunstrike calls upon his warriors! Gather at the capital gates!"

  The survivors began their march back, victorious yet wary. Juan followed, still shaken by the events of the battle. The enemy had been defeated, but something didn't sit right with him.

  As they returned, King Vaelar stood atop the grand balcony of the capital, addressing his people. His voice carried strength and certainty.

  This was only the beginning, the king declared. "The Tzae-Vaan sought to weaken us with this attack, to draw our attention to one front while they prepare for another. But they have made a fatal error."

  He gestured toward the battlefield behind them. "They did not expect their forces to lose so disastrously. And that... that is where we strike next."

  A roar of approval erupted from the soldiers and mercenaries alike.

  But Juan could only grip his sword tighter.