Inside the main tent of the Royal Kingdom of Yordan’s Department of Magic, a circle of mages stood with their arms raised high, channeling magical energy in rhythmic waves toward the center of the formation. There, the head of the magic department—a senior sorcerer clad in robes inlaid with magical crystals—served as the primary conductor, receiving the full stream of energy to amplify the binding incantation already embedded within Veskar.
This spell wasn’t merely a binding—it was an advanced form of mind control, designed to infiltrate the cognitive system of the target directly. Once the energy reached its optimal threshold, the lead mage began reciting a structured command sequence, intricately woven with high-level brainwashing magic. The objective was clear: to fully activate Veskar and command him to launch a frontal assault, thereby aiding Yordan’s forces in gaining dominance in the coming battle.
The moment the incantation was delivered, Veskar’s reaction was immediate. The eyes that once appeared vacant now blazed with a fierce, glowing red, signaling full activation. Without pause or further instruction, his wings snapped open—sharp and fast—stirring up a dense whirlwind. Then, with a single motion, he lifted off the ground and shot into the night sky toward the battlefield, moving at a speed far beyond the limits of normal biological capability.
Atop the grand defensive fortress, now cloaked in silence from the tension thick in the air, Commander Ryul stood tall. His gaze swept across the vast nightscape before him, recalling the dark night from weeks ago—only this time, they were far more prepared.
"Ready yourselves!!" Ryul shouted, his voice echoing through the stone walls of the battlements. As he fastened his helmet, adorned with the emblem of the World Tree, he looked out over his troops, now lined tightly along the ramparts, bows raised and spears locked in place.
But one thing nagged at the edge of his mind—why hadn’t the enemy attacked?
The army of the Kingdom of Yordan was clearly visible in the distance, their formation stretching like a sea of steel under the moonlight. Their commander stood at the front, face obscured beneath a heavy helm, but none of them moved forward.
"Are they waiting for a signal?" murmured one of the Elven captains beside Ryul, his tone low and laced with suspicion.
Ryul gave a slow nod. "Or... they’re stalling, trying to bait us into attacking first. Hold your ground. Don’t take the bait."
Meanwhile, on the left flank of the wall, a young Elven archer squinted into the distance. "Commander... in the sky! Something’s approaching from the west!"
At first, it appeared no larger than a night hawk—a small dark speck against the starlit sky. But within seconds, it grew in size... and the deep, resonating thrum of heavy propulsion began to vibrate through the air.
"That’s... that’s not a bird!!" the panicked archer cried out. "IT’S VESKAR!!"
A gleaming black figure, marked with the yellow-and-black pattern of a giant hornet, pierced the night sky. His long spear was raised forward, and then—BOOM!—a sonic shockwave tore through the air, shattering the first layer of the magical barrier with ease. The blast swept through the front line, sending several soldiers sprawling from their posts.
"W-WATCH OUT!! HIGH-IMPACT STRIKE FROM ABOVE!!"
Ryul raised his arm high. "ALL UNITS! HOLD THE LINE!! SKY SHOOTERS, STAGGER HIM!!"
But before the command could be fully carried out, Veskar dove toward the fortress wall, ready to crash into it with full force—a surprise opening strike that no one had anticipated. And just as it happened, from the northeast, the sound of war drums and horns began to echo...
They were surrounded.
The southern wall erupted in a thunderous explosion. The crack of stone, screams, and the clash of steel rang out in chaotic symphony—signaling one thing: the defenses had been breached. The human forces, who had awaited this very moment, blew their war horns, and their battle cries shook the night. Amid the frantic chaos, the morale of the Elven troops began to fray.
From afar, Ren looked up as a thunderous boom echoed from the south. The sound was strong enough to rattle the glass on his vehicle—now transformed into a mobile workshop.
"Hah... So they’re starting from the south. Most likely Veskar’s there, just as I calculated." His voice was low, but his analytical tone remained steady. A few seconds later, another sound rang out—this time, the sharp, piercing blare of war horns from the northeast. The enemy was on the move from that direction as well.
"...A pincer attack," Ren muttered, his expression hardening.
Beside him, the holographic display flickered to life. Dozens of small, spherical drones hovered in midair like ripe fruit ready to be picked. He had made them as a contingency, crafted from surplus materials—and now, they were about to serve their purpose.
『Master, two battlefronts have been engaged. Estimated breach on the eastern flank in fifteen minutes.』 Ultro’s voice came through from the helmet, which rested on the armor rack nearby.
Ren rose from his folding seat and began suiting up in a form-fitting underlayer of sleek, black armor. Like a second skin, it clung perfectly to his frame. The main armor pieces began to attach one by one, locking into place according to the new configuration he had designed: a streamlined mithril-plated set, shaped like a night falcon in flight.
『All system functions online. Synchronization at 98%.』
"Good. Time to rock and roll," Ren said softly, then glanced up at the sky—still bright, now beginning to darken with the black smoke rising from the southern fortress as flames consumed its walls.
As the three chimes signaling sunrise rang out from the bell tower at the palace’s rear, the morning mist that had blanketed the battlefield slowly began to dissolve under the warming rays of the sun. To the northeast, the Elven guards stationed atop the fortress walls had assumed the morning would be peaceful. But from the gaps in the distant treeline, waves of human soldiers emerged—like a black flood devouring the forest’s edge.
The hearts of the guards began to pound. The enemy’s numbers far exceeded the forces positioned on the northeastern side. Worse, the human formation advanced with eerie confidence—and they weren’t alone. Dozens of Elven hostages, including children, were forced to the front line, used as human shields without a shred of mercy.
"This... this is monstrous," whispered one of the Elven soldiers, his eyes unable to look directly at the trembling children held between shields and spears.
Uncertainty cloaked the fortress wall. No one dared fire the first shot. Fingers held their bows, but no one drew the string.
Suddenly, the once-still morning air rumbled. A streak of green light burst from the upper wall, dancing through the air like a wind spirit’s flame. The arrow struck the ground right in front of the enemy line, exploding with a deafening crack that sent sand flying in all directions. A burst of light flared outward.
"That’s not an ordinary shot!"
All eyes turned to the watchtower—and there she stood. Princess Elaria, clad in light armor and a soft silver cloak, stood gracefully with her father’s legendary bow in hand. Her hair caught the morning light, and around her, unseen to those without spiritual sight, wind spirits danced in the air.
"Princess Elaria!" shouted a young archer, tears welling with newfound hope.
Elaria inhaled deeply, then raised her voice—amplified by wind magic so that her words reached every corner of the wall.
"Listen well! The enemy uses our children as shields because they know you hesitate! But will you allow our brothers and sisters to be humiliated any further? No! Show them that Elves do not yield to fear—protect this land with your courage!"
A roar of cheers erupted like arrows loosed in unison. The Elven lines, once wavering, now stood tall once more. They began to aim—not at the hostages, but at the flanks, the legs, the gaps in the enemy formation unshielded by innocents.
"For Princess Elaria!"
"For the Southern Forest and the World Tree!"
Elven trumpets blared from the walls, and the morning sun lit up faces that now shone not with fear, but with renewed resolve.
Princess Elaria was no longer merely a survivor. That day, she became the embodiment of a flame that set the eastern wall ablaze with spirit.
Across the battlefield, atop a command hill behind the Yordanian formation, King Thalgrev clenched his teeth in bitter frustration. His sharp gaze beneath a golden hood locked onto the Elven eastern wall—where Elaria now stood proudly, firing arrows that struck with the force of magical artillery.
"That wretched whore..." he hissed through gritted teeth, his hand tightening over the armrest of his dragon-engraved war chair. Watching the Elves rally behind a woman who should have been broken filled him with seething humiliation before his entire military entourage.
"Where’s our magic division?" he barked, not bothering to look aside.
A nearby advisor bowed low. "Your Majesty, they are currently advancing to the main front after completing the control incantation on Veskar."
"Tch! And it takes all of them to deal with one insect?!"
"I’m sorry, Your Majesty... But Veskar is no ordinary creature. He is the pinnacle of his species. Without complete control, he could become a threat to our own forces..."
King Thalgrev spat on the ground. "To hell with that! Then order Dolam forward. Now!"
The advisor tensed. "Your Majesty... if Dolam moves forward, we’ll lose your best rear guard protection..."
The king turned with fury burning in his eyes. "Are you suggesting I’m in danger? Then make damn sure I stay alive! I’m not a king who falls easily!"
"Understood, Your Majesty!" The advisor bowed deeply and withdrew immediately.
King Thalgrev exhaled harshly, then let out a bitter chuckle. "How aggravating... But no matter," he muttered. His eyes turned once more to the eastern wall. "Soon, all of this will collapse. And you, Elaria... I will disgrace you once again in front of your people. Let them see that their hope is nothing more than a pretty illusion you’ve crafted."