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Ren pointed off into the distance. "You see that thing over there? Kill it."

Milo blinked. "By myself?!" He let out a nervous laugh. "I mean… I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kinda weak, you know?"

Ren sighed, shaking his head. "You're not that weak. Just go kill it." Before Milo could protest, Ren shoved him forward.

Milo stumbled, catching himself before glaring back. "You could at least pretend to be supportive."

He took a deep breath and started toward the Blight. It was tall, monstrous, its jagged body shifting with every step as if its form wasn't entirely solid. Its head turned sharply, scanning the area—searching.

For something to kill.

Milo swallowed hard. "Uh… hey there, Blight… sir." He waved awkwardly. "You seem pretty strong. Are you?" His laugh was shaky, forced.

The creature's head tilted, eyes locking onto him. When it spoke, its voice rumbled like grinding stone. "Who are you, creature?"

Milo took an involuntary step back. "W-well, I'm supposed to kill you, but if you're too strong, it wouldn't be a very fun fight, would it?" He forced a grin. "I was just asking, you know, in case you wanted a real challenge."

The Blight leaned in, its towering figure eclipsing Milo in shadow. It smiled jagged, unnatural. "You will do."

Milo sighed. "Could you at least try not to wreck the place? This area's in decent shape, and I'd rather not—"

The Blight moved.

Its fist shot forward like a cannonball.

Milo barely managed to dodge, launching himself into the air as the ground beneath him exploded into dust and shattered stone. He twisted midair, drawing his blade in a single, fluid motion. The moment the Blight's arm lodged into the earth—leaving it momentarily open—Milo struck.

A flash of steel. A clean, precise slash.

A deep gash tore across the creature's chest.

Milo landed smoothly, brushing his forehead with the back of his hand. He turned toward Ren, grinning. "How was that?! Am I doing good?!"

Ren's eyes widened, and he started gesturing wildly.

Milo frowned. "What—"

A shadow swallowed his vision.

Something crushed into his ribs, ripping the air from his lungs before he even registered the impact. A split second later, he was airborne—his body slamming through the wall of a nearby building, debris caving around him.

Everything spun. His head pounded.

Dust swirled in the air as he slowly pushed himself up, coughing. His fingers trembled against the cracked floor.

"…I told you not to wreck the buildings," he muttered under his breath. "Damn it."

Through the haze of rubble, the Blight loomed, its deep wound already knitting itself back together.

Milo exhaled sharply, shifting his stance. This time, when he moved,

He wasn't hesitating.

"I'm hoping I won't have to use it for this simple of a fight." Milo smirked, twirling a dagger between his fingers. "I could hurt myself pretty bad."

He waited, watching the Blight. The second it lunged, swinging a massive fist, he moved.

Milo leapt onto its arm, sprinting up the length of its limb like a running track. The Blight snarled in surprise, but before it could react—

A sharp flick of steel.

Milo's dagger sliced across its eyes in a clean, precise arc.

The creature roared, staggering back as it thrashed blindly, its arms swinging in erratic, desperate arcs.

"Mana thread."

Glowing strands of mana wove from Milo's fingertips, snapping tight around the Blight's legs like a trap. With a sharp pull, he yanked it off balance, sending the hulking creature crashing to the ground.

Milo grinned, stepping forward. "You know, daggers are great for guys my size, but big, hulking beasts like you?" He twirled a second blade into his grip. "They're a bit trickier."

He drove both daggers into the creature—again and again, each strike precise, relentless. The Blight barely had the chance to fight back before its body slumped, lifeless.

"Milo."

Ren's voice cut through the moment.

"It's dead."

Milo exhaled, stepping off the corpse. He wiped his blades clean on the Blight's tattered flesh before turning back, a cocky grin on his face. "So? How'd I do, boss?"

Ren crossed his arms. "Better than expected." He glanced at the creature, then around the area. "But don't you think it's weird? A random Blight showing up here?"

Milo popped a lollipop into his mouth, shrugging. "Dunno. Didn't really think about it."

Ren frowned, eyes narrowing. They're attacking major cities at large scale… they know exactly where to open the portals.

He exhaled, crossing his arms. "What about the military bases? What about… the king?"

Milo blinked. "King?" He tilted his head. "Oh right. Sometimes I forget we have one. He hardly does anything. Gabriel's the one with the real power."

"Maybe we know that." Ren's voice was measured, thoughtful. "But do they? What if they attack him?"

His fingers twitched. With a quiet incantation, he raised a hand, activating a communication spell. "I'll contact Virgil. Stay put."

"You got it." Milo waved him off, glancing around absently.

Ren moved to a rooftop, pressing two fingers to his temple as Virgil's voice cut through the link.

"Natsume. What is it?"

Ren didn't waste time. "I have a theory."

"Go on."

"Their strategy makes no sense. They've been sending relatively weak soldiers in overwhelming numbers to destroy civilian centers. What if it's a distraction? What if they're planning to hit something bigger—the king, the military bases?"

Silence.

Then, Virgil's voice came through, firm. "Resume your patrol in Novara. I'll contact our major bases to confirm any suspicious activity."

"Understood." The transmission cut out.

Ren exhaled, tapping his fingers against the roof's edge. If I save the king… that would give me an unmatched level of influence. He frowned at the thought, shaking his head. No. I need to focus. My job here comes first.

Movement caught his eye.

Far off, Milo was waving his arms wildly, pointing toward something in the distance.

Ren's pulse quickened. What now?

With a burst of Pulse Step, he shot toward him. "What is it?!"

Milo turned, his face uncharacteristically serious. "I got a transmission—Lyra! She and her team are in trouble. It was short—like a last-ditch call for help."

Ren stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching.

"She's in trouble…" he muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." His voice hardened. "Let's move."

He didn't wait for a response—his body had already launched forward, racing toward Lyra's location.

20 Minutes Earlier

The Blight stood tall, clad in intricate black knight's armor that exuded a blood-red aura, its presence suffocating the battlefield.

"I am Silas, General of the King's army." His voice was calm, smooth—eerily sophisticated. "It's a pleasure to meet you, humans. Unfortunately, you'll meet your demise by my hands."

Reid narrowed his eyes, sizing up the towering figure. Nearly eight feet tall, lanky rather than muscular, his proportions were off—unnerving. "Cool armor."

Silas raised a hand, summoning a sword from the void itself. The pure black blade, forged from abyssal obsidian, pulsed with a sinister resonance, devouring the surrounding light.

Reid charged.

"Reid, wait—!" Lyra's warning came too late.

Silas caught Reid's leg mid-kick with one hand—then snapped it like a twig.

A sickening crack.

Reid collapsed, a strangled yell escaping him as he clutched his shattered limb. Silas lifted his sword, ready to finish him—

Clang!

Lyra's scythe intercepted the blow, her feet digging into the dirt. The impact rattled her bones, and in that moment, she knew—Silas wasn't even trying.

"Elowen—!"

She didn't get to finish.

Silas' unnaturally long arm lashed out, grabbing her by the head and slamming her into the ground. The earth cracked beneath the force.

Elowen stumbled back, breathing fast and shallow. "What am I supposed to do—help!" she screamed.

Arthur moved.

Four glowing daggers streaked through the air, their luminescent edges slicing into Silas' armor. They barely left a scratch.

Undeterred, Arthur lunged, his sword gleaming with raw energy as he struck at Silas' side. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, forcing Silas back a single step—just enough for Arthur to yank Lyra and Reid out of immediate danger.

Silas exhaled, brushing dust from his armor. His gaze shifted toward Arthur, unreadable.

Arthur tightened his grip, his breathing controlled but heavy. "You feel that one?"

Silas tilted his head. "Slightly."

Arthur didn't wait. He struck again, this time aiming for Silas' chest, his sword thrumming with power.

Silas blocked it effortlessly.

Arthur barely had time to react before a knee slammed into his stomach, lifting him off the ground. A brutal backhand followed, sending him flying into a crumbling stone pillar.

Arthur hit the ground hard, coughing up blood. He forced himself onto his elbows, vision swimming.

Silas approached, slow and methodical. "You are strong," he admitted, though there was no admiration in his voice—only cold observation.

Arthur spat blood, a wry grin forming. "That's usually my line."

Silas raised his sword. "You will not speak it again."

Lyra, barely conscious, raised trembling fingers to trace the arcane sigils in the air—a rapid incantation for an emergency transmission. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, carried on the enchanted winds:

"This is Lyra—anyone nearby, we need backup—"

Her words faltered as pain and exhaustion overtook her. Darkness crept in, and the last thing she perceived was Silas' blade descending.