The Royal Decree

The ground cracked.

Goaty vanished.

No not vanished.

It was too fast for the human eye to follow.

One moment, it was standing still. The next, the knight was flying backward, his armor caved in, his body smashing into a broken house with a thunderous crash.

Ren barely had time to react before Goaty moved again.

BOOM!

A second soldier exploded into a mist of blood before he could even scream.

Goaty was no longer just a summon.

It was a force of nature.

A blur of destruction tore through the battlefield, ripping apart trained soldiers like paper dolls.

A man raised his shield—only for Goaty to ram straight through it, reducing both the shield and its wielder into a pile of twisted metal and flesh.

One tried to run.

Goaty didn't chase.

It turned its head 

 And fired.

A beam of golden energy ripped through the air, hitting the man's back. He didn't even have time to scream before he was erased from existence.

The remaining soldiers froze.

Ren could see it in their eyes.

This was no longer a battle.

It was a massacre.

A Desperate Counterattack

The knight commander groaned, pulling himself out of the wreckage of the broken house.

His armor was cracked. Blood dripped from his lips.

But his eyes were still sharp.

"Retreat!" he barked. "Regroup! Form ranks!"

The remaining soldiers scrambled, rushing to his side.

They moved with discipline, raising their shields in a tight formation.

Ren raised an eyebrow. "You still want to fight?"

The knight didn't answer. He simply lifted his sword.

A silver glow covered the blade.

A skill.

The air around him shifted.

The remaining soldiers followed his lead, their weapons glowing with the same silver energy.

Ren frowned.

He recognized this.

Blessing of the Silver Flame. A high-level knight technique that drastically increased strength and resistance.

Individually, they were fodder.

But together?

They might actually be trouble.

The knight raised his glowing sword. "You are strong, necromancer. But do not mistake power for invincibility."

Ren smirked. "Then prove me wrong."

The knight charged.

Goaty moved first.

It vanished and reappeared in front of the knight, its golden horns lowering for a devastating charge.

But this time 

The knight was ready.

CLANG!

His glowing sword met Goaty's horns. The impact sent a shockwave through the village, cracking the ground beneath them.

Goaty skidded back.

Ren's eyes widened.

It was pushed back?

The knight gritted his teeth, his hands shaking from the force of the clash. "It's… just a beast," he muttered. "No matter how strong it is… it can be killed."

The other soldiers charged in.

Goaty leaped, dodging their attacks.

But it was slower now.

The silver glow of their weapons wasn't just for show. It was weakening Goaty's movements.

Ren cursed under his breath.

The kingdom's knights weren't amateurs.

They were adaptable.

And that made them dangerous.

He needed to tip the scales fast.

Ren lifted his hand.

"Dark Resurrection."

A pulse of necrotic energy spread across the battlefield.

The dead rose once more.

Skeletons dragged themselves up, grabbing weapons. Ghoul corpses reformed, snarling.

The battle shifted again.

And in that moment of distraction 

Goaty struck.

BOOM!

The knight didn't see it coming.

Goaty rammed into him again, this time with full force.

The knight's sword shattered.

His armor collapsed inward.

His body folded like paper.

And then—

Silence.

The remaining soldiers stared in horror.

Their commander was gone.

Crushed beneath the hoof of a goat.

A golden goat.

A nightmare made flesh.

Ren exhaled slowly.

"It's over," he muttered.

The last few surviving soldiers didn't even try to fight.

They ran.

Ren didn't stop them.

Let them run.

Let them carry the message.

Let them tell their king what had happened here.

Ren turned to Goaty, who calmly licked its hoof.

A small grin formed on his lips.

"This is just the beginning."

Far away, in the Royal Capital of Zevran…

A man sat on a throne of black iron.

His golden eyes narrowed as he listened to the trembling soldier before him.

When the report finished, the throne room was dead silent.

Then, the king spoke.

"A goat, you say?"

The soldier nodded, his face pale.

"A golden goat. That destroyed an entire platoon."

The king leaned back, fingers tapping against the armrest.

Then, slowly 

He began to laugh.

---

The Royal Capital of Zevran was a city built for war.

Towering black walls loomed over the bustling streets, where knights in polished armor patrolled with unwavering discipline.

At the heart of it all sat the Iron Palace, an unbreakable fortress that had withstood centuries of war and rebellion.

And inside its grand hall, King Aldric Zevran sat on his iron throne, fingers tapping against the cold metal armrest.

His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he listened to the shaken soldier before him.

"A goat," Aldric repeated, his deep voice carrying through the chamber. "A golden goat that destroyed an entire platoon of my elite knights."

The soldier swallowed hard, his armor clinking as he knelt. "Y-yes, Your Majesty. It was… unlike anything I've ever seen. It moved faster than the eye could follow. Its strength was beyond human comprehension. And its master"

Aldric leaned forward, intrigued. "Yes? The master?"

"A necromancer, Your Majesty. A young man, no older than twenty. He commands an army of the dead. He"

The soldier hesitated.

"Speak," Aldric ordered.

The man trembled. "Hehe showed no fear, Your Majesty. Even when surrounded. Even when facing Sir Gregor, he acted as if… as if he were the one in control the entire time."

Silence filled the chamber.

Then—

Aldric chuckled.

The sound sent a chill down the spines of the nobles and generals gathered in the hall.

Aldric was not a man known for his kindness.

He was a warrior king, a man who had crushed rebellions with his own hands and expanded Zevran's borders through ruthless conquest.

For him to laugh in a situation like this…

It was terrifying.

Aldric leaned back. "A golden goat. A necromancer. And an entire platoon wiped out."

He tilted his head slightly. "Tell me, General Roderic. What do you make of this?"

A towering man stepped forward. His face was hardened by years of battle, his armor marked with countless victories.

General Roderic—the King's Warhound.

"The boy is dangerous," Roderic said, his voice like grinding stone. "If left alone, he will become a threat to the kingdom. He must be eliminated—immediately."

Aldric smiled. "An obvious answer. But tell me, General, do you fear this boy?"

Roderic's jaw tightened. "I fear no man."

Aldric's smile widened. "Good."

Then, his eyes turned cold.

"Because I am sending you to kill him."