The War Escalates
Ren studied the war map in his command chamber.
The next obstacle on his path was Ironhold Bastion—one of the largest fortresses in the empire.
Unlike Blackspire, Ironhold was deep within Xendrian territory. Taking it would not just be a military victory—it would be an act of war against the entire empire.
But Ren did not hesitate.
He turned to his war council, a mix of undead commanders, necromancers, and trusted mortal strategists.
"We march on Ironhold within the week," Ren declared.
Roderic, his most trusted general, frowned. "We've barely secured Blackspire. Ironhold is three times the size, with a standing army of at least 40,000 soldiers."
Ren smiled. "Then we'll make sure they never see us coming."
The March to Ironhold
Unlike Blackspire, which had been taken through a slow and calculated siege, Ren wanted to strike Ironhold with speed and brutality.
His plan was simple:
First, his undead legions would march under the cover of darkness, avoiding major roads. Second, necromancers would summon fog to mask their movements, preventing enemy scouts from spotting them. Third, once within striking distance, they would attack at dawn, when the fortress was at its most vulnerable.
The campaign began at midnight.
Ren led an army of 30,000 undead warriors, their decayed bodies moving in eerie silence through the forests and mountains of Xendria.
By the fifth day, Ironhold was in sight.
And they had not been detected.
The Assault Begins
Ironhold was a fortress of steel and stone, towering over the landscape.
It was protected by massive walls, reinforced by ballistae, trebuchets, and thousands of archers.
But Ren had no intention of launching a traditional siege.
Instead, he used the power of undeath to strike before the defenders even knew they were at war.
At the break of dawn, his necromancers acted.
The sky turned black as a wave of necrotic energy snuffed out the sunlight. Fog poured into the fortress, seeping into every crack and crevice. Then came the dead.
The soldiers on the walls barely had time to react before shadows moved within the mist.
Skeletal warriors climbed the battlements, their bony fingers tearing into flesh. Wraiths passed through solid stone, dragging screaming men into the abyss. Then, with a single word from Ren, the main gate exploded inward.
The undead horde flooded Ironhold, overwhelming the defenders in a storm of blood and steel.
The Fall of Ironhold
For the first hour, the Xendrian forces held the line.
Their knights and paladins fought with desperate fury, hacking through the undead with holy blades.
But the dead do not tire.
The living bled, weakened, and fell.
And those who fell rose again—this time as Ren's soldiers.
By midday, the fortress was in ruins.
The banners of Xendria were torn down.
And the sigil of the Necrodominion was raised above the highest tower.
Ironhold had fallen.
And with it, Ren had breached the heart of the empire.
The Empire Strikes Back
The conquest of Ironhold sent Xendria into chaos.
The emperor himself, Tiberius Valcion IX, declared total war against the Necrodominion.
A coalition of five kingdoms pledged their armies to the Xendrian cause, forming the largest military alliance in history.
Within a month, a force of over 200,000 soldiers was assembled.
And they had one goal.
Kill Ren Nightfell.
But Ren was not afraid.
He welcomed the challenge.
---
The fall of Ironhold Bastion sent shockwaves through the world.
Ren Nightfell had done the unthinkable—not only had he crushed two of Xendria's most fortified strongholds, but he had done so in weeks, not years.
The empire's nobles and military commanders were in a state of panic.
If a single man—an undead warlord—could sweep through their defenses so effortlessly, then what hope did the rest of them have?
But Ren knew this victory was only the beginning.
The real war was about to begin.
Securing the Fortress
Ironhold was a massive structure, and while its defenders had been eliminated, Ren had no illusions about how vulnerable it was.
He immediately ordered his forces to fortify the bastion, preparing for the inevitable counterattack.
Undead laborers worked day and night, rebuilding collapsed walls and strengthening defenses. Necromancers inscribed dark wards into the stone, ensuring that no holy magic could penetrate its walls. War machines, scavenged from the battlefield, were repaired and repurposed for the Necrodominion.
But Ren was not a defensive warlord.
He did not conquer Ironhold to hold the line.
He conquered it to advance.
A Deadly Counterattack
Ren knew the empire would not sit idly by.
And he was right.
Within days, scouts reported that a massive force was marching toward Ironhold—a coalition of Xendrian legions and knights from five allied kingdoms.
Over 200,000 soldiers.
The largest army ever assembled.
And they had only one purpose—to erase Ren Nightfell from existence.
For the first time since the war began, Ren found himself outnumbered.
But he did not fear the living.
Preparing for Battle
Ren gathered his war council, studying the reports.
The enemy force was only a week away.
Their commander, High Marshal Darius Valerian, was one of Xendria's greatest tacticians—a man who had never lost a battle.
"This army was built to destroy you," said Roderic, Ren's most trusted general. "We can't face them head-on."
Ren smirked.
"I never planned to."
Instead of preparing for a traditional siege, Ren devised a bold strategy—one that would shatter the enemy before they even reached Ironhold.
The Night Raid
On the fifth night of the enemy's march, the empire's massive army made camp in the Shadowvale Highlands, a mountainous region just thirty miles from Ironhold.
The soldiers felt safe.
After all, they were tens of thousands strong.
What could one necromancer possibly do?
They would soon learn the answer.
Unleashing Hell
At midnight, the attack began.
Ren's necromancers channeled a powerful dark ritual, sending a wave of necrotic energy surging across the highlands.
Corpses buried beneath the earth clawed their way to the surface. The shadows of fallen soldiers rose and turned against their former comrades. The very air became a weapon, as the souls of the damned screamed through the battlefield.
Before the empire's soldiers even had time to arm themselves, the undead were upon them.
The carnage was unimaginable.
Men were dragged from their tents, their throats torn out before they could even scream. Entire battalions were overwhelmed, their bodies joining Ren's army before they even hit the ground. Warhorses reared in terror, trampling their own riders as the darkness consumed them.
By dawn, over 50,000 enemy troops were dead.
And Ren's army had grown stronger.