The sun climbed steadily into the sky, its golden light spilling across the Sea Fortress like molten metal poured over stone.

  From above, the structure resembled a titan crouched at the edge of the world — walls thick enough to defy siege engines, towers bristling with artillery, and at its heart two colossal gates that stood closed like the jaws of some ancient beast.

  Before those gates, the armies of humanity waited.

  Tens of thousands stood in formation, their armor catching the sunlight in fractured glints. Banners snapped in the wind. The low murmur of voices blended with the restless stamping of hooves.

  Behind the gates stood twenty thousand cavalry.

  They were the spearhead.

  The punch.

  The final warhorses of humanity.

  Not that many of them would survive long.

  Which was why they were being used first.

  Their task was simple: smash through the goblin front lines and disrupt defensive formations so the legions behind them would not bog down in prolonged close-quarters slaughter.

  Every Sea Fortress across the front maintained a similar force. Every one of them would unleash it today.

  Behind the cavalry stood the first battalion of two full legions — nearly one hundred thousand soldiers packed shoulder to shoulder within the immense tunnel systems carved through the fortress interior.

  Those tunnels had originally been designed as kill corridors. If the outer gates ever fell, invaders would be forced to funnel through narrow stone arteries while defenders rained death from arrow slits and murder holes above. Even if they survived that gauntlet, a second inner gate awaited them.

  Now both gates stood open.

  And instead of goblins charging inward, humanity poured outward.

  The order was given.

  The march began.

  From within the fortress, it looked like rivers of iron flowing toward the horizon.

  “Let’s go, people!” Karl’s booming voice echoed through the apartment complex. “It’s our turn to march! We’ve waited long enough — don’t be late now!”

  Doors opened. Boots thudded against floors. The building, which had housed soldiers in tense idleness for days, suddenly burst into motion.

  “Finally,” Arin muttered as he descended the stairs alongside Johnny and the rest of the family.

  He adjusted the strap of his quiver. “I did not enjoy wearing full combat gear for three days straight without actually fighting. Sure, I look cool — but it’s incredibly uncomfortable.”

  Johnny snorted softly.

  Arin glanced sideways at him. “You’re usually more up to date on this stuff. Why is it taking so long to deploy the legions? I thought we were scheduled to hit the battlefield on day one.”

  The question caught the attention of several nearby soldiers. Heads turned. They were curious too.

  Johnny took a sip from his canteen before answering.

  “It’s simple,” he said. “Experience.”

  He wiped his mouth and continued walking as he spoke.

  “In the new standard deployment structure, five legions move together. One of them has actual combat experience against goblins. They march efficiently, maintain discipline under pressure, and can deploy quickly.”

  He paused.

  “Then there are two legions with six months of training. No real combat, but decent discipline. They move almost as well — just slightly slower.”

  “And the other two?” Arin asked, already suspecting the answer.

  Johnny sighed.

  “The other two have less than a month of training.”

  A few nearby soldiers grimaced.

  “They’re the problem,” Johnny continued. “Poor formation control. Slow response times. Officers constantly correcting basic mistakes. By day two, half our experienced officers were reassigned to those units just to keep everything from collapsing.”

  “So we move slower overall,” Arin said.

  “Exactly,” Johnny nodded. “But paradoxically, it means we move faster in the long run.”

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  They merged into the marching flow pouring from the fortress gates. The bridge beyond allowed the army to spread out, easing the congestion.

  “Hey, Arin,” Bill called, falling into step beside him. “Heard anything about our objective this time?”

  Arin shook his head. “Only that we push forward until we reach a natural obstacle — something that can’t be crossed easily without going through specific chokepoints.”

  Bill frowned. “And resistance?”

  Arin glanced toward Bertho, who had overheard.

  Bertho shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, they expect moderate resistance. Around ten million goblins guarding the bridge.”

  “Only ten million,” Bill muttered dryly.

  “They’re expecting heavier resistance near the twin forests beyond,” Bertho continued. “Intelligence believes the bulk of their forces are stationed there.”

  Bill scratched his head. “Still doesn’t make sense. Why haven’t they attacked us? Two months of fortress building and not a single major assault.”

  Arin considered that.

  “Yes, the fortresses are intimidating,” Bill went on, “but no probing attacks? No attempts to test weaknesses? It feels… wrong.”

  “Give it up,” Arin said quietly. “If we knew why, we probably would’ve attacked sooner ourselves.”

  He stepped fully onto the bridge now, the open air expanding around him. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and iron.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” he added. “Assuming we make it that far.”

  Far behind the front lines, inside a command structure overlooking the battlefield, Eloi slumped into his chair.

  “The last of Legion Twenty-Three has cleared the gates,” Selvijs reported calmly. “Legion Twelve-Forty is next.”

  Selvijs looked as relaxed as ever — but if one studied him closely, the exhaustion beneath his eyes was unmistakable.

  “I understand why we have to guide those legions,” Eloi muttered, rubbing his temples, “but at this pace, we’ll never get anything done.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Selvijs replied evenly. “So stop complaining and finish your paperwork.”

  Eloi shot him a glare.

  “You’ve said that at least twelve times today.”

  “And I’ll say it again,” Selvijs replied. “Get to work.”

  Eloi grumbled but shuffled the documents before him.

  “Did we get that… special unit assigned to us again?” he asked after a moment.

  Selvijs’s lips twitched.

  “Yes. Thankfully.”

  Eloi’s eyes lit up. “There’s a story there.”

  “Only if you promise not to attempt burning your paperwork again.”

  “I promise,” Eloi said solemnly.

  Selvijs leaned back slightly.

  “Another legion commander heard about their exploits and managed to have them reassigned to his legion.”

  Eloi raised a brow.

  “He summoned them to his tent,” Selvijs continued, “and informed them they would now serve as his personal bodyguards.”

  Eloi already looked amused.

  “The old man — Karl, I believe — accepted with a straight face. Said it would be done. But added that they would need to practice their skills to ensure no accidental arrows struck their charge.”

  Eloi blinked.

  “For the next three days,” Selvijs went on, voice carefully neutral, “anywhere the commander went… arrows followed.”

  Eloi burst into laughter.

  “Near misses. Perfectly calculated. Just close enough to make a point.”

  Selvijs coughed lightly to hide his own suppressed amusement.

  “Eventually, the commander reconsidered and reassigned them back to us.”

  “Which legion?” Eloi asked between laughs.

  “Legion Seventy. Before us.”

  Eloi wiped a tear from his eye. “I can already imagine Karl’s face.”

  Selvijs straightened. “Now. Back to work.”

  “Yes, yes,” Eloi said, still chuckling as he returned to the stack of documents. “Let’s finish before we’re required at the front.”