We were roused before dawn and quickly formed up. Silvera Noris walked down the line, checking the knots on our straps and the blades at our belts, before saying dryly:

  "Stay close. Do not step more than three meters away from me. I will not save you if you scatter."

  We nodded. Even Finn kept his mouth shut.

  The March

  We were issued horses—not heavy warhorses, but fast ones. We mounted up and rode across the morning fields toward the half-ruined gates of the city.

  A messenger ran out to meet us—young, completely covered in blood, his cloak torn to shreds.

  "We... we've taken back half the city..." he wheezed. "But the casualties... they're massive..."

  He tried to say something else, but Noris cut him off. "Later. Lead the way."

  The messenger nodded, and we spurred our horses onward.

  The Face of War

  When the distance to the epicenter closed to forty meters, I saw true war up close for the first time in this life.

  Men were dying like scythed grass. Spears punched through bodies. Arrows mowed down entire ranks. Black demons swarmed through the streets, and from somewhere above—falling slowly, like a descending sun—a massive fireball crashed down.

  Finn drew in a sharp, ragged breath. Elinia went so pale it looked as if her heart had just been ripped out of her chest.

  Somewhere behind a shattered wall, I spotted a squad of demonic mages: they stood in a strict line, moving their hands in perfect synchronicity, generating explosive rings of fire.

  Noris didn't give us time to freeze.

  "INTO THE BUILDING! MOVE!"

  We sprinted under a scorched stone archway—the only available cover. But it wouldn't remain cover for long.

  The Wounded

  A squad of fourteen human soldiers was sprinting down the opposite street—with demonic spears raining down at their backs.

  Noris only had time to bark: "WALL!"

  I lunged forward, slamming my palm into the dirt—and the stone violently erupted upward, growing into a massive barricade that shielded the fleeing soldiers.

  While the spears clattered harmlessly against the stone, I was already dragging the wounded by their collars into cover.

  "Inside! Move!"

  I wasn't thinking; I was just acting. The mana flowed entirely on its own.

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  The Tremor

  The ground beneath my feet shuddered.

  At first, it was barely noticeable, but then it became a heavy, booming rhythm. I understood what it was a second before I actually saw it.

  A massive shadow blotted out the street.

  An Ogre. Four meters tall. Covered in jagged bone growths. Wielding a club larger than my entire body.

  Noris gritted his teeth. "Fall back. Immediately. No playing hero."

  But I couldn't. The wounded were lying right next to me, still breathing. If we retreated, they would die.

  The ogre shook the street with a deafening roar and raised its club.

  "ZENKHALD, RUN!!!" Noris roared.

  The air warped.

  I barely managed to throw myself backward—the club passed mere centimeters from my chest, smashing into the cobblestones and kicking up a blinding cloud of rock dust.

  Our eyes met. The Ogre—and me.

  And then, I got angry.

  "Bring it on..."

  Ice erupted from beneath my boots. Long, razor-sharp spears shot forward, violently piercing the monster's feet. The ogre shrieked, collapsing to its knees.

  I launched another barrage—stone projectiles, jagged chunks of cobblestone, debris from the walls. I simultaneously conjured ten golems of ice and stone—they immediately grabbed the wounded soldiers and dragged them back into cover.

  And then...

  The Strike

  A shadow. A blur of motion. A crushing agony in my chest.

  I was swatted aside like a ragdoll. A mass of black fur, claws, and a predatory snout tore through the air.

  A werewolf. A massive one. Faster than the wind itself.

  It struck again—a massive paw swiped across my chest, driving the air from my lungs and sending the world spinning.

  "ZEN!!!" Finn's voice screamed.

  "STAY ALIVE!!!" Astra cried out.

  Finn threw himself toward me, grabbing my shoulders. He threw up a dome of compressed fire and wind, pressing me hard against the dirt. "Hold on, hold on... blood... damn it..."

  Through a haze of pain, I watched my classmates turn the werewolf into a pincushion: Elinia blasted it with wind arrows, Tara slashed its legs, and Siren tore through it with a blinding flash of light.

  The monster collapsed before it could take another step.

  But it was only the first.

  The Enemy Column

  We heard footsteps. A lot of footsteps.

  When the dust finally settled, we froze.

  Goblins were marching down the street. But they weren't ordinary. They weren't feral scavengers.

  They were heavily armored. Marching in strict formation. Moving with a precise, synchronized rhythm. A metallic march, operating exactly like a disciplined human army.

  There were... far too many of them.

  Finn went pale. Astra exhaled sharply, pressing her hands to her lips. Elinia ground her teeth.

  "NORIS!!!" I yelled.

  But he was already standing right behind me. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck like a kitten and hurled me away from the advancing squad.

  "RUN!!!"

  We sprinted. Our boots sank into the dust; the air was as hot as an open furnace.

  Noris was shouting a report to the commander via an artifact; we only caught fragments: "...armored vanguard..." "...strict formation..." "...magical artillery support..." "...this is a tactical wedge, not a feral pack!..."

  The human forces began to urgently redraw their lines. Forming a defensive wedge. Bracing to repel the impact.

  I stood in the rear, clutching my side, discreetly using blood magic to pull the escaping blood back into my veins and forcefully stitch my torn tissue together.

  When I finished, the others ran up to me.

  "Are you alive?" Finn panted.

  "For the first day... I'm doing okay," I grunted.

  Elinia was breathing heavily, her eyes wide. "Are we... are we really supposed to be here?"

  But Silvera materialized beside us again, as sudden as a lightning strike.

  "Stop shaking. You are not children anymore. You just saw what you are capable of. And yes," he jabbed a hard finger into my chest, "you are stronger than all those regular soldiers combined."

  He swept his gaze across our squad.

  "We are flanking the enemy. We push deep. Our target: the demonic long-range mages."

  He offered a tight, predatory, exhausted half-smile. "If we kill them, this wedge collapses."

  He paused, adjusting his grip on his weapon, and added quietly: "And honestly... I think you lot are absolutely stronger than half this damn army."

  We swallowed hard.

  And we stepped forward to follow him.