The night had long since swallowed the world.
Autumn in the North did not arrive gently—it strangled the light out of the sky. The cold came with teeth. Wind tore through the forest like something alive, thin and shrieking, slicing through bark and bone alike. Fallen leaves spiraled in its wake, whispering like the restless dead.
Even predators had retreated. Even monsters hid.
But something worse was moving.
Through the suffocating dark, an army advanced—not marching, not living, but slithering forward like a colossal corpse-serpent stitched from steel, hunger, and silence.
No voices.No fire.No mercy.
Colin's coalition had arrived.
A full day and night without rest had stripped the soldiers down to something raw and inhuman. Muscles trembled, lungs burned, and frost gnawed at their marrow—but not one dared falter.
They had climbed cliffs that rejected life.They had waded through water cold enough to numb thought itself.They had buried themselves in damp earth by day, lying still like corpses to avoid detection.And when darkness fell, they rose again—ghosts burdened with iron and purpose.
No one complained.
Because he was there.
At the front, always within sight—like a curse they could not escape—walked Colin.
He did not sleep.He did not rest.He did not soften.
He chewed the same stone-hard meat. Drank the same freezing water. Endured the same torment.
And so none dared break.
They were not suffering for glory. Not for him.
They suffered because far away, something waited for them—starving families, hollow-eyed, clinging to life in Blackwood Fortress.
This march was not survival.
It was desperation sharpened into a blade.
—
When the vanguard finally reached the outskirts of Greenwood Valley, bodies gave out all at once.
Hundreds collapsed where they stood. Then thousands.
They didn't speak. Didn't cry out. They simply hit the ground and dragged air into their lungs like drowning men clawing toward the surface.
The forest swallowed them whole.
Ancient trees loomed above like silent witnesses. Their branches choked out the moonlight, turning the woods into a suffocating void. Over four thousand warriors melted into that darkness—nothing more than shadows pressed into the earth.
No fires.
No sound.
Only breath.
Heavy. Ragged. Controlled.
Colin stepped forward from the gloom, his eyes already adjusted—cold, sharp, inhuman. He surveyed the scene like a man looking over a graveyard he had personally filled.
And he was satisfied.
Then she appeared.
Anna did not arrive—she manifested. One moment there was nothing, the next she was kneeling before him, as if the darkness itself had shaped her.
Mud clung to her. Dew soaked her hair. Fatigue etched faint cracks into her composure.
But her eyes—
Her eyes burned.
"Leader," she said, voice low but trembling with restrained excitement. "I've returned."
Colin didn't waste breath.
"Speak."
"The manor is celebrating," she said. "Harvest banquet. Lights everywhere. Music. Laughter."
Her lips curled, sharp as a blade.
"They're drunk. Half of them are already useless. The rest pretend to be soldiers while gambling and boasting."
"No patrols."
She paused, savoring it.
"Our diversion worked. Bluestone Town is drawing everything. Knight Bart has taken the bait. Greenwood Valley…" her eyes gleamed, "…is empty."
She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something darker.
"It's a carcass laid out for us. Still warm."
Colin nodded once.
No excitement. No greed.
Only confirmation.
"Good."
—
The commanders gathered quickly.
Hask. Barton. Boulder.
Three beasts wearing the shape of men—barely.
The air around them thickened, heavy with anticipation. Hunger radiated from them, not for food—but for violence.
Colin dropped the map onto the ground.
No torch. No light.
He didn't need it.
"Our time is limited," he said. "Listen carefully. I will not repeat myself."
Each word struck like a nail driven into bone.
"Anna."
"I'm here."
"You move first. Immediately."
His finger traced invisible lines through the dark.
"Half an hour. Strip the manor blind. Watchtowers, sentries, signal lines—remove them all. Quietly."
"Take the tallest tower. Take the pigeon house."
His voice hardened.
"If anyone gets close—burn them with it."
A pause.
"No signals leave that valley. Not one."
Anna didn't hesitate.
"It will be done."
—
"Hask."
The Wolf's head snapped up, eyes glowing faintly.
"You break the gate."
A low growl answered.
"Rip it open. Tear through. Don't stop. Don't engage unless you must."
Colin's tone turned colder.
"Your job is chaos."
"Break them. Scatter them. Make them forget how to fight."
Hask bared his teeth.
"Understood."
—
"Barton."
"Yes."
"The grain."
Three points. Three targets.
"That's all that matters."
Colin's voice dropped to something almost lifeless.
"I don't care who lives or dies inside that manor. I care about what feeds us."
"Break the granaries. Empty them. Carry everything."
A beat.
"What you cannot carry—you still take. Tear the place apart if you must."
Barton's grip tightened.
"Every grain will be ours."
—
Finally—
"Boulder."
The massive figure lifted his head slowly.
"Your task is simple."
Silence fell heavier.
"Erase what remains."
No emotion. No hesitation.
"If it moves—kill it."
Man. Woman. Servant. Soldier.
It didn't matter.
"We take no prisoners."
A faint, terrible smile touched Colin's lips.
"We don't have time for mercy."
Boulder's eyes lit up—slow, terrible understanding dawning.
A rumble of laughter rolled out of him.
"I've waited for this."
—
"Remember," Colin said, rising.
"Speed."
"Cruelty."
"Plunder."
"Nothing else matters."
"We remember."
Their voices were no longer voices.
They were verdicts.
—
Then they were gone.
Orders spread through the army without sound—like poison seeping through veins.
Fatigue vanished.
In its place—
Something colder.
Something deeper.
Killing intent gathered, thick as blood, pressing down on the forest itself. Even the wind seemed to recoil.
The world held its breath.
—
A wolf sharpened his claws until sparks kissed the dark.
A boar caressed his hammer like it was the last thing he would ever love.
A fox climbed into the trees, face erased by mud, blade already poisoned.
A bear sat motionless, chewing slowly—storing strength for slaughter.
—
Four thousand five hundred pairs of eyes turned as one.
Toward the valley.
Toward the light.
Toward the laughter.
—
The moon stood high.
And beneath it—
death waited to descend.