Deep within the cave—the refuge for those unfit for combat—Lakan jolted awake, his breath ragged. His body tensed, instincts screaming danger.

  “HAAH! Where’s the Ignitaur?!” His head snapped from side to side, eyes wide with panic. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield—flames, steel, and then darkness.

  "Lakan, you're awake!" Thorgana’s voice was steady, tinged with relief. She sat beside him, her watchful gaze unwavering. “The Ignitaur has already been defeated. There’s no need to worry.”

  Lakan exhaled sharply, his body trembling as the echoes of battle lingered in his mind.

  “Rest, my boy,” came the deep, reassuring voice of Elder Ulganar. “Your mana was completely drained. You need time to recover.”

  “I need to go—I need to help them!” Lakan struggled to sit up, his determination burning despite the exhaustion in his limbs.

  Elder Ulganar sighed, his gaze firm yet understanding. “As I just said, they are holding their ground. If you must see for yourself, you may look—but you will not interfere. Right now, your only task is to recover. I will not have the future leader of our people throwing himself into battle recklessly.”

  Lakan clenched his jaw, frustration flickering in his eyes. But he knew Ulganar was right. For now, he had no choice but to endure the waiting. He forced himself to his feet, making his way to the cave's entrance, his heart pounding as he surveyed the battlefield.

  “Hey! What are you doing here? You should be resting!” Baloga’s voice rang out, firm and filled with concern. “You took severe damage—pushing yourself any further will only strain your mind.”

  A Healing Potion could mend wounds and ease physical exhaustion, but it could not mend the toll battle took on the spirit. The use of advanced techniques did not just push the body—it demanded just as much from the mind. Lakan had already given everything in the fight against the Ignitaur. If he did not allow himself time to recover, even his strength would not be enough to carry him forward.

  "I just wanted to check on the situation," Lakan replied. "And to be here in case something unexpected happens."

  Baloga sighed, crossing his arms. "Fine. But at least help me command the troops. We're still holding the line with paralyzing powder, but at this rate, we'll run out before nightfall. We used too much on the first day."

  Lakan frowned. "Won't things be easier now that the worst of the monsters have been dealt with?"

  Baloga shook his head. "Yes—but our warriors have been fighting nonstop. Exhaustion will set in, and fatigue is just as deadly as any beast. We need to ease their burden. I suggest rotations—some will rest while others take up guard duty. Most of our forces are stationed around the moat, so we can afford to let some recover while keeping our defenses strong."

  Lakan nodded, considering the plan. "That could work. But we still need Great Warriors on the battlefield. If we rotate them—two each night—we’ll ensure experienced fighters are always leading the warriors"

  Baloga exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Then it's settled. Now, help me command the troops—the other Great Warriors are still fighting at the frontlines."

  "The two ascended the wall, the battlefield stretching before them like a shifting sea of bodies and steel. From their vantage point, they could see everything—the Great Warriors fighting the monsters in the open field before the wall, the warriors at the wall dealing with the monsters that slipped past the Great Warriors, the creatures shrieking in defiance, and the waves of monsters still pouring in."

  "Hold the line!" Baloga bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Use the powder wisely—release it in intervals! Make it last!"

  Lakan joined in, directing squads to reinforce weak points, ensuring the most fatigued warriors were pulled back to recover. Though their forces were dwindling, their strategy held strong. The battle raged on through the second day, but as the sun dipped below the horizon, the last of the monsters fell.

  A hush settled over the battlefield—an eerie silence after hours of bloodshed. Then, a cry rose from the warriors—a victory cry.

  They had survived. The second day of the Monster Wave was over.

  ***************************

  Meanwhile, at the dawn of the first day of the Monster Wave, the outskirts of Duke Cassius' southern territory in Themura stirred with a different kind of threat.

  The Malzar Empire’s Third Prince had set his plan in motion. Every preparation had been made, every step calculated. And the first to feel the brunt of his ambition was the Kingdom of Themura.

  At the war council, Count Evermont studied the gathered forces, his fingers drumming against his sword’s pommel. "We should begin. Viscount Beaufort, are your troops prepared?"

  The Viscount gave a curt nod. "Knight Darius’s plan of using slaves for infiltration is exceptional. Expect a swift victory, Count Evermont."

  The higher-ranked nobles had made their move. Those of lesser status—yet vast wealth—were sent to the front lines. Disposable shields for those in power. And so, with their orders given and their fates sealed, the invasion of the Kingdom of Themura began.

  “We should start our invasion Viscount Beaufort” Count Evermont said. The viscount and the count was the one who was task to be the frontline, the higher rank nobles wanted to use them as they are wealthy even being a low rank noble.

  “Then shall we proceed with the plan Knight Darius plan of invasion using the slaves was exceptional, expect a great win Count Evermont” Viscount Beaufort said.

  “Then let’s begin this invasion” Count Evermont said.

  The invasion will begin once Knight Commander Darius and the slaves infiltrate the duchy. They will wait for the Monster Wave to pass, then strike at dawn, when the enemy forces are weary. Once the time comes, they will open the gates, unleashing the knights for the final assault.

  Knight Commander Darius stood with arms crossed, his gaze sharp as he assessed his troops. "Are the men ready? We will proceed with the invasion once final checks are complete. What about your end, Knight Commander Alric?"

  Alric, clad in gleaming armor, met his gaze with a smirk. "The knights and mages stand ready. Then you should begin your infiltration before everyone will die."

  The two commanders locked eyes, tension thick between them. This invasion had to succeed. Failure was not an option.

  Darius straightened, though a faint gulp betrayed his nerves. “Then I will proceed with the infiltration. Await my signal.” He turned to the ragged line of captives behind him—his expendable pawns. His eyes flickered with unease for the briefest moment before he hardened his expression. "Slaves, prepare to move! We will infiltrate the capital."

  Darius and the slaves marched toward the city gates, the prisoners shackled together in heavy chains, while the knights sat comfortably inside the carriage. But what the knights didn’t know was that the slaves chained closest to the carriage were no ordinary captives—they were warrior slaves. And worse, they had the key to their locks.

  Inside the carriage, the knights spoke in hushed yet arrogant tones, oblivious to the danger lurking just outside.

  “This will be an easy war for us. Our disguise as slave merchants is flawless.”

  “Hah! They won’t suspect a thing. Look at all these slaves—different races, different backgrounds. They’ll never realize they’re just paw—”

  Before the knight could finish his sentence, chaos erupted.

  The warrior slaves moved in a flash, slipping free from their chains and storming the carriage. Thud! A fist smashed into a knight’s face, sending blood splattering against the wooden walls. Smack! Another knight reeled as a powerful kick cracked his ribs.

  “Wha—?! Attack! We’re under attack!” one of them cried, but it was too late.

  The slaves fought with relentless fury, their pent-up rage fueling every brutal strike. Crack! A neck snapped, followed by a strangled gasp. The knights tried to resist, but they were overwhelmed, their finely honed skills useless against the sheer, unbridled force of their captors-turned-executioners.

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  Within moments, the carriage fell silent—save for the ragged breaths of the victorious slaves, standing over the bodies of their former masters.

  "We're done, sir. What should we do now?" a demonkin asked the man driving the carriage.

  Darius didn’t turn to look at him. "We're going to the Umbrania Territory. Tell the other slaves, but don’t waste time with questions. First, we head to the border between Umbrania and Ardenhold. We'll hire mercenaries to make it look like we have security. That’s it—just do as you're told. I’m only doing this because of the consequences," he snapped.

  The demonkin hesitated before speaking again. "But what about the Watchers? Don’t they keep an eye on us after we complete our mission?"

  Darius let out a slow, irritated sigh. "What’s your name?"

  "Zareth, sir," the demonkin answered.

  Darius narrowed his eyes. "You are now the leader of the slaves. That damn beastman swore he'd handle it. No more questions. Just follow me and obey my orders. Or do you not want freedom?" His voice was sharp, his frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. Then, his expression darkened. "Damn that beastman... How did he manage to kidnap my only son?"

  Zareth lowered his head. "Yes, sir." Without another word, he turned and rejoined the other slaves.

  The group pressed on, their journey relentless. Without stopping to rest, their disguises intact—a merchant and his slaves, nothing more. The sun hung heavy in the afternoon sky as unseen forces stirred.

  At a hidden outpost, the forces of Viscount Beaufort and Count Evermont stood in wait. Silence filled the air, thick with anticipation. Then, the faint flutter of wings broke it—a small pigeon descended, a parchment tied to its foot.

  Viscount Beaufort caught the bird, untying the message with swift fingers. As he read, a grin tugged at his lips. "Oho, they successfully infiltrated. Now we wait for the signal at dawn. For now, let’s take cover—Monster Wave will begin soon."

  The forces moved swiftly, disappearing into the jagged cliffs under the cover of night. The day passed, and as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the true battle loomed. They waited, tense and ready, for the signal to attack—but no matter how long they held their breath, the signal never came.

  “Why is there no smoke signal? Didn’t they already infiltrate? What happened to them?” Viscount Beaufort’s voice was laced with frustration, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon. His fingers curled into fists. Something was wrong.

  “Hey! Where is the watcher?” he barked.

  A soldier rushed forward, his posture stiff. “Sir, you called for me?”

  Beaufort turned to him, his tone edged with impatience. “Why is there still no signal? You told me they had already infiltrated.”

  “Yes, sir,” the watcher said, swallowing hard. “I saw them enter the gate with my own eyes… but I don’t know why the signal hasn’t come.”

  “Damn it… where are you, Darius?” Viscount Beaufort growled, his rage barely contained. His hands trembled with frustration. The situation was spiraling out of control.

  Darius—the commander of the Beaufort forces, the mastermind behind this entire plan—had led the infiltration himself. Yet, there was still no signal. No sign of success. The plan was falling apart before his eyes.

  “Viscount Beaufort,” a sharp voice cut through the tense air. Count Evermont strode forward, his expression dark with suspicion. “What is happening? Why is there still no smoke signal? I was assured this invasion would be a success with your commander’s plan. I even sacrificed some of my slaves for this infiltration. Don’t tell me they were discovered by the enemy.”

  Beaufort clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what’s going on… Darius is a capable man. By now, the mission should have been completed.”

  Count Evermont’s eyes narrowed. “This blunder will not go unnoticed. The Prince will despise us for this failure. Fix it—immediately. And if you can’t, come up with an excuse for Prince Droskar before he decides we are more trouble than we’re worth.”

  "This is the second time I've lost both my slaves and an invasion! Why have both campaigns ended in failure?!" he snarled. "Not only did we fail to conquer, but it cost me dearly!"

  His eyes burned with fury as he turned to his attendants. "Summon the Watchers. Have them infiltrate the Duchy and find Darius—no matter what it takes."

  The invasion had crumbled into yet another disaster. The two forces had been forced to retreat, abandoning their ambitions along with the bodies of their fallen. But they did not leave empty-handed—the Watchers remained in the shadows, slipping through the cracks of the enemy’s stronghold, seeking the elusive Commander Darius.

  Failure was not an option. If they could not offer the prince a worthy explanation, punishment would be swift... and merciless.

  On the fourth day of the Monster Wave, Darius and his slaves had successfully hired a band of mercenaries and made their way toward the Kingdom of Umbrania, skillfully avoiding and hiding from the monstrous threats that roamed the land.

  As they finally crossed the borders of Umbrania, Darius turned to the mercenaries, his voice firm and commanding.

  "We have arrived in the Kingdom of Umbrania. Our next destination is Goomsveil Forest. Your job as mercenaries will be complete once we reach the forest. There, I will give you your reward."

  One of the mercenaries smirked. "Sounds easy enough. As long as we get paid, we’ll do as you say."

  Darius nodded. "Then it’s a deal."

  The mercenary eyed the slaves warily before speaking again. "So tell me, why are you hauling this many slaves into the forest?"

  Slavery on this continent was strictly controlled, considered the exclusive property of individuals or noble households. A merchant transporting slaves into the depths of a forest, away from the watchful eyes of the aristocracy, would immediately raise suspicion. Many would assume the slaves had been stolen—especially in a land where nearly all non-human races had already been subjected to chains.

  Darius met the mercenary’s gaze with an unreadable expression. "Have you heard of the escaped slaves from the fallen House of Baron Capet? After his house was absorbed by Viscount Beaufort, many of his slaves vanished into the shadows. These here… they are those escapees. The Viscount has granted me exclusive rights to sell them. However, they are considered 'defective'—worthless in their current state. I intend to change that by honing their strength in the forest, increasing their value before they are sold."

  The mercenary let out a low chuckle. "Oho, so you're quite the wealthy merchant, aren’t you? We’ll be expecting a hefty reward, then."

  Darius smirked, pulling out a finely crafted badge and holding it up for them to see. The emblem of House Beaufort gleamed under the dim light. "How does thirty gold sound? A generous sum for mere escort work. You can look at this badge—proof of my association with Viscount Beaufort. I am no mere merchant making empty promises."

  The mercenary’s eyes gleamed with greed. "Now that’s an offer I like. You won’t regret hiring us." He cracked his knuckles and gestured toward the road ahead. "Shall we begin our journey?"

  Darius turned, his cloak billowing slightly in the cold night wind. "Then let’s go."

  The group pressed on with their journey to the Feyveil Forest, a vast woodland at the heart of the Umbrania Kingdom, where monsters of all kinds roamed. This ancient forest, shrouded in mist and mystery, was both feared and revered—a place where only the brave dared to tread.

  ****************************

  After days of relentless battle, the fortress had withstood the last Monster Wave. The enemy had been repelled, and for now, their home remained safe.

  “We did it! We defended our home!”

  “At last, we can rest… though we must be ready. Another wave will come eventually.”

  The warriors, exhausted but victorious, cheered and embraced one another. The people who had taken refuge emerged from hiding, their voices rising in celebration. Their new home, once a place of uncertainty, now felt secure.

  Yet, amidst the revelry, one man remained apart.

  Lakan sat in the shadows against the fortress wall, watching his comrades rejoice. His heart was heavy with thoughts beyond this single victory. As he brooded in silence, a young beastman boy approached him hesitantly.

  “Thank you for protecting us,” the boy said, his voice soft but sincere.

  Lakan glanced at him and smiled faintly. “You're welcome, kid. But why aren’t you celebrating with the others? You should eat—grow strong.”

  The boy shook his head. “I saw you sitting alone, so I wanted to keep you company. I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

  Lakan chuckled, a warm but weary sound. “That’s kind of you. I was just… thinking.”

  A brief silence passed before the boy spoke again.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Lakan turned to him. “Go ahead.”

  The boy’s hands clenched into fists. “How can I join the warriors? I want to fight those humans.”

  Lakan's expression darkened. “Becoming a warrior isn’t easy. You have to be strong. But tell me—why do you want to fight them so badly?”

  The boy’s golden eyes burned with rage and sorrow.

  “They killed my mother and father.”

  His voice trembled, but his resolve did not.

  Lakan studied him for a long moment. He had seen that look before—the same fire that once burned within himself.

  And he knew where it led. Lakan studied the boy for a moment before speaking.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  The child met his gaze without hesitation. “Kadlum.”

  Lakan nodded. “And what about your dream?”

  Kadlum’s expression softened, but his voice carried the weight of sorrow and determination.

  “I just want us to live freely,” he said. “I don’t want any more mothers and fathers to cry because they can’t give their children a happy life.”

  Lakan felt a pang in his chest. Such words, spoken from the heart of a child, carried more strength than any warrior’s blade.

  He placed a firm hand on Kadlum’s shoulder, offering a reassuring smile.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make that happen.”

  It was not just his dream—it was the dream of many. A vision of peace, of freedom, of a world where no child had to bear such sorrow.

  Lakan’s resolve burned brighter than ever, fueled by the same dream he had once shared with his father. He would not let it fade. He would see it through.

  The first step toward true freedom was to create a safe haven for the oppressed—a place where they could reclaim their dignity and carve their name into history. In a world dominated by humans and elves, where beastmen and other races were forced into servitude, the flames of rebellion would be kindled here, on this very continent.

  At the heart of this rising storm stood Lakan—not just a dreamer, but a warrior whose unwavering resolve and exceptional talent would turn hope into action. Through sheer perseverance, he would forge a path where none existed, leading his people toward a future they had long been denied.