Chapter 69

The storm rolled in like an omen. I stood atop the fortified stone gate, rain soaking into my tactical armour, lightning streaking the skies in jagged bolts above. Thunder roared like a beast caged in the heavens.

And there they were. Ten thousand of them or maybe more. A dark, endless sea of snarling, horned demons. Some stood twelve feet tall; others crawled on all fours like twisted beasts. Orcs, goblins, beasts and ogres. Their glowing eyes pierced the storm as they halted just beyond our outer perimeter, watching... waiting.

The valley before the entrance to Robinson Town was slick with rain and bloodied soil from previous skirmishes. I could see the outlines of siege weapons—crude but massive—and enormous mounts, likely summoned from some cursed realm. Each banner they raised bore the sigil of the Demon King—a claw wrapped around a burning skull.

I clenched my fist.

Behind me, five thousand warriors—my warriors—stood armed and unshaken.

Beastkin in hardened leather, dwarves in reinforced steel, and humans bearing rifles slung over their shoulders and grenades strapped to their belts. Many of them were merchants, farmers, and smiths just months ago. Now... soldiers.

Kael stood beside me, his cape whipping in the wind. "They've come sooner than expected. They must want Silvarya."

I nodded grimly. "Let them try."

Down below, Felix barked orders into his radio. "Squad Four, flank left! Snipers, hold fire until they step within the first marker!"

Igor grunted, patrolling with a launcher strapped to his back. "I've counted four Warg Generals. Same beasts we fought last raid, but bigger."

Even Karl, normally the calmest of us, checked the belt of explosives hanging from his vest. "If this is it, I'm going down fighting with a full clip."

The humming noise of the guardian barrier buzzed faintly around us. The town shimmered faintly with magical defence nodes—linked to the divine garden and our embedded wardstones. But even with all that... the weight of ten thousand demons couldn't be ignored.

Then came the Duke. On a monstrous black wyvern, wings stretched wide against the lightning-split sky, Duke Ghorvak descended before the demon ranks. The same bastard who kidnapped Silvarya, whose cursed flames tried to scorch my town to ash.

He raised a flaming blade, and his voice boomed unnaturally across the valley.

"DIRK ROBINSON! HAND OVER THE GIRL, AND WE SPARE YOUR PEOPLE!"

"RESIST, AND WE BURY YOUR BONES BENEATH THIS LAND!"

The warriors behind me growled. Guns clicked. Mana began to surge in the air. I stepped forward, lifted a megaphone rune, and answered:

"Hey, Goat-Face! You're welcome to try. But if you take one more step forward..."

"...We'll show you what 21st-century firepower looks like."

I lowered the megaphone, calm but blazing inside.

Butler Raymond appeared by my side, umbrella over his head as if this was just tea time.

"Sir, the hot coffee's ready. Might you want a cup before the slaughter begins?"

"Thanks, Ray," I said, taking the mug, steam rising in the chill air. "Let them freeze and think a little longer in the rain."

Kael smirked. "Dramatic pause?"

I nodded. "Always works in the movies."

Raymond frowned. But we waited.

The demons didn't charge. They just stood there, tens of thousands of them, eyes fixed on our gates. They weren't going to back down. But neither would we.

As thunder rolled again and the rain intensified, I looked around at the people I'd grown to love—the soldiers who believed in me and the land we built together. I thought of Silvarya, now resting inside the divine garden under heavy protection, unaware that a full army wanted her head. This was our moment. Our stand. And I'd make damn sure they'd regret ever setting foot near my walls.

The silence before the storm shattered with a monstrous roar.

From the moment the demon horde surged forward like a flood of claws, fangs, and steel, all peace was gone. The rain became a curtain of blood and mud, thunder cracking above as if the heavens themselves recoiled at the carnage about to unfold.

"OPEN FIRE!" Felix screamed.

And hell broke loose. The first wave of demons sprinted through the narrow valley—funnelled between two ridges where we had positioned fifty heavy machine gunners. The sound was deafening as bullets tore into the front lines of the demonic infantry, shredding limbs, ripping flesh, and turning monstrous bodies into red mist.

Grenades followed. Dozens of them, launched into the thickest parts of the horde—exploding with thunderous force, sending limbs and gore raining down on the mud. Fire and metal devoured anything in their path.

But they just kept coming. We underestimated how many. For every demon we killed, two more crawled out of the abyss.

I leapt from the wall with my Guardian-enhanced boots, landing in the thick of them. My blade—a magical greatsword I named Judgement—hummed with raw energy. It drank in the mana of the enemy as I moved.

One lunge.

A head rolled. Three bodies fell apart at the waist.

"For the town!" someone screamed.

"Protect Lord Dirk!" another roared. My armour absorbed a dozen claw strikes, sparks flying as cursed steel scraped against advanced plating. A horned brute swung a flail the size of a waggon, but I dodged under it and drove Judgement through his skull with a crack of purple lightning.

Blood soaked my gloves. My breath came in bursts. Around me, my men fought like lions.

But it wasn't enough.

"They're flanking!" Karl's voice came over the radio.

"Left ridge breached—snipers falling back!" Ella shouted.

"Two mechs down!" came another call.

I turned to see one of our dwarven-built defensive walkers explode in flame, torn apart by a leaping demon general wielding twin scythes. He landed among our front frontline and cut through five warriors before a dwarf shoved a barrel of C4 into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

BOOM.

The explosion flung me off my feet, dirt and ash raining down. I crawled up, spitting blood, and saw bodies everywhere—human, dwarf, beastkin... and demon. 200 of ours, gone.

The weight of it crushed my chest. Each one had a name. Each one trusted me to protect them.

But we didn't break.

"Fall back to the second line!" Kael roared, his white-bladed spear soaked in demon ichor.

Raymond held the flank with terrifying precision, moving like a spectre, his twin short swords dancing between throats. Felix's rifle never stopped firing, even as his left arm hung limp and bloodied.

We bled, but so did they. We made them pay for every inch. Explosives buried under the mud turned entire squads of demons into sludge. Magic runes flared as mages detonated defensive spells, impaling dozens at once. Ella summoned a windstorm that blew a hundred of the bastards off the cliffs.

Half their army was gone. Five thousand demons—dead or too wounded to continue. Smoke hung thick in the valley, the screams of the dying echoing off stone and fire.

At the centre of it all, I stood soaked in blood, breathing heavily, my sword steaming with heat and gore.

The Duke of Demonland, Ghorvak, still watched from atop his wyvern.

He didn't move. Not yet. He wanted us broken first. I looked around. My people were battered but alive. They weren't retreating—they were waiting for my command. I raised my sword to the stormy sky and roared, "We don't fall today!"

A cheer broke out. Weak, but defiant. Bloodied fists raised. Triggers pulled. Magic surged.

Let them come again. We would not give them an inch more.

The battlefield quieted—not in peace, but in dread. Smoke and ash choked the valley. The stench of burning flesh, sulphur, and blood weighed heavy in the air. My heart pounded like a drum of war, but I didn't move.

Everyone had stopped. All eyes turned to the sky. A shriek—inhuman and cold—pierced the heavens as a massive black wyvern descended in a spiral of bone and fire. Atop it stood a figure clad in obsidian armour, a cloak of living shadows writhing at his back.

The Duke of Demonland.

His glowing red eyes locked onto me.

"So," he sneered, voice echoing unnaturally across the field. "You must be the human who thinks he's a king."

I stepped forward, blood dripping from Judgement, my magical sword buzzing with faint light. "No," I said. "I'm just a man who protects what's his."

The wyvern landed with a thunderous crash, scattering mud and corpses. The Duke dismounted slowly, dragging behind him a jagged, curved greatsword wreathed in black fire.

"Silvarya is mine," he said with a growl. "Give her back... or I'll raze this pitiful town to ash."

Rage twisted my insides. "She isn't yours. She was never yours. You took her from my land, my people... and I'm going to take her back."

He chuckled darkly and rolled his neck. "You'll try." Without warning, he lunged.

The earth cracked beneath him as he closed the gap in a flash. I barely blocked in time—his blade clashing against Judgement, black flame colliding with Guardian-imbued light. The force of it sent a shockwave rippling through the valley, blowing back ash and embers.

My boots skidded against the bloodied ground. He was strong.

Too strong? No. I had fought for this life. Bled for it. I would not lose it now. I roared and pushed forward. Our swords sang with fury. Blow after blow, we clashed, steel meeting steel in a deadly dance. He fought with brutal, unrelenting power. I answered with speed, precision, and the fury of a man who had something to protect.

"You don't understand what she is!" the Duke snarled. "She holds the memory of the Dragon Gods. That magic belongs to us!"

"She's not a thing," I hissed. "She's Elsie. She's Silvarya. And she chose to live here."

He howled, fury burning through his veins. Dark energy erupted from his blade, and I was thrown back into a broken waggon, my ribs cracking. Pain flared hot—but I forced myself up, spitting blood.

"DIRK!" I heard Felix shout.

"Hold the line!" I shouted back. "No one interferes."

This was mine. I steadied myself, calling on the Guardian Screen's reserves of strength. My armour shimmered faintly as an emergency boost triggered. My body thrummed with restored power, and my grip on Judgement tightened.

We met again.