Hiding beneath the shadow of a demolished castle tower, Soren leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He held his bleeding stomach tightly as the sound of more and more bombardments echoed nearby.

"Damn it…"

Simply put, that last 'assassination' did not go as planned. The enemy had somehow sensed his presence—likely due to Soren's own anima fluctuating in a way he did not expect on the battlefield. Although he was still able to kill the Spirit Wolf, it came at the cost of getting stabbed himself.

If only I did more hand-to-hand combat training… Being a magi, Soren somewhat procrastinated on such an experience. His stamina alone still needed work. But more than that, Soren didn't really have a technique or style at wielding his dagger. He was simply relying on his Violet Mirage hiding him from his enemy, and the fact that most of those enemies were regular fighters.

Since the enemy commander's goal was destroying their magitech cannons, it was logical for them to send only regular soldiers—not Sentinels or Magi. Because of this, their ability to detect anima was practically nonexistent.

And yet, that didn't seem to matter all that much. Spirit Wolves in general, have stronger senses than humans do. Even if they are not awakened, their Veil of Perception was much more powerful at detection. Soren found it hard to approach them with his attacks without alerting them to his presence. He had to make sure each strike was precise and deadly. Any miss could spell his doom.

But more than that, the Spirit Wolves were strangely… creepy. Every time he struck one down, they would begin to grin in the most wicked of ways, as if they were awaiting death's embrace. Some even begin to pray, singing the praises of the Slumbering One.

What was also very interesting to see was the diversity between the Spirit Wolves. Some held more animalistic features than others, and there were even a few covered completely head to toe in fur. Although he had seen a few of them roaming the streets in Celestine, it was only now that he was face to face against them that he began to pay attention…

No, it was more so just a byproduct of his own guilt. The face of every person he had killed today was seared into his mind. Despite them being his enemy, it was still rather difficult not to look into their eyes as the light within them slowly faded away.

I am still not used to this… Fairly ironic, if he had to say so himself. The amount of death and destruction he had indirectly caused during the Crimson Ritual was magnitudes worse than his actions today. But this time, it felt a bit more personal. He was not a witness to the madness—he was a perpetrator.

At least with his fight against Rodrick, Soren didn't know what fate awaited him and the others in the Safe Zone. He had left before he got to see what happened to them. The regular civilians he had moved away from the ruins were protected from most of the carnage, but the monsters approaching the metropolis could have still dealt them some losses.

Why does this place feel so real… His fear of being transported back in time only grew more and more. The blood and grime covering his skin, the ash and soot crawling underneath his armor. The heat of the raging flames… All of it was too realistic to just be a projection or dream.

What's more, the sheer fact that his magecraft was working as intended here meant that the Beyond itself was also recreated in this strange place…

Is this the power of a Tier 7 Spirit? Ascended Grade Mysteries can even create miniature versions of The Beyond itself?...

Without his Soul Weapon, he had no way of seeing the unseen. It was practically impossible for him to check and see. But so far, Her powers already proved just how massive the gap between them was.

Perhaps I should be grateful she decided to enact the challenge in this way… Soren smiled at just how ridiculous that statement was. All around him, death's grip grew tighter and tighter. His strategy of trying to stall the Spirit Wolf legions for as long as possible was somewhat of a success, but it was still not nearly enough to win them the battle.

For one, the enemy troops outnumbered them five to one. And this was counting all the human slaves fighting for the elves. He had also learned that the elves themselves had a habit of only teaching magecraft and soul techniques to themselves—slaves were never formally trained into awakening any of their true potential. So although the elves had much more powerful individuals on their side, their numbers were far too few to make a difference.

And this lead to issue number two: morale.

As he had observed, the Spirit Wolves were far more committed to the fight than the elven troops were. They did not mind sacrificing themselves just to gain the slightest of an advantage in battle. He had personally witnessed many using even their own comrade's bodies as shields to push forward. A few even blew themselves up the moment they got close to the magitech cannons.

On the other hand, the elves were mainly composed of human slaves fighting their battle for them. Obviously, these fighters would never be as committed to the battle as the elves were. Desertion was high—if not for the fact that the Spirit Wolves were merciless to the humans as well, many more would run away if they could. The longer this went on, the worse it would be.

Stolen story; please report.

I hope they fall for the bait already…

As if reading his mind, the thing he was awaiting finally occurred. A booming sound that could shake the heavens was finally heard, sending a jolt through his bones. Soren's frown deepened, but a part of him wanted to smile also.

"Bastard!" Knight Lieutenant Ellisar shouted from a distance. "They've breached the gate!" He ran toward Soren, as if hungering to kill him over his flawed strategy.

Soren clutched his injured stomach and laughed. "Oh man… Are they that eager for death?"

Ellisar froze. "What… do you mean?" The warrior rushed to look over the ledge of the wall. What he saw horrified him. Inside the castle, overlooking the colossal gate were countless magitech cannons aimed directly at the entrance to the castle.

The very same ones that had been on the wall just half an hour prior…

"Did you think I was only bringing them back to protect them?" Soren chuckled. "They had another more important use."

As he said this, the first cacophony of blasts rang out—sharp, thunderous, and relentless. To Soren, it was a melody—an orchestration of everything he had hoped for…

Pure annihilation.

As he sat there with his open wound, a smile crept over his face. He could picture it all clearly: hundreds of Spirit Wolf warriors storming through the shattered gate, their eyes bright with bloodlust and desire… only to be greeted by the gaping maws of countless magitech cannons, primed and waiting.

In the span of seconds, their charge would become a massacre. Bodies torn limb to limb in a maelstrom of light and fire. They had invited themselves not into Bastion Thirel, but into the embrace of their God.

He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in prayer.

"O, Night Lord,

"Howler of Unending Dreams,

"He who heralds the Beginning of the End,

"I beseech thee. Let their rest be as noble as their offering."

Hearing his words, Ellisar couldn't help but look at him differently. This mere slave… How can be so callous before the Gods? How could he have thought of such a daring plan… There was fear, but also hints of respect and awe.

Sensing his gaze, Soren looked at him and smiled. "Simple." He answered back casually. "That commander… Whoever they are—they had planned on trying to take the castle, despite knowing its a trap."

"What?" Ellisar was flabbergasted. "He knew it was a trap? Then… Why?"

Soren's smile widened. "Because desperation breeds impatience."

To Ellisar, such a phrase was rather comical. The Spirit Wolves had them by the throat—why would they ever be desperate? But Soren understood this perfectly after seeing just how much firepower they were putting into capturing the castle.

At the end of the day, the elves were stranded. Bastion Thirel was located far away from the Feylith Southern Plains—it was isolated. They stood no chance against the Spirit Wolves, who could continue to bombard them until the Bastion ran out of soldiers and rations. But once their reinforcements arrived? Everything would change.

And it seems, the enemy commander also understood this fact…

However way they managed to obtain this intel, it was clear: the Spirit Wolves knew that in just a few days, a second elven force would arrive. If they failed to capture the castle before then, their entire campaign would collapse.

It was this urgency that made the trap so effective.

Switching to a defensive posture—redirecting the magi from offence to barrier reinforcement—might've seemed like a sign of weakness. Without the constant bombardments, crossing the moat would instantly become easy for the Spirit Wolves. Yes, it did manage to shield the wall from the constant barrage—protecting their magitech cannons, but it left a very large opening: the castle gate.

With nothing to protect it, their soldiers could simply breach the gate and capture the castle without even needing to deploy their Siege Towers, which they were saving for after the magitech cannons were dismantled.

This was an opportunity the enemy couldn't resist. If they couldn't capture the castle using their Sege Towers, they would have to do it through the castle gate. Without any retaliatory fire from the magi towers, what was there to stop them?

Nothing.

And that was precisely the point.

Why would they ever suspect that the magitech cannons being hauled off the wall were part of a trap? To the enemy, it would've seemed like a desperate ploy—an effort to preserve their dwindling resources in anticipation of the arrival of their reinforcements…

But Soren simply had another use for them.

Since only regular soldiers had been tasked with scaling the wall and disabling their cannons, it meant that the actual strike force—composed of Sentinels and accompanying magi—were being held back. They would only deploy them once they were confident of capturing the castle.

And when that moment came—when the gate finally fell and the true assault surged, those very same cannons that had retreated would be waiting for them…

Even if the enemy commander suspected a trap, Soren was certain that they would go through with the attack anyway. They would likely send less of their strike force just in case, but they would never hesitate to take the opportunity, regardless.

Soren, after all, had seen enough of their tactics to make such a judgement. The relentless pressure, the willingness to throw away soldiers just to dismantle a few measly cannons… This was not a cautious strategist. This was a commander obsessed with results.

The Spirit Wolves… They did not fear death. And their commander was also the same. They were willing to gamble everything at the chance of victory.

But so was Soren.

There was no greater thrill than a game of chess where life and death was decided by the board… He had seen it countless times in his previous world; challengers who dared to wager against him and lost. The moment they realized their mistake—that final flicker of despair that would eclipse their eyes… He has always found it… delicious.

I wonder what face that commander is making right now… I would love to see it.

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