The next morning arrived with biting wind and restless skies. We gathered at the outskirts of the capital where the recon units waited, already geared up and briefed. Their expressions were solemn. No jokes, no small talk—just sharp eyes and quiet movements. War changes people quickly.
Seraphine was the first to arrive. Dressed in dark tactical gear, her twin blades strapped across her back like she was born for battle. Her eyes were fierce, but she gave me a nod of recognition. She wasn’t the type to waste time with pleasantries.
Nock followed, holding a thick manual under one arm—probably his latest revised doctrine on battlefield defense formations. He greeted a few priests who were embedded in the recon force. Their light armor and holy relics shimmered faintly under the grey dawn. Unlike Seraphine, Nock had always preferred a more structured approach—calculations, divine alignment, and shields strong enough to break sieges.
I stood between the two of them, dressed in standard-issue officer’s gear, the emblem of the War Council sewn into the collar. My presence alone drew attention. The younger soldiers looked to me with a mix of curiosity and expectation. I was younger than most commanders they had served under—probably younger than a few of their squad leaders. But I was their superior now. They saluted, and I returned it with a calm nod.
With a sharp signal, we boarded the military transports. Modified heavy-armored trucks, reinforced for demon terrain. I could hear the engines rumble beneath me as the convoy rolled out.
The roads were rough, not just in terrain but in memory. Burnt forests, crumbled fort walls, abandoned carriages still carrying the scent of blood. We passed by more than one ruined village, the stench of scorched corpses thick in the air. Nock led prayer sessions midway through the journey, whispering words of grace for the fallen. Seraphine barely glanced at the bodies. I couldn’t blame her.
I didn’t pray. I watched. Studied the terrain. Noted potential ambush spots. It wasn’t detachment—it was preparation. I had seen too many optimistic leaders fail because they let emotion rule before a battle.
We finally reached a small town near the Delta Outpost just before midnight.
It was mostly intact, though shaken. The remaining military units who had survived the original devil assault had retreated here. Tents lined the old marketplace, and what used to be inns had been converted into makeshift command centers. The smell of healing potions, dried blood, and anxiety hung in the air like fog.
The moment we stepped out, I could feel dozens of eyes on us. Rank-and-file soldiers, wounded scouts, civilian medics—they all stared at us like we were the cavalry riding in to save the day. Some even whispered when they recognized me. "The youngest SS." I tried to keep a straight face.
Commander Rurik had made the right call. The Delta Outpost wasn’t just a mission—it was a symbol. If we could take it back, morale would skyrocket across Etheron.
We spent the next three days launching coordinated strikes on the outpost.
Seraphine led the mercenaries, striking fast and hard through the weaker devil flanks. Her people were ruthless but effective. They didn’t wait for orders—they adapted mid-battle. That chaos proved useful. Many devils fled the moment they realized the fighting spirit behind those blades.
Nock’s priests provided shielding and healing from the rear, moving in squads and forming a holy grid that weakened the devil enchantments. His divine shield over the central command point was what allowed us to hold our ground even when their reinforcements struck unexpectedly on the second night.
And me? I coordinated the military-trained units. We were the backbone—discipline, formation, relentless pressure. I split them into three rotating teams: front-line assault, defensive fallback, and supply rotation. No one was allowed to exhaust themselves beyond limits. Efficiency was more important than passion.
On the third day, we broke through.
The final push came at sunrise. The devils retreated in disarray, some trying to vanish into the forest. But Seraphine’s trackers made sure no stragglers escaped.
Delta Outpost was ours again.
Once the fires were put out and the wounded stabilized, I had a moment to breathe. I walked the old streets, now flooded with soldiers repairing walls and salvaging supplies. My boots crushed broken bricks and blackened ash. My eyes wandered to every face, every squad... searching.
I was looking for him.
Instead, I found Hiro—of all people—leading a small tactical unit near the northern gate of the Delta outpost. He looked taller, more confident than before. There was an air of new strength about him, and it didn’t take long to notice the subtle red sheen in his aura.
He had reached Rank S.
We exchanged nods, but didn’t speak for long. I had already guessed it. The Authority must have backed him with resources to make the jump. There was no other way. Hiro didn’t come from an elite family. He couldn’t have secured a rank-up potion on his own.
Still, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to compete with Hiro. I was here for Zero.
Even if he hadn’t shown up yet.
As the days passed, we stabilized the outpost. Our forces took shifts patrolling the outer ridgelines, guarding the roadways, and clearing devil scouts from nearby caves. I was given full authority over the main command posts, while Nock and Seraphine established their divisions—priest units to the south, mercenaries stationed near the ruined chapel that had become a forward healing zone.
Despite the chaos, I kept one eye on the horizon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week.
I held onto that hope.
Zero had said he had other plans. Maybe he was still helping his family. Maybe he was planning something big. But knowing him, he wouldn’t sit still for long. He would come.
Delta Outpost wasn’t just a mission anymore.
It was a waiting ground. Waiting for Zeros arrival and further orders from the Authority.
And I wasn’t just a member of the War Council. I was commander of the military.