While still giving quick orders to the surviving officers, trying to reorganize the chaos, my gaze was drawn to a movement on the horizon.
The Solarians were coming.
Like an organized swarm of death and metal, they advanced in formation, descending the hills and plains toward the walls of Ardor.
Their armor shimmered with unknown metal alloys, designed not only to protect but to instill fear.
The Empire's symbol — a broken sun surrounded by living runes — shone on the chest of every enemy soldier like a living affront.
Some carried energy rifles rested on their shoulders, the barrels already glowing hot.
Others wielded vibrating spears pulsing with blue energy.
There were even those with long swords made of solid light, and translucent force shields that molded around their bodies.
Thrusters on their backs propelled them forward with dry snaps and jets of energy — the sound of a relentless army coming to crush what remained of hope.
I swallowed hard.
I drew my sword; the metal sang as it left the sheath, as if even it knew what was coming.
I picked up my shield from the ground, the symbol of Ardor still visible, even covered in dust and cracks.
I pointed toward the front line, my voice rising above the noise of machines and fear.
"Soldiers..."
I stepped forward.
"DEFEND ARDOR WITH YOUR LIVES!"
There was no turning back.
No reinforcements.
No miracles.
Those who were with me were there because they chose to resist.
And in that moment... the wall of Ardor was not made of stone.
It was made of flesh, steel, and fire.
POV — THIRD PERSON
The field became a hell of metal and fire.
Darius took a deep breath and advanced.
Not running, but walking steadily — each step a promise of death.
Around him, the soldiers of Ardor shouted, raised weapons, spread through trenches and towers.
The walls trembled under the impact of the enemy plasma cannons, but the will to fight had not yet yielded.
The Solarians charged first.
Precise formations.
Synchronized movement; the first to arrive surrounded him like hungry dogs — four soldiers armed with vibrating spears and shock shields.
Darius did not hesitate.
The first spear came from above, he slightly turned his body, shield raised.
The impact ricocheted as if it were nothing, and in a clean counterattack, his sword traced a red arc in the air — cutting armor, flesh, and bone with terrifying precision.
The enemy fell with the sound of breaking metal; the other three hesitated, frightened.
Fatal mistake.
Darius surged forward with an explosion of movement, shield ahead, he threw it hard into the chest of the second soldier, who flew back like a broken doll.
The third tried a sideways strike, but Darius spun on his heels, parried the attack with his blade, and in a fluid movement, thrust the sword between the rune plates on the opponent's neck.
The blade cut as if it were made to destroy that kind of armor.
As if each strike were blessed by something beyond strength.
The last soldier tried to retreat to regroup.
Darius reached him in two steps, a clean cut, silence.
Even without activating Zerith, even without showing his true potential, he was a monster on the battlefield, a titan among ordinary men.
For even without using it, his body was infinitely superior to these low-ranking soldiers who had not even awakened Zerith.
He leapt forward, seeking the next enemy.
But Darius was not alone.
To the left, elves conjured magic circles over the rooftops.
One of them, a mage with golden eyes, raised his arm — and columns of blue fire emerged from the ground, consuming an entire platoon of Solarians in the blink of an eye.
Another elf channeled wind energy, summoning a storm that enveloped his arrows and guided them with surgical precision.
Each arrow, a thunderclap; each shot, a divine lightning bolt.
To the right, a group of orcs advanced like living walls.
Pure Aura — glowing in shades of green and red — surrounded their bodies, amplifying muscles, hardening skin, making them practically invulnerable.
One orc wielded a club made of raw iron, smashing Solarian armor as if it were cardboard.
"FOR ARDOR!"
"FOR THE ETERNAL FOREST!"
"DEATH TO THE EMPIRE!"
The shouts mixed with smoke, fire, pain, and glory.
And there, in the eye of the hurricane, Darius kept fighting.
Without Zerith.
No tricks.
Just steel, honor, and discipline.
Every enemy who came, fell.
Every move was too precise, too fast, too deadly.
Then the second wave of Solarian soldiers arrived.
These with even more advanced armor.
The elves who were casting their spells barely had time to react.
Before they finished the enchantments, the enemies were already upon them — fast, lethal, relentless.
Darius frowned as he saw them, immediately recognizing those black light-plate armors with red lines pulsing at the joints — the Zark 3 model, the terror of mages and Essentaris.
Armors designed entirely to hunt spellcasters: light, aerodynamic, with thrusters on the heels and absorbing plates that neutralized surrounding elements.
They left no time or space to channel the power of nature.
He averted his gaze, seeking reinforcements, but what he saw only increased the tension in his chest.
On the other side of the field, the orcs who dominated the terrain with brute strength were being repelled.
Their attacks, once merciless, now struck true walking walls — Solarii soldiers wearing heavy armor, Zark 3 Anti-Aura model, with structural reinforcements that could withstand the impact of a raging Despertado.
These armors were not fast but resisted almost everything, made to endure direct shocks, nullifying the advantage of physical strength, blocking even blows energized by spiritual Aura.
And then the massacre came.
Elves impaled mid-air before their spells took shape.
Orcs knocked down like wounded bulls, their fists smashing armor with no effect whatsoever.
Darius growled, his eyes flashing with anger.
He tried to advance to help, but four soldiers appeared in front of him, in a siege formation.