Ronan had just left, and Vincent remained behind, watching the soldiers repair the wooden palisade, hammering fresh logs into the sections that had been completely destroyed.

  The main gates had also been damaged during the night of the attack. With the yetis' help, the soldiers managed to lift one of the gate panels back into place and swung it open to test it. Some of them flinched when they saw, standing there in duplicate, the boss of the Blue Mountains dungeon. They didn't understand what those creatures were doing in Clearhaven, much less why they were helping.

  Vincent smiled to himself. It seemed Ronan's notoriety had yet to spread through the entire army.

  He walked through the village to check on the reconstruction, stopping to speak with those who greeted him, then headed to the bedroom they had lent him for the night. His belongings were already there, along with a map of the surrounding area.

  He sat at the desk, spread the map out, and began mentally reviewing his strategy for the coming battle. It was difficult, though, because Bianca kept slipping into his thoughts.

  That is to say…

  He knew his beloved was unique, special; there was no one else like her. Perhaps it was that peculiar personality of hers that gave her seven affinities. And then there were the strange things that seemed to happen around Ronan, like that zombie yeti boss pretending to be a statue at the institute on the night of the ball.

  Still, he had never seen any sign of darkness in her, nor had he imagined she had signed a contract to become the next demon queen, or that Ronan was the secret acolyte of one of the gods, the dark one no less.

  But if worship of the deities was forbidden…

  And when they told him, it had almost felt like a trap. If he had said no—if he had refused to support them and chosen to inform his parents—what would they have done? Let him walk away? Or hand him over to the goblins and the dragon?

  If Vincent had truly doubted Bianca, if he had not been certain she would let him go, he would be at the palace right now, speaking to the king and queen. Informing them.

  And yet, absurd as it sounded, his heart was with Bianca. Common sense screamed that supporting her like this, hiding things from his parents, was not reasonable.

  But if his mother had taught him anything, it was that when faced with a difficult choice, he should trust his heart and his intuition.

  That was why he had not lied when he told her he would support her. Maybe the plan he had quickly sketched out, based on the games, would not work. Fine.

  There were two of them thinking now. Three, if they counted Ronan. Together, they would find a way.

  Still, he wasn’t sure it was wise to let Ronan be the one to suggest it. The young man, much like his fiancée, had an unusual way of viewing society; but unlike her, his methods tended to be more extreme. The attack on the orc settlement, for example, had been a masterstroke, preventing casualties on both sides. Even so, Vincent suspected Ronan hadn’t been bluffing when he said he would kill them all and raise them afterward.

  And as he continued turning over Bianca’s confession in his mind—the revelation that she had not even been born in this world—a violent crash suddenly rang out, making him jump to his feet and rush to the window.

  Vincent opened it and leaned out toward the forest, but the sound had come from the opposite side of the fort. He closed the window, grabbed his sheathed sword, and ran toward the entrance.

  Several soldiers were already there, weapons ready, but the noise had stopped, leaving behind an unsettling silence. They exchanged uneasy glances. Minutes passed without anything happening. Vincent approached a captain who was organizing the men and asked if he knew what had caused it.

  Confused, the captain answered,

  "Your Highness, one of the lookouts reported that the forest itself seemed to move, almost as if it opened, during the noise. He was about to send out a patrol."

  Vincent looked toward the front. Through the open gate, the forest lay calm under the afternoon sun. The lookout must have seen more than that.

  "Did he say anything else about how the forest was moving?"

  The captain shifted his weight, uncomfortable.

  "You can tell me," Vincent said calmly. "It won't be stranger than what I've seen since entering the academy."

  "Your Highness… he claims he saw a colossal beast, taller than a house, smashing trees aside as it galloped on all fours."

  Vincent nodded.

  "Don't worry. It's undoubtedly one of Ronan's creatures."

  He caught a mix of disbelief and fear in the captain's eyes. Vincent left without saying more, resisting the urge to pat him on the back. He himself had gone through that shock more than once. Every time he thought Ronan couldn't possibly surprise him again, he did. The necromancer's power was, without question, terrifying.

  The prince was deeply grateful that such a man was on his side.

  With quick, purposeful steps, Vincent headed to the lookout post and climbed to the highest point of the fort. The view was breathtaking: the forest bathed in sunlight, treetops swaying gently in the wind, both beautiful and enigmatic.

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  The sentry glanced at him and, when Vincent followed his gaze, pointed to something off to one side. Leaning out, Vincent saw it.

  The forest had parted, revealing a path that stretched deep into the ancient woods before vanishing from sight.

  Vincent wondered what Ronan could have summoned to cause such devastation. He knew of the enormous bear Ronan had used in the desert dungeon, and of the giant scorpions, but none of them were large enough for this.

  Without looking away, he addressed the sentry.

  "Stay alert. Tomorrow we attack, and I want no surprises."

  The sentry nodded and returned to his watch.

  Before descending, Vincent surveyed the village once more. Two yetis sat near the entrance, keeping watch. Inside, Tom, Bob, Joe, and other undead patrolled the streets. Moving among them was Mike the dog.

  One of the newer skeletons raised a hand in greeting. On instinct, Vincent returned it. He paused, surprised. If they were this calm, either everything was under control, or there was no immediate threat.

  He returned to his room and spent the evening refining attack plans, later reviewing them with the captains.

  After dinner, Vincent took his leave, but he didn’t go to bed right away. He sat at the wooden desk as the night grew colder and time passed slowly. It was his first campaign, and nerves kept him awake.

  They knew the location of the orc village. He knew orcs were strong, violent, and resilient. Studying the map by candlelight, he ruled out using horses beyond a certain point. The terrain shifted quickly from normal forest to ancient woods, ruled by dangerous creatures. Rumors claimed it was black wolf territory—something Ronan had confirmed. He only hoped there weren't as many as in the frozen dungeon.

  Thanks to the path Ronan had seemingly carved for them, the advance would be easier—assuming they weren't attacked.

  Eventually, exhaustion won. Vincent lay down, expecting sleep to evade him, but before he realized it, he drifted off.

  He woke at dawn, sunlight hitting his eyes. Still tense, he dressed quickly. A servant knocked and helped him get into his armor, and soon he was ready.

  Outside, soldiers were already eating breakfast. Many had arrived through the portal earlier that morning. Vincent asked a captain if all units were present. He replied that one last group of a hundred men was on its way.

  Vincent nodded and headed toward one of the fires where civilians who wished to participate sat eating. When a soldier offered to bring him breakfast at the fort, Vincent laughed and took a bowl like everyone else.

  Many greeted him warmly. To them, he was a hero—someone who had protected them and now gave them the chance to take revenge.

  He ate with them until a captain informed him the troops were ready.

  Vincent climbed onto a crate.

  "Everyone, form up!"

  The soldiers assembled into perfect formations: four units of a hundred infantry and one of a hundred archers, captains at the front.

  "Today we march to face an orc village," Vincent called out. "They will be many, but victory will be ours."

  He raised his fist.

  “Yesterday, many of theirs fell—and many of ours as well. Today, we strike back, and we do so with the help of those we must never let down.”

  He pointed toward the civilians.

  “They are why you became soldiers. They are why you are here. And they are why we will win.”

  Cheers erupted, chanting his name.

  Vincent let it wash over him briefly, then his expression hardened. Many of them might not come back.

  "That is why I thank you for standing with me to deliver justice in their name. March formation. Advance!"

  The formations aligned into a column. In a few minutes, the five hundred men were organized: infantry at the front and rear, archers in the center, civilians protected within.

  The captain in charge approached the prince, saluted by bringing his fist to his chest, and asked permission to begin the march. Vincent granted it.

  "Your Highness, forgive my bluntness, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring civilians with us," the captain said as the column began to advance.

  "These people… many of them are already dead inside and need a reason to live. Leaving them behind in the village would be worse. At least this way they can find purpose in their lives, and, with any luck, find peace," Vincent replied.

  The captain, surprised by his answer, smiled and fell into line at the front alongside the prince.

  They crossed the gates and advanced to the edge of the forest, guided by a patrol assigned to stay behind. The troops were led to the beginning of the path cleared the previous afternoon. At first, the road was a narrow trail winding between trees, forcing the soldiers to move cautiously and slowly. But as they progressed, the path widened and changed. Along the way, they saw massive trunks uprooted and pushed aside, as if some enormous, powerful force had barreled through the forest.

  They halted at the captain's command. Vincent stepped forward and, to his surprise, noticed a creature perched on a log in the middle of the path, silently observing them.

  It wasn’t native to this territory. It shouldn’t have been here.

  The creature was small, no more than half a meter long. It unfolded its wings, wrapping itself in them like a cloak. Then he recognized it: a bat, similar to the ones they had encountered in the frozen dungeon.

  "Are you one of Ronan's… friends?" Vincent asked.

  The bat nodded and flew ahead.

  Vincent laughed.

  "Move out," he ordered. It seemed they had an ally watching over them.

  They marched without incident. No creature attacked them. Vincent realized that, proud of their numbers, the soldiers believed the forest itself had acknowledged their strength. But the trees began to shift, their trunks thickening and taking on a grayish hue.

  The captain, map in hand, reported they had entered the ancient forest, black wolf territory.

  Vincent remained calm. The bat kept a steady distance ahead, landing in the middle of the path from time to time.

  "Thanks for the heads-up. Keep the troops alert," he commanded.

  After an hour and a half of marching, fatigue was visible on everyone. The bat landed on a branch near several logs that had been converted into troughs full of water. Floating in one of them was a large, spherical block of ice.

  A chill ran down Vincent's spine. Half in fear, half with embarrassment, he whispered:

  "Are you… also one of Ronan's friends?"

  The sphere of ice slowly rose, hovering above the water. Vincent pressed a hand to his face and exhaled. Then, dipping his hand into the water, he felt the cold but clean liquid and drank.

  He ordered a pause so the troops could rest and rehydrate. The captain, puzzled, complied.

  "Your Highness," the captain asked afterward, "what is all this?"

  Vincent met his gaze steadily.

  "Let's just say we have a powerful ally smoothing our path. Rest up, we're almost there."

  After fifteen minutes, they resumed the march. Up ahead, they reached a crossroads where a path had been blocked by logs. The bat, wings spread wide, was cutting through them. Vincent continued forward on the other side.

  The forest opened up again, and at the end of the path stood two yetis. One of them gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

  The captain glanced at Vincent, curiosity written on his face, but Vincent ignored him.

  He was grateful for the unexpected help—but unease gnawed at him, not knowing how far it extended.

  Exiting the forest, they came upon a wide plain. In the distance stood a crude, foreboding structure: a large palisade adorned with animal remains. Watchtowers rose above it, rooftops peeked out, and thin columns of smoke curled into the sky.

  A deep, resonant roar echoed across the plain, a grim reminder of where they were—and why they had come.

  thank all of you for your comments, they helped me realize I needed to show what Vincent was thinking about the possibility that the Demon King might be Bianca. I’m truly grateful. And a very special thank you to Big Wizard Gaming, whose comments on this actually inspired a later scene.