F-Class Swordsman, S-Class Commander

They burned the tents at dawn.

Not with panic, but with purpose.

Flames licked the canvas edges, curling black smoke into the sky in precise, measured columns—five in total, evenly spaced across the ridge. From the distant hills, it looked like chaos.

That was the point.

Below, in the trench-ringed basin that formed Forward Command Post Ysera, Renard Valtierre watched from behind the narrowed visor of a scout mask. Fog clung to his boots like breath.

"Signal acknowledged," Maera reported, crouched beside him in the brush. "Enemy vanguard on the move. Estimated sixty—scouts and skirmishers. Main force still half a day out."

"Let them come," Renard replied.

He rose, silent, cloak wrapped in shadow. His system pulsed quietly:

[Field Deployment: Phantom Doctrine – Stage I Initiated] [Ambush Buff: +18%]

[Unit Synchronicity: Alpha + Omega – 79% Efficiency]

Behind him, Alpha squad held the north pass. Omega flanked the western ridge. C-Team prepared illusion glyphs along the kill zones.

This was not a defense.

It was a trap.

The Caerenhold scouts arrived like they'd done it before. Standard formation: two fast, three sweepers, one sensory mage.

Too slow.

They moved into the valley, steps light. Whispered signals. One stopped to inspect a torn cloak caught on a stake.

That's when it started.

A spear flew from fog, catching the mage clean through the collarbone. Another dropped from a slit throat. Flames licked the edges of the trees—not wild, but funneling. Rin's sound distortion spells screamed silence. Movement flickered left, then right.

Ten seconds.

Six down.

Twelve more Caerenhold entered, only to walk into crossfire. Arrows rained sideways. From nowhere, Thorn's hound pounced, tearing through a shield line.

Then the smoke thickened, and Elric's blade flashed. Tarn swept through a line like mist through reeds. Nyra shimmered in and out of visibility, directing targets.

Kael watched from a tree post, his grin wide.

"They're ghosts," he murmured.

By the time the vanguard realized they'd been baited, they were already dying.

Forty-two down.

Renard hadn't moved.

Only observed.

The second wave hit harder.

Caerenhold troops stormed the basin, two full squads in wedge formation, led by officers in steel-masked helms.

But Alpha and Omega were ready.

Branley and Silva moved like mirrored blades. Harth and Elric baited front-line captains into empty kill zones. Thorn unleashed a whirlwind with Kael himself riding the flank like a wolf.

Illusions scattered enemies like ants under boiling water. Rin's reverb trap sent three Caerenhold spearmen tumbling into each other.

From atop the eastern ridge, Sorell watched it all.

"They're doing it," he whispered. "They're actually—"

"No," Kael said, landing beside him, bloodied and grinning. "They're hunting."

Caerenhold forces buckled under the confusion. Their standard formations were failing. Their signal flares went up—distorted and redirected by illusion glyphs.

Renard's eyes narrowed.

[Kill Count: 103 Confirmed] [Enemy Confusion: Maximal]

And then… it stopped.

A horn blew.

Low. Deep. Unlike the scout flares or emergency alerts.

From the south pass, Caerenhold's main force arrived. Not charging. Not shouting.

Walking.

At the front stood a tall man clad in red-gray lamellar armor, helm removed, face marked with silver scars crossing a burn-warped jaw. His eyes were calm.

He raised a hand.

The remaining Caerenhold troops rallied.

The confusion snapped.

"Fall in!" he barked.

His voice was not loud.

But the wind carried it like command.

Behind him, banners unfurled.

Kael's eyes widened. "That's…"

Renard knew the crest.

Not just Caerenhold.

Highborn Legion.

Elite unit. Veteran of border wars. Trainers of the doctrines Phantom Squad had mimicked. He watched as the man raised two fingers in an unfamiliar signal.

The Caerenhold troops changed formation.

Like that, the tide turned.

Alpha's push was slowed. Branley's strike met a feint and was countered with brutal precision. Silva's flames were redirected with windburst traps. Omega's flank was encircled.

"Who is he?" Sorell demanded.

Kael's jaw clenched.

"Commander Aerron Vale," Kael said, his tone clipped. "I studied his tactics during the frontier campaigns. Tactical savant. Broke a fortress with a cart of rotten wheat and two scribes."

Renard's system flared:

[Enemy Commander Identified: Aerron Vale – A-Class Tactical Doctrine: Adaptive Countermeasures] [Alpha + Omega Threat Level: Critical] [Ambush Buffer: Broken]

Renard exhaled slowly.

"Signal fallback."

"What?" Sorell blinked.

"We're done here."

Renard pressed his fingers to a sigil glyph hidden beneath his coat.

[Fallback Order: Issued] [Operation Shift: Phase Two – Bottleneck Triggered]

Across the basin, flares of deep blue shot upward.

C-Team redirected their illusions—blocking line of sight. Phantom Squad reengaged, dragging Omega and Alpha through hidden channels of fog and flame. Rin collapsed one side of the canyon to stall pursuit.

They retreated north, toward the narrow ridge.

Toward the bottle.

Only thirty-six Caerenhold soldiers gave chase.

The rest regrouped, falsely believing their pressure had shattered the outpost's last resistance.

That was the mistake.

Fog deepened.

Sound dulled.

And from the mist, three figures appeared—masks down, blades reversed, eyes like coals.

Phantom Squad.

Behind them, Renard walked in silence.

His hood was down.

His coat was blood-slicked.

His system pulsed like a heartbeat.

[Field Doctrine III: Reaping Veil Activated] [Targeted Assassination Buff: +54% in Fog Terrain]

Kael, watching from above with a fractured blade in hand, heard Elric beside him whisper:

"You're lucky death fights with us."

Kael turned.

"What?"

Elric didn't blink.

"Don't believe me?" He pointed to the shadows where Renard vanished into the mist.

"Watch for yourself."