The crater between the two armies smoked like a bad special effect. Heroes on one side, Jan's terrifying legions on the other, and one very sweaty transmigrated writer stuck in the middle wondering how his life had gone from rejected Novel writer to accidental war crimes.
"Hold it!" Jean tried to shout. It came out as a commanding bark that made half the Pantheon flinch.
Varak interpreted it differently. "Hold for the perfect moment to strike! As expected!"
Lirael was already melting into the shadows, knives ready. Elara stood stiffly beside Jean, her healer aura flickering like she couldn't decide whether to shield him or blast him.
The Radiant Sovereign raised his glowing sword again.
"For the multiverse! Charge!"
Heroes surged forward through the unstable portal. Jean's soldiers roared and moved to meet them.
Oh no. No no no. Not the big epic battle scene! I haven't even figured out how to use this body's bathroom yet!
Jean did the only thing he could think of, he ran straight into the chaos waving his arms like a panicked traffic cop.
"Stop! Everyone just stop for one second!"
A massive hero with a flaming axe swung at him. Jean yelped, tripped over his own feet, and accidentally activated some kind of bloodline ability in Jan's body. The sword in his hand flared with dark energy, parrying the axe with a deafening clang and sending the hero flying backward into three of his friends.
The impact made Jean cough again. Blood misted the air dramatically.
From the legions came thunderous cheers.
"Lord Harris dances through their formation!"
"He repels their strongest with a flick of the wrist!"
On the Pantheon side, morale visibly cracked.
"He's laughing at us while bleeding!"
Jean spun around, desperately trying to de-escalate. "Wait! We can still talk this out! I don't want to—"
A holy arrow whistled past his ear. He ducked, which looked like a graceful combat roll to everyone else, and ended up behind a group of enemy mages. Panicking, he grabbed the nearest one by the robe and yanked them away from casting a big spell.
The mage screamed as if Jean had just soul-ripped him.
"I was just moving you out of the blast zone!"
Jean protested.
Too late. Varak saw it and bellowed, "He's personally dismantling their spell formation! Follow the Warmonger!"
The battle exploded into full madness.
Jean spent the next ten minutes in pure survival mode—dodging, flailing, and accidentally using Jan's muscle memory to do impossibly cool (and terrifying) things. Every time he tried to shout "Retreat!" or "Ceasefire!", it came out sounding like a villainous declaration.
At one point he tripped and fell against a portal shard. The unstable energy surged, and instead of exploding, it somehow synchronized with several other rifts, creating a temporary safe corridor that let his forces push forward without taking heavy losses.
Varak's roar shook the battlefield. "He manipulates the very portals mid-combat! A living omen of conquest!"
Elara, who had been dragged along and was now healing minor wounds on both sides (mostly out of reflex), stared at Jan with growing bewilderment. She muttered under her breath, "No one is this good at pretending to be merciful…"
Jan didn't hear her. He was too busy having a quiet breakdown while blocking another attack.
By the time the dust began to settle, the Pantheon forces were in full retreat back through the main portal, leaving behind broken banners and one very confused Radiant Sovereign who was being dragged away by his own paladins.
"We'll return stronger, Devourer!" the Sovereign shouted, voice cracking. "This isn't over!"
Jean stood in the middle of the battlefield, panting, covered in dirt and someone else's blood, looking like a war god who had just finished warming up.
He raised a shaky hand. "Good talk, everyone. Same time next week?"
The sarcastic remark was lost in the victorious roars of his army.
Lirael appeared at his side, wiping a blade.
"Minimal losses. Maximum psychological damage. You even let some escape to spread fear. Perfection, my Lord."
Varak dropped to one knee. "The 9th Realm trembles. Three more worlds have already sent surrender envoys after hearing reports of this 'Tuesday skirmish.'"
Jean's legs felt like jelly. He coughed again, lighter this time, but still theatrical.
All I wanted was to not die again. Now I've accidentally won another war.
Elara approached slowly, her expression unreadable. "You held back. A lot. Why?"
Jean gave her a tired, crooked smile that somehow still looked sinister. "Because I'm trying to be… better."
She didn't respond, but she didn't spit on his boots either. Small progress.
As the legions began securing the area and stabilizing the remaining portals, a new rift flickered into existence nearby, smaller, pulsing with strange silver light. Something about it felt different. Older. More dangerous.
A scout rushed over.
"My Lord! This portal leads to an uncharted layer. Ancient signatures. Possibly the fabled Origin Realm."
Jean stared at it, dread pooling in his stomach.
"Of course there's a mysterious ancient realm," he muttered. "Because my life wasn't bad enough."
Varak grinned. "Shall we prepare the invasion force?"
Jean sighed. "Let's… scout it first. Carefully."
The general nodded enthusiastically. "A calculated delay before total domination. Brilliant."
Jean Bernard, accidental Multiverse's Most Feared Warmonger, actually possessing Jan Harris's body, rubbed his temples and wondered how many chapters this nightmare novel was going to have.
At this rate, the multiverse was never going to let him retire.