A week passed. Seven nights of stones hammering the walls without pause. Seven days of arrows raining from outside the city. Soldiers slept beneath the walls, behind shields, wherever they could. Red eyes, trembling hands, ears ringing constantly.
Albert slept only three hours a day.
Not because of the noise. He was accustomed to loud sounds. In another life, he'd slept under artillery bombardment. Here, the sound of stones striking the walls was like a terrifying lullaby.
But his mind... his mind wouldn't stop.
He sat atop the eastern wall, legs dangling over the edge, staring outward. In the distance, the enemy camp stirred like a disturbed anthill. Thousands of fire points at night, thousands of shadows during the day.
Luise sat beside him, as always.
"They'll come tomorrow," Albert finally said.
Luise turned. "How do you know?"
"Watch their movements. The last three days they've been gathering forces on the left flank; yesterday they started shifting toward the center. Tomorrow morning at dawn, they'll break through the wall at the same point."
"You're sure?"
Albert didn't answer. He just stared outward, toward the enemy camp, toward the thousands of lives that would soon surge toward them.
***
Dawn arrived with a red sky.
Red from thousands of torches. Leandria forces advanced in three waves, each ten thousand strong. Behind them, war machines—giant trebuchets, ballistae with pillar-sized bolts, mangonels hurling man-sized stones.
Albert stood atop the wall. To his left and right, soldiers prepared. Those faces—tired, afraid, but resolute. They'd held for a week; they wouldn't surrender now.
Behind him, Lord Harald climbed onto the wall. His face looked older than yesterday. "You were right. They're focusing on the east."
Albert nodded. "Move all reserves here. The other sides only need a hundred men as a precaution."
Lord Harald issued the orders. Soldiers began moving. Below, at the eastern gate, the Götthain-Lancaster Special Regiment stood in the front line. Hilda with her archers above. Luise beside Albert. Leo—pale, but standing tall—in the rear.
Albert glanced at Leo briefly. The young man gripped his spear with trembling hands. His face was pale, his eyes wild. But he didn't run.
"Fall back," Albert said.
Leo stared at him. "W-what?"
"Fall back. You're not ready."
"I—"
"FALL BACK."
Leo swallowed hard, then turned and ran to the rear. A few veteran soldiers chuckled. Albert didn't care.
From outside, war drums began to sound.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Like the heartbeat of a giant.
And the first trebuchet released its shot.
A stone the size of a chariot soared through the air, spinning slowly, then slammed into the wall to Albert's left. The stone wall cracked. Shrapnel flew. An archer nearby fell, his head split open.
A piercing scream rang out. But no one stopped.
"HOLD FAST!" Lord Harald shouted.
Second shot. Third. Fourth.
The eastern wall began to crumble slowly. Cracks spread like stone serpents. Each impact shook the ground, made teeth chatter, made hearts beat faster.
And beyond the collapsing wall, the Leandria forces began to move.
The first wave—ten thousand men—charged in tight formation. Shields forward, spears raised, war cries splitting the air.
"ARCHERS! LOOSE!"
Hilda shouted. Hundreds of arrows streaked through the air. Dozens of Leandria soldiers fell. But they kept advancing, stepping over their comrades' corpses, pressing forward.
One hundred meters. Fifty. Twenty.
They reached the gap in the wall.
And collided with the Helvetian battle line.
The first impact sounded like a wave crashing against rocks. Flesh meeting iron. Screams mingled with shouts. Blood splattered across faces.
Albert didn't wait.
He leaped from the not-too-high wall, landing in the midst of the enemy ranks. Wurzel flashed. One head flew.
Around him, Leandria soldiers crowded, trying to reach the breach. They didn't see him as a threat—just one man among thousands. They would trample him and keep advancing.
Then, ten corpses lay at his feet. They began to notice him.
"IT'S HIM! BLACK SWORD DEMON!"
The shout spread like wildfire. Soldiers in the front ranks began to hesitate. Some retreated. Some tried to attack from a distance, thrusting with long spears.
Albert dodged. One spear passed beside his head. He caught its shaft, yanked, plunged Wurzel into its owner's belly. The spear fell; he grabbed it and hurled it into the crowd. Another soldier was impaled.
But there were too many.
Left, right, front—thousands. They began to surround him, trying to separate him from the Helvetia ranks.
Albert didn't care. He had already given Luise orders to lead the unit in his absence. So he was free to do as he pleased.
He kept moving. Slashing. Stabbing. Killing. But not as usual. This was neither efficient nor precise.
First slash—not the neck, but an arm. The limb severed from the shoulder. The soldier screamed, fell, blood spraying. Albert glanced at him briefly, then turned away.
Second thrust—not the heart, but the lower belly. Deep. Intestines began to spill out. The soldier crawled backward, trying to stuff his guts back in with trembling hands. Albert left him behind.
Third—slashed across the face. His lower jaw detached. He still lived, but looked like a monster with the bottom half of his mouth missing.
Albert kept moving.
Behind him, the trail he left wasn't corpses—but living bodies. Still moving. Still screaming. Still moaning with sounds that made hair stand on end.
Terror spread once again.
Leandria soldiers in the front ranks began to see. They saw their comrades fall, but not die. They saw torn flesh, broken bones, exposed organs—and those comrades still lived, still screamed, still crawled through the mud.
"Damn it... damn it... WHAT IS THAT?"
"DEMON! DEMON!"
The ranks began to waver. Those in the rear didn't know what was happening—only heard the screams, saw people stop advancing, begin retreating.
"ADVANCE! ADVANCE!" their commanders shouted.
But no one wanted to advance. Ahead of them, that Demon kept moving, leaving a trail of living, moaning flesh.
***
One hour. Two hours.
The battle continued without pause. The gap in the eastern wall became a slaughterhouse. Corpses piled up. Blood pooled everywhere, making the ground slick, making each step heavy.
The Götthain-Lancaster Special Regiment held the front line alongside their commander. Hilda ran out of arrows—now fighting with a short sword in hand. Luise beside Albert, her sword red, her breath ragged. The remaining soldiers kept fighting.
And in the midst of it all, Albert kept moving even as his body reached its limits.
Nothing could stop him.
A Leandria knight—massive, in full armor, wielding a two-handed sword—charged at him. A vertical slash, powerful, lethal.
Albert didn't evade. He stepped forward, moving inside the knight's reach, and thrust toward his eye. The strike landed precisely between helm and nose guard.
The knight screamed, his sword falling, his hands clutching his face. Albert kicked his chest. He fell backward, trampled by his own soldiers.
Beside him, a Leandria soldier tried to thrust from behind. Albert spun, caught the spear, snapped it, then jammed the broken end into the soldier's neck. Not deep. Just enough to make him choke, drown in his own blood, collapse to his knees.
Another soldier, younger, maybe sixteen, stopped before him. His eyes were wide. His spear trembled. He didn't attack.
Albert looked at him.
"I—I... I don't—"
Albert stepped closer. One step. Two steps. The young soldier retreated, tripped over a corpse, fell.
Albert stood over him. Wurzel raised.
Then, with a swift motion, he slashed—not the neck, but the leg. The knee opened, white bone visible. The young soldier screamed, clutching his wound, moaning.
"Go," Albert said. His voice was low, hoarse, inhuman.
The soldier crawled backward, leaving a trail of blood, joining the ranks that were beginning to retreat.
***
Three hours. Four hours.
The sun moved across the sky, but no one noticed. The world inside Vallenwood's walls was only grey and red. Dust, smoke, blood, flesh.
Outside, the Leandria forces were running out of strength. The first wave was already shattered. The second wave—which should have replaced them—retreated before reaching the breach. They saw what was happening ahead. They heard the screams. They didn't want to become living corpses.
Their commanders shouted, cursed, threatened. But soldiers who had already seen the Demon didn't care about ordinary threats. They feared him more than their own commanders.
Atop the wall, Lord Harald saw an opportunity.
"SEND IN THE RESERVES! COUNTERATTACK! PUSH THEM BACK!"
Infantry began moving forward. Five thousand men, surging through the breach, slamming into the already chaotic Leandria ranks.
There was no significant resistance. Leandria soldiers fled. Not an orderly retreat—a genuine rout, dropping weapons, abandoning shields, doing anything to get away from that wall.
And in the midst of it all, amidst the chaos, amidst thousands of corpses and hundreds of grievously wounded, Albert stood.
Alone.
Wurzel in his hand. His body drenched in blood.
Luise ran toward him, pushing through the scattering crowd. She grabbed Albert's shoulder.
"MY LORD! MY LORD! IT'S OVER! THEY'RE RETREATING!"
Albert turned.
"I'm... not finished."
"What? IT IS! Look, they're running!"
Albert stared ahead. Thousands of Leandria soldiers were fleeing the battlefield. Corpses lay everywhere. Blood pooled in every depression of the ground.
But he still saw enemies. In his eyes, they were still there. Still moving. Still needed to be finished.
"Albert." Luise's voice was softer now. Her hand touched his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Look at me. Look into my eyes."
Albert looked at her. Those violet eyes—usually sharp and vigilant—were now gentle.
"It's enough," Luise whispered. "It's enough for today. Come with me."
She took his hand. Slowly, step by step, away from the gap in the wall, away from the piles of corpses, away from the battlefield.
Albert followed. Didn't speak. Didn't resist. Just walked, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
***
Six hours.
Six hours of uninterrupted battle. Twelve thousand corpses outside the walls—maybe more. Thousands wounded on both sides. Inside, the recovery tents were overflowing. Screams everywhere.
Lord Harald stood atop the ruined wall, staring outward. In the distance, the enemy camp still stood. But they wouldn't attack again today. Perhaps they never would again.
"We held," he murmured. "Somehow, we held."
Beside him, Lady Mirelle looked down at Albert being led away by Luise.
"What will you do with him?" she asked.
Lord Harald exhaled. "I don't know. But one thing is certain—without him, this city would have fallen today."
Lady Mirelle nodded. "He saved us. But watching him... it's not easy."
"Nothing in war is easy."
Below, in his tent, Albert sat on his bed. Luise sat beside him.
Outside, the sounds gradually faded. Night descended upon Vallenwood. Thousands of candles were lit in the recovery tents. Thousands of people moaned in their sleep.
And in the midst of it all, Albert sat silently, staring at his hands, waiting for the next dawn.