Chapter 10 — Five Years of War

  Five years had passed.

  Five long, bloody years since that night in the vilge.

  The war with the demons had not ended.

  It had only fred up fiercer, turning into a slow, inexorable pgue that devoured human nds from within.

  What had at first seemed like rare raids proved to be a full-scale invasion. The demons didn’t just attack—they defiled, tore apart, sowed madness. With each year their darkness pushed deeper, like bck mold spreading across living flesh.

  First the border vilges vanished—leaving behind only charred house skeletons and wells filled to the brim with bodies, some still alive but already broken, eyes gouged out, smiles carved into their faces.

  Then small towns began to fall—walls crumbled under ogre blows, streets filled with screams and smoke, and afterward only empty ruins remained, where wind chased ash and scraps of children’s dresses.

  Fields burned—golden waves of wheat turned to bck cinders, and the earth beneath cracked as though trying to reject what had grown on it.

  Roads emptied—caravans no longer passed; only flocks of crows followed them, waiting for fresh prey, sometimes finding only skeletons picked clean to the bone.

  Whole regions became dead nds—where no humans lived anymore, only demons wandered in search of the st pockets of resistance. Sometimes the air there was so thick with sulfur and decay that breathing became painful.

  Sometimes from vilges only cw marks on stone remained, and the smell of scorched flesh.

  Sometimes—nothing at all.

  Only silence.

  And bones, bleached white by rain, etched with runes no one could read.

  Kane’s squad had fought all this time.

  But it was no longer the same squad.

  People died too quickly.

  Some perished in battle—torn apart, pierced, burned alive.

  Others went mad—from the things demons did, from the things people did in desperation.

  Some simply vanished at night—walking into the forest and never returning. No one searched for their bodies. Sometimes they were found ter—hanging from trees with hearts cut out, or with faces frozen in insane smiles.

  In five years the squad had almost completely turned over.

  Only four of the originals remained.

  Kane.

  Lohan.

  Corin.

  And Drake.

  Kane had visibly aged.

  His hair had turned gray, his face harder—scars deeper, wrinkles like cracks in stone. In his eyes settled the weight of a man who had stared at death too long and stopped fearing it—because it had become as familiar as breathing. Sometimes at night he sat alone by the fire and stared into the fmes as though searching for the faces of those he had lost.

  But he was still the commander.

  And he still held the squad together—by sheer will, by sheer hatred.

  Lohan had become his right hand.

  His deputy.

  He no longer ughed as often as before.

  He became quieter. Harder.

  His eyes dimmed, but his movements grew even more precise, even more lethal. Sometimes he looked at new recruits as though he already saw how they would die.

  He was the one who trained them—to die quickly or kill quickly.

  Corin had barely changed.

  Always serious.

  Always silent.

  But over the years he had become the squad’s best scout.

  No one could read demon tracks like he could—no rustle, no drop of bck blood, no broken twig escaped his notice. Sometimes he returned from scouting with an empty stare—and no one asked what he had seen.

  Drake had changed the most.

  Five years of war had turned him from a child into a warrior.

  He was now fourteen.

  He had grown tall, shoulders broader, movements faster, more precise, more deadly.

  The scar still remained on his face—a thin pale line running through his eye, a reminder of that night.

  People often said that it was after that night his gaze had changed.

  It had become colder.

  Calmer.

  Emptier.

  Over those five years Drake had learned only one thing.

  To kill.

  First imps—small, squealing, cowardly.

  Then goblins—cunning, treacherous.

  Then rger creatures—the ones that could break bones with a single blow.

  He had become the squad’s best swordsman in close combat.

  At least that’s what Lohan said—and there was no joke in his voice anymore.

  Mid-tier demons no longer posed a serious threat to him.

  He killed them quickly.

  Coldly.

  Without wasted movement.

  Without pity.

  Without regret.

  But the higher demons…

  That was a completely different story.

  They were stronger.

  Faster.

  Smarter.

  When one of them appeared on the battlefield, people died by the dozens.

  Even the best warriors couldn’t always defeat them.

  Drake couldn’t either.

  Not yet.

  But he knew one thing.

  Someday he would kill them.

  All of them.

  That day the squad moved along an old trade road.

  Once caravans had passed here—den with silk, spices, gold, and hope.

  Now the road was dead.

  Broken wagons y on the sides like skeletons.

  Horse skeletons gleamed white in the grass.

  Bck stains of dried blood had soaked into the stones.

  And the smell.

  The old, heavy smell of war—rust, rot, ash, and fear.

  Drake walked at the head of the column.

  His sword rested on his shoulder—no longer too heavy, familiar, like part of his body.

  Corin suddenly stopped.

  Raised his hand.

  The squad froze instantly.

  The scout slowly crouched and touched the ground with his fingers.

  For a while he was silent—listening to something no one else could hear.

  Then he looked at Kane.

  “Tracks.”

  Kane frowned.

  “How many?”

  Corin was silent for a second—as though weighing the words.

  “Many.”

  He lifted his gaze to the forest ahead—dark, thick, like a living thing.

  “And among them there is one…”

  He didn’t finish.

  But everyone understood.

  Drake already felt it.

  A heavy, unpleasant sensation somewhere in his chest—as though someone was slowly squeezing his heart with an icy hand.

  Corin said quietly:

  “Higher.”

  A heavy silence fell over the road.

  Lohan slowly pced his hand on his sword hilt.

  Kane sighed wearily.

  Then said calmly:

  “Well then.”

  He looked at the fighters—at their faces, no longer young, no longer full of hope.

  “It looks like…”

  “Today will be a hard day.”

  And Drake already felt it.

  The smell.

  The smell of a demon.

  And it was very close.

  Corin was the first to notice movement in the forest.

  Dark shapes began slipping out between the trees—slowly, confidently, like shadows coming alive in twilight.

  “They’re coming,” he said quietly.

  Kane raised his hand.

  “Prepare.”

  Drake was already moving.

  He pulled from his pouch a small cy vial filled with thick bck mixture. Lohan had once taught him how to make it—resin, oil, alcohol, and a bit of alchemical powder that burned even demonic flesh.

  Drake lit the rag on the neck.

  When the first ogres burst from the bushes, he had already thrown the vial.

  Gss shattered against the creature’s chest.

  In an instant fmes erupted—greedy, unquenchable.

  The ogre roared.

  Fire sank into greasy skin and fur. The beast thrashed, knocking down smaller demons around it, setting wheat and grass abze.

  “Good!” Lohan shouted.

  Drake was no longer listening.

  He drew his bow.

  Arrow.

  Twang of the string.

  One imp fell into the grass—arrow protruding from its eye socket.

  Second arrow.

  A goblin clutched its throat and gurgled, colpsing.

  Third.

  Fourth.

  Drake shot quickly, almost without aiming.

  His body knew where to send the arrow.

  Small demons fell one after another.

  The squad moved in unison.

  Spearmen held the ogres—thrusting shafts into groins, knees, eyes.

  Archers picked off imps.

  Swordsmen finished those who broke through.

  Losses were minimal.

  It seemed the fight was going too easily.

  Even Kane noticed it.

  He frowned.

  “Too easy…”

  And at that very moment the forest ahead parted like a curtain.

  A demon stepped from the shadows.

  He looked almost human.

  Tall.

  Slender.

  In dark clothing, as though he had just stepped out of a pace rather than a thicket.

  Bck hair fell to his shoulders.

  His face was beautiful.

  Too beautiful.

  Only curved horns rose from his temples.

  And his eyes… his eyes were empty and cold.

  A higher demon.

  He looked at the humans with zy interest.

  Like at insects.

  Drake felt a chill run down his spine.

  And then women began emerging from the bushes.

  First one.

  Then more.

  Then dozens.

  They walked slowly.

  Smiling.

  Strangely.

  Madly.

  Identical empty smiles stretched across their faces—like puppets forced to imitate joy.

  “What the…” one soldier muttered.

  The women suddenly broke into a run.

  Straight at the squad.

  The soldiers hesitated.

  No one understood what was happening.

  The first woman tched onto one of the fighters.

  The second leaped on top.

  The third jumped onto his back.

  “AAAAA!”

  A scream tore the air.

  The women didn’t strike.

  They scratched.

  Tore.

  Fingers cwed into eyes.

  Biting.

  More soldiers fell under the swarm.

  Kane understood instantly.

  “Close ranks!” he roared.

  “Back to back!”

  Lohan was already cutting with his sword, throwing women aside.

  “Don’t let them surround you!”

  Drake parried a blow.

  A woman lunged at him like a beast.

  Her eyes were empty.

  He struck with the sword hilt.

  She colpsed to the ground.

  And only then did Drake see him.

  The higher demon stood off to the side.

  In his arms was a girl.

  Young.

  Light-haired.

  Empty gaze.

  Drake recognized her.

  He had saved her several months ago.

  During a raid on a caravan.

  She had cried then and thanked him—trembling arms hugging him, whispering “thank you.”

  Now she stood calmly.

  Like a doll.

  The demon gently held her by the shoulders.

  And looked at Drake.

  With interest.

  As though waiting for a reaction.

  But there was none.

  Drake calmly raised his sword.

  “I’ll save your soul.”

  He took a step forward.

  “You will rest in peace.”

  And with one swift motion he slit the girl’s throat.

  She fell without a sound—blood poured onto the ground like a dark stream.

  Surprise flickered across the higher demon’s face.

  Then irritation.

  He clicked his tongue quietly.

  “What a pity…”

  He looked at Drake differently now.

  Without the former zy smile.

  The arrogance faded slightly.

  “Pup…” the demon said softly.

  He slowly smiled—now genuinely.

  “It seems you’ll only bring me fun with your death.”

  And at that moment his eyes fred with dark light.

  And the women around screamed even louder—madly, desperately.

  The battle was only beginning.