Two hours.

Two hours of investigation in Beastglade and Arlott had seen enough to understand the scale of what he was dealing with.

He stopped.

Standing before him was a sea of monsters; not a horde in the conventional sense, not the disorganized flood that Monster Tides usually produced. This was thousands upon thousands of them, lined up, waiting, still.

Twenty thousand at minimum.

’If these reach the city...’

He didn’t finish the thought because the conclusion was obvious and unpleasant. Afterall, the city could be razed to the ground.

But they weren’t moving.

Just standing there, waiting, like soldiers awaiting a command.

That told him everything he needed to know.

’Someone is controlling them.’

"Oh my," a voice said behind him, bright and almost delighted. "You found us already."

Arlott spun, sword up, flame erupting along the blade as he slashed in one fluid motion.

Fast.

The figure was faster; retreating just enough, but just enough wasn’t quite enough. The blade caught the edge of the cloak for half a second before the figure pulled back completely.

Then it burned.

The cloaked figure looked at the small flame eating through the fabric, then at Arlott, then back at the flame with mild interest.

The hood came down.

Arlott’s eyes sharpened.

Long horns. Dark eyes. Features that carried something fundamentally wrong about them in a way that took a moment to identify and then was impossible to unsee.

Another of them materialized from the surrounding shadows, hoods dropping.

Devils.

Arlott stared.

"How," he said.

Veth moved.

Coryn’s hand shot out and caught his arm.

"Wait," he said.

Veth stopped; looked at him. "What?"

"Are you planning on killing him?"

"Of course," Veth replied; there was even a smile on his face about it.

"He’s a Silford," Coryn said simply. "Remember?"

Veth’s smile didn’t waver. "All the more reason we must kill him; these folks are the only ones capable of interfering with our plans or worse, foiling them entirely."

"Are you perhaps forgetting the you know who?," Coryn said.

Veth opened his mouth.

Coryn looked at him.

The implication landed.

A certain white haired boy.

"Oh," Veth said.

He paused for exactly one second.

Then continued anyway.

"Don’t worry about that," he said, waving it off. "He isn’t in Novaria anymore. And if he does come back..." He smiled again, wider this time. "We’ll have Lord Zhask deal with him."

Coryn went quiet at that.

The name alone did something to the air around them; not fear exactly, more the particular stillness that comes with genuine respect for something powerful enough to deserve it.

Lord Zhask.

In the devil realms that name made people bow their heads without being asked. He existed in a category that very few beings across any world could claim; equal in power to the current devil sovereign himself.

Coryn nodded slowly.

"...Fair enough," he said.

Arlott stood between them and twenty thousand monsters and said nothing.

He was doing calculations.

Veth moved.

It was obvious he’d been waiting for an excuse; he came in fast, bare hands, no weapon, threading past Arlott’s sword with a speed that was genuinely impressive.

Arlott stepped back and adjusted.

’Bare hands against a sword,’ he thought. ’Confident.’

Veth came again, this time low, going for his legs.

Arlott shifted his weight and brought the blade around in a clean horizontal arc.

**Silford Sword Craft: First Form — Flashstep Slash*

The burst of mana through his legs closed the distance in an instant; the cut was precise and fast, wind element layered into it, extending the speed beyond what Veth had calculated.

Veth twisted away but not entirely; the blade caught his side, not deep, but enough.

He landed several feet back and looked at the cut with mild interest.

"Not bad," he said pleasantly.

Then he smiled and came again; faster this time, no testing, fully committed, his bare fist driving toward Arlott’s chest with a force that carried something distinctly inhuman behind it.

Arlott turned into it.

**Silford Sword Craft: Fifth Form — Ashen Spiral.**

Flame wrapped the blade in a drilling rotation as he drove it forward to meet Veth’s strike; the collision between fist and spinning blade produced a shockwave that flattened the surrounding undergrowth in every direction.

Veth’s arm held for exactly one second.

Then his body didn’t.

He went backwards through the first tree; the trunk split cleanly. Through the second; same result. The third caught what was left of his momentum and he came to a stop somewhere in the undergrowth, branches raining down around him.

Silence.

Then he sat up.

Looked at where his arm used to be.

Laughed; short, embarrassed, the specific laugh of someone who had made a miscalculation and was being honest about it.

’Not everyone is a freak like that boy,’ he thought, glancing at the stump with something between amusement and wounded pride.

"Veth." Coryn’s voice came from behind him. Calm. Unbothered as always. "Let’s go."

Veth climbed to his feet without particular urgency; dusted off his remaining shoulder with the one arm he still had and looked at Arlott across the clearing.

"Impressive," he said, and meant it. "It seems our time’s up."

He smiled; easy and certain, like this had all gone exactly according to some plan Arlott wasn’t aware of.

"We’ll meet again, Arlott Silford." He tilted his head slightly. "In the city, that is."

Then they were gone.

Both of them; between one moment and the next, leaving nothing behind except broken trees, a missing arm somewhere in the undergrowth, and twenty thousand monsters still standing in perfect formation like they were waiting for a command that hadn’t come yet.

Arlott stood in the silence and looked at where they’d been.

Devils.

Alive. In Novaria. Coordinating monster hordes and walking through Beastglade like they’d already won something.

He gripped his sword.

And turned back toward the city.

"WHAT."

Harven’s fists came down on the table hard enough to rattle everything on it.

"Devils?" he said; his voice had lost every trace of its judicial composure. "They were responsible for the tide?"

Nobody answered because nobody had a better answer.

The S ranks, guild leaders, veteran adventurers, every important figure gathered in that hall wore the same expression; grim, tight, the particular look of people processing information that was bad in a way that didn’t have a ceiling.

This was the calamity from a different era.

The one that had nearly erased them entirely. The one the Hero had supposedly ended, supposedly finished, supposedly removed from the equation permanently.

Supposedly.

They’d been alive this whole time.

The murmuring started low and built fast, fear wearing the mask of urgent conversation, when the ground shook.

Everything stopped.

Arlott’s jaw tightened.

’Already?’ he thought. ’They’re already here?’

The doors burst open.

Knights, breathing hard, armor rattling.

"My lords." The one in front steadied himself. "We are experiencing an onslaught. The monsters are advancing on the city."

The hall moved.

It was impressive honestly; whatever panic had been building evaporated immediately, replaced by the particular efficiency of people who had trained for exactly this kind of moment and knew what to do with it. Leaders gathered, orders went out fast and clean, the chain of command snapping into place like it had never been disrupted.

Adventurers. Knights. Mages. Warriors. Healers. Everyone who could fight was being pulled into formation within minutes.

The S ranks were positioned just outside the city gates.

All of them. Every S rank currently in the capital, standing in a line between the city and whatever was coming through that forest.

Arlott stood among them, sword drawn, flame already curling along the blade.

They would hold.

Until backup arrived, they would hold.