The battle did not end when hope returned.

It only became harder.

What had once been a desperate struggle for survival had transformed into a brutal war of attrition, where both sides—wounded, exhausted, and bloodied—refused to yield. The arrival of Captain Vince had shifted the balance, but it had not erased the cost of the past hours.

The battlefield still burned.

The sky had darkened fully now, the last remnants of daylight swallowed by a deep, cold night. Flames flickered across shattered terrain, casting long shadows over bodies that no longer moved. The air was thick with heat, ash, and the metallic scent of blood.

And still, they fought.

The demons, stripped of leadership but not of instinct, had devolved into something far more chaotic. Their attacks came without rhythm now, without coordination, but with terrifying ferocity.

They no longer preserved strength or formation. They simply threw themselves forward, clawing, tearing, biting with everything they had left.

It was madness.

But it was effective.

A soldier screamed as a demon tackled him to the ground, claws tearing through his armor before a spear from another soldier pierced the creature’s skull.

Nearby, a mercenary staggered backward, barely blocking a strike before countering with a desperate swing that severed his attacker’s arm.

"Don’t let them drag you down!" someone shouted.

"They’re trying to overwhelm us!"

Even without strategy, their numbers still mattered.

And they were still many.

At the center of the battlefield, Captain Vince moved like a constant.

Wherever he appeared, demons fell.

Not in wide, wasteful strikes—but in clean, efficient executions. Every movement served a purpose, every action removed a threat. He did not linger. He did not chase unnecessarily. He eliminated, repositioned, and advanced.

A demon lunged from his blind side but never reached him.

His blade reversed mid-motion, cutting through its neck without him even turning fully.

Another charged from the front.

A single step.

A precise thrust.

The core shattered.

He kept moving.

Around him, the Dunters followed his rhythm.

They were different from the mercenaries.

Less loud.

Less chaotic.

Their movements were synchronized, their strikes measured, their presence stabilizing. Where mercenaries fought like storms, the Dunters fought like a system—controlled, relentless, and precise.

"Left flank—collapse," one of them said calmly.

Another responded instantly.

"Reinforcing."

They shifted as one.

The line held.

Elsewhere, the Army Commander fought beside Vince now—not against a Captain, but against the endless tide. His strikes were slower than before, but steadier. The pressure that had once nearly crushed him had lifted just enough for him to breathe again.

"...You’ve changed the flow," he said between breaths.

Vince didn’t look at him. "It was already breaking."

Then he paused before adding. "You just needed time."

The Commander let out a short, rough chuckle. "Then let’s not waste it."

They moved together.

Not as equals—but as allies.

And it worked.

Farther down the line, the two peak Platinum mercenaries had finally turned their battle into an advantage. With one Captain already dead and the other weakened, their coordination sharpened, their attacks more aggressive now that survival was no longer their only goal.

"Now!" one of them shouted.

The other moved instantly.

A feint high.

A strike low.

The demon reacted too slow.

The blade pierced deep.

The second strike followed immediately, severing its neck cleanly.

The body dropped.

For a moment, both men stood still, breathing heavily.

Then one of them laughed.

"...That’s two."

"Don’t get comfortable," the other replied, though a grin still formed.

They turned.

Back into the fight.

Because it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Time blurred and minutes stretched and broke.

The battle had been raging for nearly half a day, and it showed.

Movements slowed.

Breathing grew heavier.

Every strike carried weight—not just of strength, but of exhaustion.

The soldiers were reaching their limits.

Even the mercenaries, hardened as they were, showed signs of strain. Armor cracked. Weapons dulled. Hands trembled between swings.

But the demons, they were fewer now.

Still dangerous.

Still relentless.

But no longer endless.

"That’s the last wave from the east!" a soldier shouted.

"Push them back!"

A surge followed.

Not organized.

Not perfect.

But driven.

Humanity, battered and bleeding, pushed forward.

Step by step.

Meter by meter.

They reclaimed ground soaked in their own blood.

At the center, Vince paused for the first time since his return.

Not out of fatigue.

But awareness.

His gaze swept across the battlefield.

Calculating the remaining threats and strength. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"...It’s ending," he said quietly.

The Vice Captain appeared beside him.

"Agreed."

A brief pause.

"Final push?"

Vince nodded once.

That was enough.

The signal spread—not through words, but through movement.

The Dunters advanced first.

Then the mercenaries.

Then the soldiers.

A unified push.

The last of the demons met it head-on.

They roared.

Charged.

Fought with everything they had left.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

The line broke.

This time it was the demons’.

One by one, they fell.

Then in groups and then in clusters.

Until only stragglers remained.

The final demon—a massive, blood-covered creature—lunged toward a wounded soldier with its last strength.

It never reached him.

A blade pierced through its skull from behind.

Vince pulled it free.

The body dropped.

Silence followed.

Not immediately.

But gradually.

The sounds of battle faded.

Clashing steel slowed.

Then stopped.

The roars died.

The screams ended.

And for the first time in hours there was no enemy left to fight.

The battlefield stood still.

No one moved at first.

No one spoke.

They simply... stood.

Breathing.

Processing.

Surviving.

Then a sound.

A single laugh. "Haha..."

Weak and disbelieving.

It spread.

Slowly at first.

Then louder.

Relief broke through the exhaustion like a dam collapsing.

"We... we won..."

Someone dropped to their knees.

Another leaned on their weapon, shoulders shaking.

A soldier sat down where he stood, staring at his blood-covered hands as if seeing them for the first time.

The Commander exhaled deeply, lowering his blade at last.

"...It’s over."

Beside him, Vince said nothing.

He simply looked across the battlefield.

At the survivors.

At the fallen.

At the cost.

Victory.

Yes.

But not without weight.

Behind them, the city still stood.

Intact and safe.

Because they had held.

Because they had endured. Because at the right moment, strength had arrived.