The sun rose over the eastern horizon of Northreach, but its light was pale and sickly, as if reluctant to shine upon the sight below. Last night's storm had passed, leaving behind a low-hanging gray sky and air heavy with humidity.
There was no birdsong this morning. No cheers of victory that usually echoed after a great battle.
The front courtyard of Iron Hearth Castle, once green, had been transformed into a sea of thick mud. In the center of the devastation, the massive carcass of the Obsidian Crawler lay stiff; its jet-black steel body still emitted faint wisps of smoke, serving as a silent monument to last night's terror.
However, the true horror was not the monster's carcass.
In a corner of the courtyard, beneath the shadow of a cracked fortress wall, Sir Riven Sudrath stood frozen.
The eldest son of the Sudrath family was not wearing his war armor. He wore only a white linen shirt, now stained with mud and dried blood. His left arm was held in a sling, as his shoulder bone had been severely fractured while holding back the monster's strike. His face, usually fierce and full of spirit, now appeared sunken, his eyes staring blankly ahead.
Before him, Captain Garrick and the remnants of the Iron Mercs had just finished digging into the earth. Not for the foundation of a new building, but for twelve graves.
Twelve mounds of wet earth stood in neat rows. Atop each mound, a dented iron helmet was placed as a makeshift headstone.
They were the first generation of the Red Lions. Village youths whom Riven had trained for months. Those who had laughed when Riven taught them how to hold a spear, those who had shared rations by the campfire. Last night, they died not from losing a duel, but while trying to hold back the monster's legs to prevent it from breaking the gate. Their bodies were crushed beyond recognition, trampled by a thirty-ton killing machine.
"I'm sorry..." Riven whispered, his voice hoarse and broken.
A cold wind blew, ruffling Riven's dirty hair. He clenched his right hand, which was still trembling—a side effect of nerve damage.
"I'm a failed commander. I promised to make you heroes... but instead, I led you to your graves."
Behind Riven, Duchess Aurelia stood holding a black umbrella. Her eyes were puffy; the remnants of last night's tears hadn't faded. Her heart ached seeing her prideful son shattered like this. She wanted to hug Riven, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but the aura Riven radiated right now was so cold. A thick wall built from Survivor's Guilt.
"Riven," Aurelia called softly, her voice trembling as she held back tears. "Come inside, son. Your wounds need fresh bandages. The air is too cold."
Riven shook his head slowly without turning. His eyes remained fixed on the dented helmets.
"Later, Mom. I want to stay with them for a bit. Until the earth is dry. It's the only thing I can do for them now."
Aurelia bit her lower lip, stifling a sob. She knew that no mother's words could heal the internal wounds of a general who had lost his men.
Strategy Room – Iron Hearth Castle. Midday.
The conditions inside the castle were equally grim. The roof of the Strategy Room leaked in several spots due to last night's seismic vibrations. Buckets were placed atop the map table to catch the dripping rainwater left over from the storm.
Drip... Drip... Drip...
The sound of the dripping water became a metronome, filling the heavy silence.
Duke Lucian, Sir Rianor, Sir Roland, and Lady Rhea sat around the damp map table. Their faces were weary, dark circles hanging beneath their eyes. There was no usual family banter.
"Damage Report," Lucian ordered flatly. His voice was firm and stern, hiding a father's concern. He knew there was no time for mourning. The enemy would not wait for them to finish crying.
Rianor opened his crumpled notebook. He adjusted his glasses, which had a cracked left lens.
"It's critical, Dad," Rianor reported bluntly.
"First: Defensive Structures. The Southern Wall has suffered a total breach, twenty meters long. If Morvath attacks today, we have no gate to close."
Rianor turned a page in his notes, his voice growing heavier.
"Second: Food Logistics. The monster smashed the main grain silo before Riven could stop it. The warehouse collapsed. Eighty percent of our winter food stock... gone. Either burned or contaminated by the monster's toxic oil."
"Third: Economy." Rianor set his notebook on the table. "On paper, we have 500,000 Gold from Seraphina. We are filthy rich. BUT..."
Rianor looked at Roland.
"But the money is useless," Roland added with a frustrated expression. "Grain merchants from the South are refusing to enter Northreach. Morvath is spreading rumors that our territory is plagued by a disease caused by the monster's carcass. The trade routes are under total blockade."
Silence.
The bitter reality slapped them in the face. They had a mountain of gold in the vault, yet they were at risk of starving to death within two weeks. This was the true reality of war logistics.
"We have to buy food," Roland said, running his hands through his hair. "I can try contacting Draconia again..."
"Don't," Rianor cut him off quickly. "Seraphina is an investor, not a charity. If she finds out we are starving and have no food, she'll buy our shares for cheap, or worse... take over Northreach as a colony."
"Then what do we eat? Rocks?!" Rhea snapped emotionally. Her leg was bandaged from a metal scratch last night, making her increasingly irritable. "The people in the village are already starting to panic!"
"Almost," Rianor answered coldly.
Rianor stood up and walked to the window overlooking the front courtyard. He pointed toward the massive monster carcass lying in the mud.
"The monster's meat is edible. Elara conducted toxicology tests this morning. It's safe, though the texture is tough. It's our only source of protein for the month."
Rhea's face twisted in disgust. "We're eating... a centipede?"
"Our choices are simple: Eat the centipede, or starve to death," Rianor said logically. "And its steel hide..."
Rianor turned to face his father.
"Dad, we're not patching the walls with stone anymore. Stone is too fragile. We will cut the monster's hide and weld the steel plates directly onto the castle walls. We will make Iron Hearth truly made of Iron."
Duke Lucian nodded slowly. His eyes reflected a will of steel.
"Agreed. We are no longer building for luxury. Forget renovating guest rooms or flower gardens. Starting today, we are building a Bunker. The top priority is Survival."
Emergency Medical Tent (Back Courtyard). Evening.
In a large tent erected over Aurelia's former flower garden, Elara and Lady Rumina were performing a stomach-churning task.
They were conducting an autopsy on the head of the Obsidian Crawler. The goal wasn't meat, but to find the Core (Engine Heart) for study.
"The structure is so strange, Sister," Rumina muttered. The 15-year-old girl's face was smeared with thick green oil. "This isn't a normal magic Golem. Look at these wires... the fibers are too fine. This is connected to an organic nervous system."
Elara frowned. She used a small magic saw to cut through the monster's brain casing.
ZZZTTT... KREK.
The monster's head shell popped open.
Instantly, a pungent, foul stench wafted out. It wasn't the smell of oil or iron.
It was the smell of Formalin and decaying flesh.
"Cough!" Rumina covered her nose, taking a step back.
Elara waved her hand to dispel the foul smoke, then pointed a crystal lamp into the head cavity.
In the next second, Elara's face went pale. Her eyes widened in horror.
"My God..."
Rianor pulled back the tent flap and entered. "What is it? Did you find the Core?"
Rumina didn't answer. She pointed into the monster's head with a trembling hand, tears welling in her eyes.
"Brother... that... that's a human."
Rianor stepped closer. He looked into the mechanical cavity.
Amidst the complex wiring, hydraulic pipes, and pulsing mana crystals... sat a Human Skull.
The skull was incomplete. The lower jaw had been removed and replaced with a metal speaker. The eye sockets were empty, replaced by red sensor lenses. And most terrifying of all, dozens of fine wires were planted directly through the remnants of the brain preserved in green liquid.
Elara collapsed onto the ground, her face turning green. She threw up into a bucket beside the table.
"Blegh..."
Rianor stared at the horrific sight without any expression on his face, but inside his pocket, his hand was clenched so tightly his nails drew blood from his palm.
"This isn't technology," Rianor hissed, his voice cold as ice. "This is eternal torture."
Rianor wiped away a layer of grime from a metal plate embedded in the skull's forehead. There was small text etched in an ancient language.
PROJECT: LEGION – SUBJECT 045.
"Legion..." Rianor muttered.
This wasn't a wild monster that had evolved. This was a mass-produced weapon. And its fuel... its processor... was a human. A human who might have been kidnapped, tortured, and forced into a killing machine.
Rianor turned, staring at the cloudy evening sky through the gap in the tent. This world was much sicker than he had estimated. Their enemy was not just corrupt politicians like Morvath. Their enemy was a civilization that dehumanized humanity.
"Close this tent," Rianor ordered Rumina, his voice flat but firm. "Do not let Riven or Mother see this. It is enough that we bear the sin of this knowledge."
"We will dismantle this monster. We'll take its steel, take its weapons to survive. But..."
Rianor looked at the skull one last time with a sorrowful gaze.
"...Bury the human properly."
That night in Northreach, no one could sleep soundly.
The Sudrath family realized they might have won the battle, but they had just stepped into a true nightmare.