The royal decree changed the land long before the first stone was laid.
Surveyors arrived at dawn, red-marked maps unfurled across hills and riverbanks. Boundary stones were planted with quiet efficiency, each engraved with a simple sigil—two crossed lines beneath a crimson mark.
The land of the Red Flags Banner.
Ten thousand acres did not look impressive to the nobles on parchment.
It looked terrifying once measured.
The territory cut cleanly across trade arteries that had fed noble houses for generations. Grain routes. Ore convoys. Caravan rest towns that once paid tariffs to three different lords now found themselves standing on neutral ground—Daniel's ground.
That was when dissatisfaction began to ferment.
"This is outrageous!"
Lord Kervan slammed his fist against the council table, rings clattering. "Those lands were traditionally under my influence!"
"Influence is not ownership," another noble replied coldly, though his clenched jaw betrayed his own unease.
Across the chamber, whispers multiplied.
"He's strangling us economically."
"First protection, now commerce."
"What comes next—taxation?"
No one said the quiet part out loud.
What if we can't stop him?
They protested formally. They protested loudly. They appealed to the crown, to precedent, to tradition.
And the crown replied with silence.
Because the decree bore the king's seal.
And because General Daniel still stood undefeated.
Beyond the borders, rumours sold faster than trade.
They always did.
In taverns, in refugee camps, in half-burned villages clinging to survival, the story was told and retold—growing larger with every telling.
They spoke of a battlefield where the sky cracked.
Of millions of demonic beasts pouring from the rift like a black tide.
Of a Demon Monarch descending—its presence alone shattering the earth, mountains collapsing as if made of sand.
And at the center of it all—
One man.
General Daniel.
They said he stood alone at first, unmoving as the ground broke beneath his feet. That gravity bent to his will. That mana screamed when he moved. That every step he took crushed demons into nothingness.
They said the earth shattered piece by piece as he fought the Demon Monarch toe to toe—blow for blow, will against will.
And when the dust settled—
The demon lay dead.
The rift collapsed.
And humanity was still standing.
Parents told the story to children at night.
Not as propaganda.
As reassurance.
"Sleep," they would whisper. "The War General still lives."
In kingdoms where borders were already collapsing, where demons prowled streets once filled with markets, that story became something else.
Hope.
A fragile, dangerous thing—but hope nonetheless.
It was in one such kingdom that the first message arrived.
A sealed request, sent through three intermediaries, written with hands that trembled.
We are losing ground. Our warriors are dead or exhausted .If the Red Flags Banner is real—We are willing to pay.
The message reached Fort Knightfall within the hour.
Daniel read it once.
Then he handed it to Miimi.
"They're desperate," Miimi said quietly.
Beth leaned over her shoulder, scanning the report. "And they're not the last."
Daniel nodded. "Good."
Miimi raised an eyebrow. "Good?"
"It means the banner is working."
He turned to the table where reports from other kingdoms were already stacking up—some subtle, some blunt, some barely hiding their panic.
Daniel spoke calmly, but with finality.
"Send the notice."
Miimi's fingers paused above the parchment. "All of it?"
"Yes."
Beth grinned. "This will cause chaos."
Daniel didn't deny it.
The notice spread across the human kingdoms like wildfire.
Official Declaration of the Red Flags Banner
Any kingdom, nation, or sovereign territory requiring support against demonic beasts, invasions, or existential threats may contact the Red Flags Banner.
Aid will be provided immediate help only after a contract is negotiated.
Compensation will be agreed upon beforehand.
The Red Flags Banner does not intervene without terms.
Our contractors are always handsomely rewarded.
No threats.
No promises of salvation.
Just clarity.
The reaction was immediate—and explosive.
In wealthy kingdoms untouched by the war, outrage erupted.
"They dare charge for survival?"
"They think themselves gods?"
"This is extortion!"
But in kingdoms on the brink—
Silence fell.
Then disbelief.
Then tears.
In a border city where demons prowled beyond broken walls, a battered messenger read the notice aloud.
"They'll… they'll actually come?"
A woman clutching her child whispered, "Even if we have to pay… we'll still be alive."
A spark lit behind exhausted eyes.
Not faith.
But possibility.
Back in Fort Knightfall, Miimi read through the responses, expression shifting between calculation and quiet awe.
"They're offering everything," she murmured. "Gold. Mana mines. Future trade rights."
Beth laughed softly. "The nobles would faint if they saw these offers."
Daniel's gaze hardened slightly. "We don't take everything."
Miimi looked up, surprised.
"We take what sustains the Banner," Daniel continued. "Not what breaks them."
Beth studied him for a moment. "You're serious."
"Yes," Daniel said. "A starving ally becomes a liability."
Miimi smiled faintly. "You really are building a system."
Daniel didn't answer.
He was watching the map.
Red markers began to appear—requests, contracts, potential interventions. Each one represented a kingdom standing on the edge of annihilation.
And each one now had a choice.
Not all reactions were hopeful.
Some nobles panicked.
"If this continues," one lord hissed, "trade will bypass us entirely."
"They're turning villages into cities," another snapped. "If merchants no longer need us—"
"We lose everything," the first finished grimly.
For the first time in generations, noble power felt… fragile.
And they hated it.
But hatred did not stop the Banner from rising.
Caravans rerouted.
Contracts were signed.
Beast Slayers began moving—not as mercenaries, but as a disciplined force under a single banner.
And across the continent, as night fell, parents still told the story.
Of the war.
Of the demon monarch.
Of the general who stood while the world broke around him.
Only now, the ending had changed.
"He doesn't just fight anymore," they would say softly.
"He answers."
And in cities where demonic howls echoed beyond the walls, eyes lifted toward the darkness—not in prayer, but in waiting.
Because somewhere beyond the horizon—
The Red Flags Banner was coming.
And for the first time in a very long while, humanity was not facing the demons alone.