More than two million years had passed since the war between Hunters and Warriors began.
Before blood soaked the earth and history shattered, it was the Warriors who ruled the world.
Their numbers once exceeded forty million.
Their banners flew across continents.
Their cities stood proud beneath open skies.
But power does not always belong to numbers.
The Hunters were fewer—
yet overwhelmingly stronger.
Battle after battle, war after war, the Warriors fell.
Every resistance was crushed.
Every uprising ended in extinction.
And after two million years of endless conflict, the once-great race was reduced to a mere 124 survivors.
They no longer fought to win.
They fought only to survive.
All 124 remaining Warriors now hide together in one place—
The Kingdom of Flame.
A land resting at the very edge of the world, balanced between two great regions:
Aelthros and Valenforge.
There, deep within an ancient forest—dense, silent, and untouched by time—they remain concealed.
The forest stretches so close that its shadow nearly touches Sunvale Village.
Sunvale itself lies at a dangerous crossroads.
It is surrounded by eight forts, each belonging to the Kingdom of Flame:
Kazim Fort,Runeshade Fort,Night Citadel Fort,Gloomspire Fort,Ebon Fort,Bulwark Fortress,Bloodstone Fort,Demanous Fort.
Among them all, Runeshade Fort stands supreme.
It is the main headquarters of the Hunters within the Kingdom of Flame.
The heart of their control.
The eye that watches everything.
Of the 124 remaining Warriors:
70 are men,48 are women,9 are children.
Warrior's Hideout
Afternoon, 2:30 PM
At the very heart of the Warriors' hideout stood a massive tent, its dark fabric billowing faintly with the heated air.
Inside, sixty-nine male Warriors had gathered.
Their armor bore deep scratches.
Old blood stained leather and steel.
Some carried fresh wounds, others exhaustion carved into their faces.
Not a single voice broke the silence.
Outside the tent, rows of horses stood tethered—
some limping, some trembling.
The air itself felt heavy.
At the center of the tent rested a large wooden table, rough and scarred like the men around it.
Spread across it lay a detailed map of Kazim Fort and its surrounding territory.
Every threat was marked.
The outer walls and inner gates
Hunter watchtowers
Supply routes
All seven remaining Hunter outposts
Each position was connected by red lines, forming a deadly web.
At the head of the table stood Toji.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Toji finally spoke.
His voice was cold, steady—
cutting through the silence like steel.
"Tonight… Kazim falls."
A ripple moved through the tent.
Fists clenched.
Armor creaked.
Breaths grew heavier.
But Toji did not raise his voice.
"Not by strength alone."
He extended a finger and pointed to the map.
"Kazim Fort is protected by two walls."
A stone slid across the wooden surface.
"The outer wall is guarded by A- and B-rank Hunters."
He shifted another marker with deliberate precision.
"The inner gate—S-rank patrols rotate every six hours."
Another mark was placed.
Then Toji's finger moved deeper into the heart of the fortress.
The air tightened.
"And here…"
His finger stopped.
"The royal sector."
A voice broke the silence.
Low. Careful.
"They'll be celebrating the princess's marriage."
Toji nodded once.
"Which means drunk guards… and relaxed patrols." Toji said.
His eyes sharpened.
Without hesitation, he dragged a dagger across the map.
The metal scraped against wood—
a harsh, deliberate sound.
"Squad One and Squad Two," he said, voice steady.
"You'll clear the eastern and western supply routes."
The dagger stopped.
"You will block them completely."
He shifted the blade toward the outer wall.
"This is the western route."
His finger tapped a narrow marking beneath it.
"There's a tunnel here. It runs deep beneath the fort."
Murmurs stirred, then faded.
Toji continued.
"This tunnel is where they store their supplies."
His finger traced its path.
"It has two sectors."
He paused.
"The outer sector stores food."
Another pause—longer.
"The inner sector stores fuel."
Toji's face hardened.
"Team One," he said calmly,
"after clearing the route… half of you will enter the tunnel."
A Warrior spoke, his voice low.
"There must be guards inside."
Toji nodded.
"Yes. At least two."
The Warrior hesitated.
"Only two…?"
A faint smirk appeared on Toji's lips.
"Yes."
The air grew tense.
"But they will be S-rank."
A ripple of unease passed through the tent.
Toji continued.
"You will kill them."
Then firmly—
"And you will burn that fuel sector."
His gaze swept across Team One.
"Remember—
handling them will not be easy."
He tapped the map once.
"After the operation is complete, give the signal."
A brief pause.
"The other half of your team will be waiting outside the tunnel."
Toji's voice remained calm, steady—like a blade that had already been drawn.
"One member of the outer team will raise an alarm," he said.
"That will force the guards at the outer gate to ring the emergency bell."
His finger moved across the map.
"When the bell rings, nearly all Hunters stationed on the inner and outer walls will rush to secure the supply areas."
He paused.
"That will be our opening."
At that moment, fifty of us will enter the fort.
Toji's eyes hardened.
"We will handle the remaining guards, while the other twenty hold their ground, preventing reinforcements from entering through the western tunnel."
The tent was silent.
Then Toji added, quietly—
"We wait for the prince and his family to arrive."
A Warrior spoke, tension evident in his voice.
"But if we let them come… their numbers will grow.
The prince's army—and the Hunters with them—will join the defense."
Toji nodded slowly.
"You're right," he said.
"but...If we strike too early, and they arrive in the middle of the attack… we'll be trapped."
Another Warrior spoke, voice heavy.
"Then waiting is our only option."
Toji nodded again.
"Yes. Kazim is surrounded by forest.
We'll remain hidden there until the moment is right."
A Warrior stepped forward, concern clear in his expression.
"But what about the nearby Hunter forts?"
Toji's eyes flickered.
"They will move. That much is certain."
A strange smile crossed his face.
"And by the time they arrive—"
His fist tightened slowly.
"—Kazim will already be bleeding."
Silence followed.
The tent was heavy with tension.
Shadows from the afternoon sun stretched across the walls like long, watchful fingers.
A warrior stepped forward, his voice trembling as though it carried the weight of the world.
"Lord Toji… we are only sixty-nine."
Toji slowly lifted his head.
The fire in his eyes burned brighter than the sun struggling to pierce the forest canopy.
For a moment, silence pressed against the tent like a suffocating shroud.
"We were never many," he said, voice calm but unwavering,
"but we were never cowards."
The words hung in the air, each syllable a blade slicing through doubt.
It felt as though the very map on the table trembled under the weight of their determination.
Then, from the entrance of the tent, a voice rang out.
Clear, confident, like a beacon through the fog of despair.
"We are not sixty-nine… we're seventy."
Time seemed to pause.
The warriors' eyes swung toward the source.
A smile curved on Toji's lips, faint but fierce—like lightning illuminating a dark sky.
Every eye turned. Every heart leapt.
"Commander Soichiro!!"
The cry echoed through the tent like a war drum, bouncing off the canvas walls, stirring the fire within each warrior's chest.
And in that moment, the fear that had lingered at the edges of their courage melted away, replaced by a pulse that carried them forward—toward the impossible, toward destiny itself.
The warriors' heads bowed almost instinctively, a silent acknowledgment of the weight that pressed upon their shoulders.
The afternoon sun filtered through the canvas of the tent, painting golden lines across the worn wooden table and the maps strewn upon it.
Soichiro stepped forward, his hand finding the edge of the table, fingers tightening as if holding onto the resolve of every man in the room.
"Tomorrow…" he began, his voice low but steady, carrying a gravity that made every heart in the tent beat faster.
He paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch, letting the significance of what was coming settle in their chests.
Then, his eyes, sharp and unwavering, scanned the assembled warriors.
"We won't fight for victory."
A ripple passed through the room.
It was not fear, but a recognition.
They weren't here for glory, nor for accolades, nor for pride.
Toji's voice cut through the silence, calm and cold like a river running through stone.
"We'll fight for regret."
The words hit the warriors like the tolling of a distant bell.
Every man straightened instinctively, a spark of determination igniting in their eyes.
Hands moved upward, resting on chests, over hearts that had already endured centuries of war and loss.
"Without sacrifice…"
The chant grew, unified and solemn, voices rising together, echoing faintly against the tent's walls.
"Victory isn't possible."
Toji and Soichiro's voices joined the chorus, firm, resolute, binding the warriors' resolve into a single, unbreakable will.
Toji stepped closer to the maps, resting a hand on the table, feeling the weight of the world through the ink and lines.
His gaze softened for a fleeting moment, almost hidden beneath the edge of his stern expression.
"Rest… sharpen your blades… and live in peace with your past."
His voice carried a note of warning, but also of care.
"Because this may be our last afternoon together."
A pause.
The warriors absorbed the words in silence, each lost in their own memories, their own losses, their own battles.
Toji's gaze lifted once more, unwavering.
"We'll raid in the evening."
The tent seemed to hold its breath.
Every heartbeat, every rustle of armor, every shallow exhale was part of the same rhythm—the rhythm of warriors standing at the edge of fate.
To be continued...