Zeke did not announce the existence of a Summoner lightly.
The moment the words left his mouth, the balance of power within the kingdom shifted.
Summoners were not just rare. They were uncontrollable by design. Unlike knights sworn to banners or mages bound to academies, a Summoner answered to no structure once awakened. Their strength scaled exponentially, limited only by survival and time.
And Aldrin had survived.
That alone was enough.
Once the announcement spread, the response was immediate. The Church declared the situation a potential calamity class threat. The royal court followed soon after, issuing quiet military orders that never reached public ears.
A power like this, especially one with no affiliations, no oaths, and no oversight, could not be allowed to roam freely.
If the kingdom could not control it, then it would destroy it.
Zeke stood at the center of the mobilization.
Three of the top ten Heroes of the kingdom answered the call.
Rank Four, Zeke himself.
The Magical Weapon Maker.
A man whose Exclusive Skill allowed him to forge enchanted weaponry in real time, adapting to enemies as battles unfolded.
Rank Seven, Danitha.
The Blade of Justice.
Champion of the Church, chosen not by bloodline but by divine acknowledgment. Her presence alone carried authority, and her blade had ended more heresies than most inquisitors saw in a lifetime.
Rank Nine, Marcus Smith.
The Steel Tyrant.
A walking fortress of muscle and steel, known for crushing demon incursions through sheer endurance and overwhelming force.
A Summoner demanded such a response.
While other Heroes held the line across distant battlefields and monster fronts, this group formed the spear aimed northward. The Church supplied relics. The military provided logistics and manpower. Zeke coordinated everything with ruthless efficiency.
They had not come to negotiate.
They had come to erase a problem before it grew teeth.
Their destination lay beyond the central kingdom's borders, deep within the forested lands where necromancers and undead ruled unchecked. The northern region was not lawless, but it answered to powers far older and far less forgiving than human kings.
They knew this.
And they came prepared.
The expedition moved like a slow, grinding tide. Knights clad in blessed armor marched alongside spellcasters carrying sigil etched staves. Supply wagons rolled forward under constant guard. Scouts ranged ahead, clearing paths and marking dangers.
The Church's banners fluttered beside the kingdom's standard.
It was an excursion in name only.
This was an invasion.
Danitha rode at the front, her expression calm, eyes forward. Her armor gleamed faintly even beneath the forest canopy, holy enchantments repelling corruption that would have sickened lesser warriors.
"This land resists us," she said quietly.
Zeke nodded.
"It always does," he replied. "The north has never welcomed outsiders."
Marcus snorted from behind them.
"Good," he said. "I prefer enemies that don't hide their teeth."
Despite their confidence, the forest tested them from the first day.
Visibility dropped sharply as fog thickened. The trees grew denser, their roots twisting above ground like grasping fingers. Undead creatures prowled at the edges of the formation, probing defenses before retreating.
The first attacks were small.
Skeleton scouts. Feral ghouls. Mindless undead driven by territorial instinct.
They were crushed easily.
But each skirmish slowed progress.
Zeke observed everything.
The terrain favored defenders. Necromantic energy saturated the soil, interfering with certain detection spells. Even Danitha's divine senses felt muted here, as if the land itself resisted judgment.
"This is not random," she said after one such engagement. "Someone is watching."
Zeke agreed.
"They're measuring us," he said. "Testing responses."
That someone had a name.
Heinz.
Though Zeke had yet to speak it aloud, intelligence reports confirmed the presence of a vampiric necromancer governing this region. One of several nobles serving a Vampire King deeper in the north.
Any one of the top ten Heroes could take down a vampire noble alone.
Together, they were overwhelming.
But numbers were not everything.
This forest was not a battlefield. It was a trap that closed slowly.
As the days passed, losses began to mount.
Supply wagons were sabotaged overnight. Scouts vanished without leaving traces. Undead ambushes grew bolder, coordinated, probing for weaknesses in formation.
Marcus led the counterattacks, tearing through undead hordes with brutal efficiency. Danitha purified corrupted ground wherever she walked, her presence carving temporary safe zones.
Zeke adapted.
He forged weapons on the move, distributing blades and arrows tailored specifically to undead physiology. Silvered edges. Mana disrupting cores. Enchantments that burned necromantic constructs from within.
Still, progress was slow.
Weeks passed.
Reports filtered back from the border.
"Hero Zeke," a messenger said, kneeling. "The border guards report increasing undead pressure. Heinz has reinforced the outer territories."
Danitha's eyes narrowed.
"He's stalling," she said. "Buying time."
"For what?" Marcus asked.
Zeke did not answer immediately.
He thought of Aldrin.
A Summoner on the run. One who had already bound a high class demon. One who had survived an elite pursuit squad.
"Growth," Zeke said finally. "Summoners don't hide unless they're preparing."
Danitha gripped her sword tighter.
"Then we must accelerate."
That was when the first major engagement occurred.
An undead army emerged from the fog without warning.
Not a horde.
A formation.
Rows of armored corpses advanced in silence, supported by abominations stitched from multiple bodies. Wraiths hovered above, shrieking as they descended.
At the center stood a towering undead knight bearing a banner marked with necromantic sigils.
Heinz's mark.
The clash was brutal.
Danitha cut through the front lines, her blade glowing as divine energy tore through undead ranks. Marcus anchored the center, absorbing blows that would have crushed siege engines. Zeke supported from behind, forging weapons mid battle, directing fire with calculated precision.
They won.
But victory came at a cost.
Dozens of soldiers fell. Several elite knights were dragged down and did not rise again. Even among the Heroes, fatigue began to show.
As the undead retreated, dissolving back into fog and shadow, Zeke stared northward.
"This land is bleeding us," Marcus said. "At this rate, we'll reach the Summoner weakened."
"That may be their intent," Danitha replied. "The necromancer wants us exhausted before we ever reach him."
Zeke clenched his fist.
"They think the Summoner is the greatest threat," he said. "But they forget something."
He turned toward the wounded soldiers being tended by Church healers.
"This is what happens when power grows without restraint," Zeke continued. "The world reacts."
Somewhere far ahead, beneath fog and mountain, Aldrin trained.
And somewhere even deeper, ancient powers took note of the incursion.
The north was no longer quiet.
War had begun moving its pieces.
And the board was about to become very crowded.