The northern advance no longer resembled a hunt.
It had become a procession of power.
From the moment the reinforcements arrived, the balance of the battlefield shifted in a way that even the undead rulers of the north could not ignore. The forest routes once choked with curses and attrition magic were burned clean within days. What had taken months of blood and sacrifice to secure before was now being crossed in disciplined, relentless strides.
The reason was simple.
Too many monsters were walking together.
At the center of the advancing force stood Zeke, Rank Four Hero of the Kingdom, Magical Weapon Maker. His presence was steady, his expression unreadable as he studied the land ahead. Around him, formations moved with clockwork precision, bolstered by holy constructs, enchanted artillery, and veteran guild squads that had survived too many wars to fear another.
But Zeke was no longer the most dangerous presence on the field.
High above the marching columns, shadows moved against the clouds.
Dragons.
Not illusions. Not summoned projections.
True, living dragons, bound by contract and will.
Landon, the Dragon Tamer, Rank Three Hero of the Kingdom, rode at the forefront of the aerial formation. His mount was a massive crimson-scaled wyrm whose wings alone cast shadows large enough to swallow entire battalions. Behind it flew two lesser dragons, one of ice and one of storm, their roars echoing through the frozen mountains and scattering undead scouts long before ground forces even came into view.
Every flap of their wings disrupted necromantic ley lines.
Every breath weapon scorched centuries of preparation into nothing.
Below them walked another force that changed everything.
Soren, Rank Two Hero, the Hero of Light.
He did not need banners.
He did not need orders shouted through enchanted horns.
His presence alone reshaped the battlefield.
As he advanced, the land itself responded. Blighted soil regained color. Cursed frost melted into clear water. Undead caught within the radius of his influence did not scream or resist. They simply unraveled, purified into motes of fading light.
Faith surged wherever Soren stepped.
Even veteran priests found their prayers answered faster in his vicinity.
"This is ridiculous," one knight muttered under his breath as another wave of ghouls dissolved before reaching sword range.
The advance accelerated.
Zones that once required days of ritual cleansing were passed in hours. Fortified undead nests were erased by dragonfire from above while Soren's influence prevented reformation. Zeke coordinated with brutal efficiency, pushing supply lines forward and reinforcing gains before the undead could adapt.
Still, the opposition was not idle.
Within the Vampire King's territory, defenses shifted.
And Aldrin was watching.
Deep within the frozen mountains, Aldrin stood before a basin of blackened water, its surface reflecting distant scenes through layered scrying arrays. Castillo stood to his right, hands glowing faintly as he maintained the spell. Guiera watched from the left, arms folded, eyes sharp.
"They are moving faster than expected," Castillo said. "The dragons disrupt too many of the King's prepared zones."
Aldrin nodded slowly.
The image shifted, showing Soren at the head of a column. Light pulsed outward with every step he took.
"That one is a problem," Guiera said quietly. "Not for us. But for the undead."
"He is doing exactly what he was meant to do," Aldrin replied. "Turning an environment hostile to death into a sanctuary for life."
Castillo grimaced. "If they keep this pace, they will reach the outer strongholds within weeks."
Another image formed.
Landon's dragons descended upon a fortress of bone and ice, their combined breath attacks reducing it to slag in moments.
"They are burning through centuries of preparation," Castillo added. "The Vampire King's patience will not last forever."
As if summoned by his words, the basin rippled again.
A new presence asserted itself.
The Vampire King.
He appeared not as a projection, but as a direct magical imprint, his will pushing aside lesser spells. His crimson eyes met Aldrin's reflection through the water.
"You are watching," the Vampire King said.
"Yes," Aldrin replied calmly. "And listening."
The Vampire King inclined his head slightly. "Good. Then listen carefully."
The image widened, showing undead legions repositioning, vampire knights withdrawing from exposed zones, necromantic pylons collapsing inward rather than outward.
"We anticipated pressure," the Vampire King continued. "Not this density of power."
"And yet you are not panicking," Aldrin observed.
A faint smile curved the Vampire King's lips. "Because this is still an invasion. Not an extermination."
He gestured, and the image shifted again.
A valley choked with mist appeared, runes glowing faintly beneath the ice.
"This is where they will slow," the Vampire King said. "Dragons cannot maneuver freely here. Light disperses unevenly. Attrition will resume."
Guiera leaned forward slightly. "You plan to bleed them."
"Of course," the Vampire King replied. "But understand this."
His gaze returned to Aldrin.
"We can take care of a little invasion. You will only step in to help when absolutely necessary."
Aldrin studied the image of the advancing heroes.
Zeke at the center, steady and focused.
Danitha moving among the ranks, her blade ending corrupted remnants with surgical precision.
Marcus Smith holding the line where dragonfire could not reach, crushing abominations through sheer force.
And behind them all, Soren and Landon, reshaping the battlefield itself.
"This is no longer a simple hunt," Aldrin said.
"No," the Vampire King agreed. "This is a test."
The image faded.
Silence returned to the cavern.
"They are strong," Castillo admitted. "Stronger than the reports suggested."
Aldrin smiled faintly.
"Good."
Guiera looked at him. "You sound pleased."
"I am," Aldrin replied. "Because strength like this forces decisions."
He turned away from the basin, walking toward the cavern's edge where the frozen mountains stretched endlessly.
"They cannot rush," Aldrin continued. "They must secure what they take. Reinforce supply lines. Protect healers and priests."
"And if they push too hard," Castillo said, following his train of thought, "they risk overextension."
Aldrin nodded. "Exactly."
He clenched his hand slowly, feeling the surge of mana respond instantly.
"Let them climb," Aldrin said. "Let them believe the ascent is theirs."
Outside, the northern winds howled.
Far away, heroes advanced beneath banners of light and flame, unaware that every step upward was being measured, recorded, and weighed by a summoner who had no intention of meeting them on their terms.
Not yet.
The ascent continued.
And somewhere between the frozen peaks and the sanctified stronghold, the world held its breath.