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On the morning when the vanguard was set to depart for the Demon Realm, the skies over the North Sea were heavy with the usual brooding clouds, and in the distance, an ominous roar echoed like a warning.
Halo Leston, the Commander of the expedition, ascended the podium at the naval base, his presence stark against the foreboding backdrop. This harbor, perched on the Desertus forward base, had only recently been completed—built at great cost in manpower and effort.
"There is only one thing I wish to say to you," Halo began. His voice carried the weight of command, though his words were spare. "Come back alive."
That single phrase, short and sharp, rolled across the entire island like a thunderclap, bolstered by the immense mana of a 9-Star knight.
The soldiers of the vanguard stood with resolute expressions, their eyes fixed on him.
"Survive, and plant our banner on that cursed land," Halo continued. "That is the only mission entrusted to you."
There was no need for elaborate rhetoric. Halo knew well that he wasn't the hero of this moment—the soldiers before him were. So he simply met their gazes with eyes like tempered steel, unwavering and firm.
They were the ones who would mark the beginning of this campaign. Warriors had gathered from every nation and race, fierce and unyielding. They only had one objective: To land in the Demon Realm first and secure the beachhead.
Halo had no doubt that these blades—honed...
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