“Alright, Holy Knights,” I called, stepping forward, “we’re moving in Spearhead Formation on me. Polearms to the front. Paladins directly behind. I want shield bearers on each flank and guarding the rear.” My gaze shifted to the few Paladins clutching Holy Scriptures, their faces calm but alert. “Casters, form the center as planned. Be prepared to cure serious wounds and raise divine barriers to intercept the heavy blows. When I call for the divine pillars, I want you ready to strike with everything you’ve got.”

The casters nodded in unison, their focus sharp as the knights began shuffling into position.

Joseph scowled as he moved into position, his expression as worn and rugged as the decades of battles etched into his face. A Master-Class Paladin, Joseph stood at the pinnacle of what most Holy Knights could achieve. Starting at Novice-Class, progressing through Adept-Class, and finally reaching Elite-Class, many Holy Knights lived and died without ever climbing higher. Those who attuned to a Holy Relic were elevated to the rank of Paladin, entering the realms of Saint-Class, Veteran-Class, and, rarely, Master-Class.

Joseph had achieved that rank years before I was even born. A seasoned warrior and unwavering leader, he embodied the ideals I had once strived toward as a fresh-faced Veteran-Class knight. Drawing Chandrabolg had secured my rise beyond the standard hierarchy. As a Hero-Class Paladin, the highest rank in our kingdom, I was the eighth Hero of my order—the only one alive today.

The Hero-Class was singular, granted only to the chosen bearer of a legendary artifact. Chandrabolg, the greatsword of the first Paladin, was such an artifact. The First Hero was said to have tamed the elemental titans that roamed this valley during an era of chaos and strife. Together with other great warriors, they carved out a haven in this hostile land, building the foundation of our kingdom.

The Hero’s name had been forgotten, but their blade remained—a testament to their legacy. Chandrabolg had chosen me, and now it was my responsibility to wield its power to protect what they had built.

I raised the sword, its tip pointing directly at the demon commander, who loomed beyond the gate. His gaze locked onto mine, a burning appraisal behind his snarling visage.

I practically shriveled as his glare landed onto me, but after my invoking display, I had naturally incurred his wrathful leer. Of course he’s going to look at me. Dressed as I was, with a blade of legend in my hands, I wasn’t exactly camouflaged. But that was the point. If I could hold his attention, my knights would have the chance to cut through the horde. I might die as easily as any other man in this battle, but I had the tools—and the resolve—to ensure that didn’t happen.

The Lion-Oger commander’s voice boomed across the bridge, his massive paw lifting to point at me directly. “YOU. YOU ARE HERO, YES?”

His guttural words rumbled like thunder, each syllable laced with menace. A bead of sweat ran down my face as I steadied my grip on Chandrabolg.

“Yeah, I’m the hero,” I shouted back, my voice firm. “Hero-Class Paladin of the Holy Knights, eighth Hero of my Order. I am Adrian Legend, your opponent in this decisive battle. Prepare to rot in the hell hole you crawled from, foul demon!”

I wasn’t sure my words carried over the din of the battlefield, but the commander seemed to understand the gist. His mouth twisted into a toothy grin, and he scratched the side of his helmet with a claw.

“GOOD, GOOD. HERO, MEET MAKER.”

His words were broken but clear. His intent was not to threaten but to declare.

For a moment, I was amused. A moron, I thought. I loved fighting giant morons. They made for great spectacles with minimal risk.

But then his free paw shot skyward, and I realized I had misunderstood his words.

I had assumed he was referring to sending me to meet my maker, to face the gods I served.

Instead, he was calling on his own.

The clouds above parted, and the heavens themselves unveiled a tempestuous tapestry of disorder.

A floating castle descended, suspended on a colossal chunk of earth and twisted metal. The structure was more cathedral than fortress, its black marble walls riddled with bizarre, curved architecture. Stained red windows climbed hundreds of meters, glowing like bloodstained eyes. Obelisks jutted outward at random angles, their pointed ends crooked and uneven. In its entirety, it looked like a volcanic eruption frozen mid-apocalypse and sculpted into a massive monument of its sickly beauty.

Golden bells hung in hollowed-out towers, their chimes discordant and unnatural. The sound reverberated in reverse, an eerie echo that defied the natural flow of time.

As if the sight wasn’t horrifying enough, gray, ragged wings—tattered like ancient burial shrouds—labored to support the structure’s descent. Each grotesque flap sent tremors through the rotting membranes, the sound a sickening mix of wet parchment tearing and brittle bones snapping. The decayed wings strained under the weight, shedding fragments of withered flesh and sinew that spiraled downward like morbid confetti, marking the sky with their ghastly defiance of gravity.

And then I saw them: tentacles, grotesque and pulsating, writhing through the air with a sickening sentience, like serpents fresh from the depths of some primordial nightmare. They slithered downward with a grotesque purpose, their glistening surfaces coated in a viscous, oily sheen that reflected the dim light like molten obsidian. Each one was as thick as a house, their undulating movements disgustingly fluid yet unnervingly powerful, leaving me nauseous with every convulsion as they anchored the cathedral’s weight to the earth below.

“Glory be,” a knight murmured, his voice trembling. “We’re not just facing the invasion. We’re stopping them from paving a fresh layer of hell!”

The commander’s gaze returned to me, his voice cutting through the growing fear. “HERO. HUMANS. SUBMIT, AND DIE.”

His words weren’t a threat. They were an order, one that reverberated through our very bones.

I whispered my answer in prayer.

“Fallen faithful to the kingdom, I beseech you. Let your soul flourish in justice and carry your will to battle once more. Your heart is weary, and the travels to the great beyond will be difficult, but in the precious time of afterlife awaiting, I grant you a chance to carry your sacred duties to fruition. SACRED GUARDIANS!”

Mana surged through me, pooling into Chandrabolg. Brilliant hues erupted from the blade, scattering rays of light that swept across the battlefield. The bodies of fallen knights stirred, their spirits rising in radiant gold.

Apparitions of those who had given their lives moments before now stood beside us, bolstering our numbers. They were not as strong as they were in life, but their presence was enough to reignite the courage that had begun to falter.

The Holy Knights swallowed their fear, their chins lowering in determination. Paladins took deep breaths, assuming their fighting stances. We were ready.

“CHAAAARGE!”

The word tore from my lungs, and with it, the dam broke. We surged forward as one, Holy Knights and Sacred Guardians alike, meeting the abyssal tide head-on.