Reborn Financier-Chapter 28 - 27: Army 1150

Lord Ravenswood stood on the edge of the marble terrace, eyes narrowed toward the forest that writhed in the distance like a black sea beneath the moonlight. The trees were too still... too quiet in between the bloodcurdling screams that pierced the night. The torches lining the estate’s outer walls flickered, but it wasn’t the wind.

It was fear, the fear of not knowing what was the cause of death, the fear of no knowing if he was next, the fear of no knowing if the child had escaped. All fear was present.

Behind him, heavy footsteps echoed through the stone hall, slow and deliberate. The figure that emerged from the shadows was tall, broad, his black cloak trailing behind like a tear in reality. His armor was dull steel laced with old bloodstains, and the scar across his face pulsed slightly with every breath—as if it remembered war.

"Lord Ravenswood," the warrior said, voice deep and calm, like a blade being drawn in slow motion.

Ravenswood didn’t turn around. "They’ve not returned? Paul and the others?" the warrior asked

The scream came again—this one shorter, gurgling, like it was swallowed by something hungry.

"Yes," Ravenswood said coldly. "Ten of my best men. Armed to the teeth. Trained. Conditioned. They should’ve returned hours ago. And yet... all I hear is screaming."

The warrior stepped beside him, his golden eyes gleaming with interest. "I don’t like mysteries in my own lands," Ravenswood continued, finally turning to face him. "I sent those men to capture a child. Not a warlord. Not a beast. A child."

"Maybe," the warrior said with a faint smile, "he’s both."

Ravenswood narrowed his eyes. "That forest was cursed long before Kaidën stepped foot in it. You know it. I know it. But something is wrong. That boy is still alive—I can feel it in my bones. And whatever’s killing my men... he might not be working alone."

The warrior cracked his knuckles, getting excited, etching for a fight.

"I want you to go into that forest," Ravenswood said, his voice low, commanding. "Find out what happened. If Kaidën is still alive... kill him. No more capture orders. No more chains. End him. Right there." A silence settled between them. Then the warrior chuckled softly, his voice dry like rust peeling off iron. A spark of delight flared in the warrior’s eyes. "I was hoping you’d say that."

Ravenswood’s expression was stone. "I’m not sending you for theatrics."

"I never offer them," the warrior said, drawing his massive sword from its sheath—a blade too large for a man, etched with strange, foreign markings that glowed faintly in the moonlight. "If the boy’s still breathing, I’ll make sure he stops. If the forest stands in my way, I’ll burn it down."

Ravenswood gave a sharp nod. "Good. Leave now. Don’t return without his corpse."

The warrior turned and vanished into the corridor, his steps echoing like a war drum. As the sound faded, Ravenswood turned back to the black horizon, where the forest screamed again—this time, a roar, not of man, but of something primal. He whispered, almost to himself, "Let’s see what kind of monster you really are... Kaidën."

****

Many hours ago while people where being slaughtered in secret by kaidën at the forest, something even more eventful was happening at the Everwood kingdom...

The sky over Everwood darkened, not by nightfall, but by the thick smoke rising from the distant horizon. The scent of burning timber and blood carried on the wind, blowing through the cracked stained-glass windows of Castle Everwood like a harbinger of ruin. The atmosphere In the entire capital was glumly, news had spread so far, almost everyone knew about the movement of Horsen Empire. Fear and worries where rampant as people tried to run away with the little property they can muster.

Within the throne room, King Edward sat slouched in his chair—no crown on his head, no strength in his posture. His knuckles were white, gripping the arms of the throne like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. His family was missing, vanished without a trace. And now, his kingdom—the proud Everwood, defender of peace for over 500 years—was on the brink of collapse.

He stared ahead, empty-eyed, as the distant booms of war echoed like a death toll through the valley.

****

At the Border of Everwood kingdom and Horsen Empire, what began as a gray morning quickly became a crimson afternoon. The Horsen Empire’s forces had descended upon Masvel like a black wave. A million strong—infantry clad in blood-red armor, their mages cloaked in midnight robes pulsing with arcane energy, and priests chanting guttural, blasphemous hymns that cracked the air like whips of sound.

And standing against them?

A mere 1,000 soldiers. 123 battle-worn mages. 27 priests with trembling hands. They had names. Families. Dreams. All of them stood now, outnumbered and outmatched, atop a crumbling stone wall as the hellstorm approached. Yet even as despair seeped into every corner of the border garrison, one man stood unshaken.

Commander Drex Heren, A Level 6 Martial Expert, one of the last of his rank in the Everwood military. He stood tall in blackened steel, his greatsword sheathed across his back, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and dried blood. He walked the line of soldiers, his voice low but sharp.

"They are a million strong," he said, eyes scanning his broken ranks. "But we are Everwood. We are more than men—we are shields of the realm. If we die today, let it be known—we bought our people time with our blood. With our bones."

No cheers followed. Only the sound of swords sliding from sheaths. Helmets locking in place. Final prayers whispered into the dirt.

Then the warhorns of Horsen screamed through the air like the cries of demons, and hell itself opened.

****

The first wave hit like a meteor. Arrows blotted the sky, raining down in sheets so thick they darkened the sun. Soldiers screamed as their bodies were punctured, shredded, pinned to the stone walls like broken dolls. Fireballs from enemy mages arced overhead, exploding against the battlements, reducing stone to dust and men to ash.

Still, the Everwood soldiers held.

Mages on the wall countered with desperation—flames, ice spikes, barriers barely holding. Priests screamed healing incantations, some passing out from overexertion. But for every enemy they felled, ten more replaced them. The enemy climbed over corpses, using their own fallen as ladders.

By the second hour, the walls were soaked in blood. The screams were unending. Men cried for their mothers, for mercy, for gods long silent.

Commander Drex was everywhere—carving down invaders like a god of war, his greatsword whistling through air, severing heads, cleaving torsos, painting the stones red. He fought with fury, not to win, but to delay. Every second counted.

"Hold the gate!" he bellowed, as a battering ram thundered against it again and again, But there was no holding. The gate burst open in a shower of splinters, and Horsen soldiers poured in like water through a broken dam.

****

The courtyard became a slaughterhouse. Everwood soldiers were overwhelmed, ripped apart, limbs flying. One mage screamed as his mana was drained dry by a cursed spear. A priest was impaled mid-prayer, his body lifted off the ground and pinned to a tower like a banner of defeat.

Still, they fought.

Soldiers missing arms bit their enemies. Others used the broken swords of their fallen brothers. Women among the ranks screamed in rage and agony, dragging enemies down with them, gouging eyes out with bare hands.

And Commander Drex stood in the middle of it all, a whirlwind of death. He lost an eye to a cursed arrow. His armor cracked, ribs shattered, blood pouring from dozens of wounds. But he would not fall.

Not yet.

****

By the fifth hour, silence began to fall.

The last of the Everwood mages detonated their own bodies, taking hundreds of enemies with them. The final priest used his dying breath to cast a barrier around fleeing commoners in the distance, shielding them from a pursuing mage blast.

And Commander Drex?

He stood atop the blood-soaked stairs of the garrison tower, surrounded by corpses—both enemy and friend. The sun dipped low, turning the sky orange-red, like the whole world bled in mourning. Drex dropped to one knee. Then another.

As the Horsen army encircled him, he didn’t beg. Didn’t scream. He simply looked at them with his one good eye and whispered:

"Everwood lives... through their sacrifice." A blade pierced his chest. He never blinked.

And thus, Masvel fell.

Not with surrender, but with defiance carved into every corpse that lay on that cursed battlefield. The Horsen Empire marched on, but for five hours, one thousand and fifty warriors—soldiers, mages, and priests—had become legends. A wall of flesh and fury that bought their people time.

Their names would be carved into Everwood’s memory.

Forever known as Army 1150.

****

Meanwhile, deep within the Ashwood Forest, a lone figure moved with quiet precision, stepping over roots and corpses alike.

His name was Varyn Corven—a black-blade hunter, mercenary, and tracker from the Eastern Wastes. Scarred and cold-eyed, he wasn’t a man easily shaken. But what he saw here made even him pause.

Blood pooled at the base of broken trees. Entrails tangled like ropes over shattered shields. A dozen of guards and Paul lay disemboweled, their faces twisted in frozen terror. Something had torn through them—quickly, violently, and without mercy.

Varyn crouched near a corpse, inspecting the wound. Not clean. Ragged. The strike wasn’t just powerful—it was frenzied.

"did that boy do this," he muttered. "looks like things aren’t as simple as Lord Ravenswood taught."

The forest air shifted. Foul and wet.

He stood quickly, blades drawn—just as shadows burst from the trees.

Monsters. Hulking things, neither man nor animals, pure monsters. Feeding on the corpses like pigs at a trough—flesh tearing, bones crunching. When they saw Varyn, they hissed, blood dripping from elongated fangs. No time for thought. He moved.

Swords flashed. Heads rolled. Black blood sprayed across tree bark.

But there were too many. Dozens. More crawling from the underbrush. Varyn slashed, dodged, rolled, each strike precise. Yet even with the pressure mounting, his voice was steady and his heart was calm, "You can smell him too... can’t you?" Whatever the boy had become—it wasn’t human anymore.

The hunt had only just begun.

To be continued..