Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 131: Knight Commander Arlen

Knight Commander Arlen sat in the center of his tent, hunched over the old map on his desk, which had several places marked with pins. It was not the only copy they had but it was his copy. There was no need to mar it by marking its surface with ink.

His frown deepened as he glanced at the scout reports he'd arranged around the map.

The latest message was no better than the last. More sightings of barbarian scouts just outside the hills. Not ordinary scouts but Druidic scouts. Too many to be dismissed. There was also the fact that some of their own scouts... had simply never returned.

No one knows if they were dead or had been captured. This had never happened before. Not once in the decade he'd been a Knight Commander. The barbarians didn't scout or patrol. They only raided and retreated.

The canvas flap of his tent was pulled back, and a young soldier stepped in, saluting. "Commander. The supply train just arrived."

Arlen stood immediately. "Show me."

He walked out into the organized chaos of the border outpost, the smell of steel and sweat in the air. He'd had his men take part in training in turns to keep them sharp. This could, after all, be a ruse to catch them with their pants down.

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The afternoon sun shone down on them, heating up the training fields. Crates of food and weapons were being unloaded from wagons, soldiers moving quickly under the watch of barking officers.

Arlen took in every detail of this supply train before approaching one of the quartermasters. "Why were fewer recruits sent this time?"

The man saluted. "Orders from Lord Ross, sir. He said the new batch needed more training."

Arlen muttered under his breath. "I see."

He inspected the food, running quick calculations in his head. It would last a few weeks at best, if rationed properly.

That was when he felt it.

A shift in the air. Faint shadows moved on the ground, too fast for any ordinary soldier to pick up.

His head snapped up.

Dark shapes were streaking through the sky like bolts loosed from enormous bows. He squinted. No, not shapes. Wyverns.

"Sound the alarm!" Arlen bellowed.

The horns blared across the camp, soldiers dropping crates and scrambling to formation.

Arlen reached to his side and drew his sword, the steel gleaming under the light of the sun as he raised his other hand. A great translucent shield of violet energy shimmered into existence above the camp, stretching wide enough to cover most of the compound.

Then the sky fell.

Fire. Acid. Lightning. Frost. All breathed from the mouths of wyverns in coordinated bursts, crashing into a single spot of the protective dome like a god's fury.

Arlen gritted his teeth, pouring more of his blood into the shield. If they'd spread the attacks, he could've held them off for a long while, but they were smarter than that. And now, he had only moments before the barrier would fail.

It cracked. A spiderweb of energy split across the surface. And then it shattered.

Arlen didn't wait.

He leapt forward into the chaos, sword in hand, meeting the first wave of barbarian Druids as they hit the ground. They moved with unnatural speed, almost equalling his own, their bodies and that of their mounts empowered by their Druidic magic.

He parried the first blow, kicked the warrior back, and cleaved through a second. His eyes roved around the compound, watching as the Druids fell upon his warriors like a farmer harvesting wheat. Even his Knights were falling.

If this was allowed to continue…

"Retreat!" He shouted. "Form ranks and fall back! Get to the portal!"

One of his officers ran to his side. "But, Commander—"

"NOW! We hold them off!"

He touched the stone at the pommel of his sword, pouring some of his stored blood energy in it. A circular portal of shimmering blue light burst into existence in the middle of the camp. Their last resort.

The soldiers began flooding toward it, their shields raised, trying to fend off wyverns and Druids swarming down on them.

Arlen fought like a man possessed, his blade dancing. He conjured a dome of hardened energy around a group of injured soldiers, shielding them just long enough to let them pass through the portal.

Blood. Screams. Magic.

Too many of his men fell.

Arlen's body burned with the effort. Most of the Druids were strong. Strong enough to last against a Rank 5 Knight.

He couldn't use his full power here. Not until his soldiers were out of the way.

After a few more minutes of fighting, the last group finally made it through. He was the only soldier of House Ross on this side of the portal.

With a grunt, he cut off the energy flow to the portal and it blinked out of existence. Now, he could truly fight.

The ground cracked as he unleashed his full power. The air around him shimmered with heat. Black flames erupted from his body, twisting and writhing like serpents, consuming everything they touched.

The black fire. His signature imbuement on his breastplate.

Devouring flame.

He stretched his left hand and a giant purple shield exploded downwards, crushing the six barbarians beneath it into paste.

"COME TO YOUR DEATH, BARBARIANS!" He roared, charging forward. His sword whirled through the battlefield, slicing through the necks of both wyvern and Druid.

His shield crushed those who were not fast enough, and his devouring flame raged unchecked, destroying the outpost around him.

He fought with everything he had, cutting down barbarians, flexing muscles he hadn't had a chance to use in years. "COME ON!"

But as always, life does not go according to one's wishes.

Two massive dragons descended from the clouds. Not wyverns. Dragons. And on their backs rode two figures that sent dread through even Arlen's battle-hardened heart.

The first rider could not be mistaken for anyone else. It was Bellamy, son of Ilyan, the chief of the barbarian tribe, his battle axe in one hand and the other holding the reins of his mount. His eyes glowed a bright green with power.

The other rider was a scarred man Arlen had never seen before. But his aura, it was old. Hardened. Terrible.

The two dragons dove.

Arlen met them.

He hurled his black fire like spears, forcing one dragon to reel back. But the other slammed into him with such force that he was launched through the burning remains of a watchtower.

He rose again.

Bleeding. Broken.

But he would not die lying down.

With a roar, he launched himself into the air, leaping from debris to debris, and slammed his blade into the dragon's chest.

It shrieked, flailing as the rider slashed at Arlen with a curved blade. The Knight Commander caught it with his translucent purple shield and retaliated, but the scarred Druid crashed into him from the side, and he felt ribs break.

He fell, and the ground met him hard. His vision blurred.

Another dragon approached.

He tried to stand, but his legs gave out. He'd used too much energy. Too much blood.

The barbarian chief stood over him, axe raised.

Arlen coughed blood, still trying to rise.

He saw his men's retreat one last time in his mind. Saw them survive. That had to be enough.

The axe fell.

Knight Commander Arlen, second of the two Rank 5 knights serving House Ross, was no more.

And in the air above, the wyverns and dragons roared in triumph.

The border wall had fallen for the first time since it had been built.