From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 99: War

The drums began at dawn.

They were not real drums—not built, not played—but they thundered just the same. Deep, unrelenting, pulsing through the bones of the mountain. Every warrior in the valley looked up.

The gate groaned.

Stone cracked. Chains loosened. The ground trembled as the first true breath of whatever lay behind the gate shivered into the world.

Leon and his group stood at the ridge above, backs straight, weapons ready. The mist behind them was gone. The mountain had sealed them in. There was no retreat.

Tomas drew both blades. Mira fastened her gloves. Alden checked his arrows. Elena stood beside Leon, silent, steady.

The boy didn’t speak.

He just looked ahead.

The gate exploded outward.

Not shattered. Not broken. Peeled—layer by layer, as though something inside had grown too large to be contained. A burst of red-black light surged through the opening, and then came the sound.

Screaming.

But not from one throat.

Thousands.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t pain. It was hunger.

The first figure stepped through the gate. It looked like a man—but taller, too thin, bones jagged at the joints. Its skin glistened like obsidian cracked with light. Its eyes were nothing but pits. It opened its mouth, and a long blade unfurled from its throat.

Then another came.

And another.

Dozens. Hundreds.

The valley erupted.

The waiting army moved in unison. Shields locked. Staves raised. Magic flared from one side while arrows rained from the other. The two sides collided beneath the burning sky.

Leon ran first.

He didn’t wait for orders. He vaulted from the ridge, sword drawn, and landed with a roll on the slope below. The rest followed. Elena beside him. Tomas to the right. Mira already flanking wide.

They hit the horde like a spear.

Leon’s blade cleaved through the first abomination. It shrieked and burst apart into smoke and glass. Another lunged. He caught it with a shoulder, twisted, and drove his sword into its ribs.

Elena’s magic was pure destruction—ice lances, flame bursts, barriers. She moved like she’d been born for this. Tomas danced between blows, blades flashing. Callen fought with brutal economy, taking down three with one wide swing.

And still more came.

The enemy did not bleed. They shattered. And when they fell, the ground beneath them cracked open.

A scream split the sky.

Leon turned—and saw something larger.

Not a soldier.

A giant.

It stood nearly three stories tall. Built like stone, horns curving from its skull, and in place of hands, it had blades. Four of them.

It charged.

The warriors in its path scattered, but too slow. The thing plowed through them, cleaving ten men in a single motion.

Leon shouted. "Pull it down!"

Tomas threw both blades. Mira launched a chain of light around its legs. Elena raised her palms—and a massive wall of force slammed into its chest.

It staggered.

Leon ran forward.

He leapt—sword overhead, both hands clenched—and brought it down between the creature’s shoulder blades.

The blade sank deep.

The giant screamed.

Then it fell.

Leon dropped with it, landing hard. His breath caught, but he pushed back up.

"Status!" he yelled.

"Still here!" Tomas grinned, grabbing his blades.

"More incoming!" Mira shouted.

Leon turned.

The gate was still open.

And beyond it, more were coming.

Too many.

But the mountain didn’t choose them to survive.

It chose them to fight.

"Form up!" Leon barked. "Second wave incoming!"

And they did.

Because this wasn’t the end.

It was only the start of the war.

Leon’s boots skidded across ash and shattered glass as he regrouped with the others, his breath ragged. The battlefield had no centre—just chaos, clashing steel, flaring spells, and screams both human and inhuman. Craters opened where creatures died. Not blood. Just void. Black, empty void.

Behind him, Mira dragged Alden from a collapsed ridge. His bow was cracked, arm bleeding. She didn’t ask if he could keep going. She just handed him her spare.

"On your feet," she said. "You’re still breathing."

Alden nodded once, gritting his teeth, and pulled himself upright.

Tomas wiped ichor from his blades. "That gate’s not slowing. They’re swarming."

Leon didn’t answer. He turned to Elena. Her hands glowed from the last cast. Her lips were pale. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She’d used too much.

"How long can you keep going?" he asked.

She didn’t lie. "Not long. But long enough."

"Good."

Another scream pierced the air—this time from above.

They looked up.

The sky had cracked.

Not physically. Not visibly. But something massive passed over them—a shadow without form. The air rippled in its wake. It didn’t land. It circled.

Watching.

"They’re evolving," the boy said quietly behind them. "Adapting."

"To what?" Tomas snapped.

"To you."

The gate flared again. Five figures emerged—different from the others. Taller. Armoured. Each moved with direction, not frenzy. One held a hammer. One dragged a scythe. One carried nothing but raised their hand, and three men nearby dropped dead without a touch.

Leon’s grip tightened. "Commanders."

"They’re testing your limit," the boy continued. "Not just your strength. Your fear. Your order. If you break formation, they push."

Leon raised his sword again. "Then we don’t break."

He turned. "Mira, flank left. Callen, right. Tomas—keep the middle tight. Elena, behind me."

The formation tightened.

And the second wave hit.

The commanders moved faster than the others. The scythe-bearer blurred through soldiers, cleaving six heads in one pass. The hammer crashed down like thunder, sending shockwaves through the dirt.

Leon met them head-on.

He clashed with the hammer first—his blade sparking against it. He rolled under the next swing, slashed the leg, and vaulted up. The thing turned—too fast—and backhanded him into a fallen boulder.

He coughed blood.

But didn’t stay down.

Beside him, Elena’s eyes flared. A cyclone of frost coiled around her, and she flung it with a scream. The scythe-bearer froze mid-step—literally—and Tomas shot through the gap, both blades driving into its chest.

The scythe fell. So did the creature.

"Two down!" Tomas yelled.

But a third commander lunged through the smoke, fist raised—and this one didn’t miss.

Callen met it.

The blow shattered his shield, drove him to a knee. But he held.

"Hit it now!" he barked.

Leon sprang forward, blade coated in gold. He struck just as Mira launched a bolt of searing light from behind.

The creature buckled.

And didn’t rise.

Leon stumbled, panting. His hands were shaking. His ribs burned. But the second wave... had stalled.

For now.

The gate pulsed again.

Still open.

Still bleeding.

And still more to come.

Leon didn’t have time to breathe.

A new sound rose beneath the roar of battle—an unnatural buzzing, low at first, then building to a shrill screech. He turned toward the gate.

The air shimmered.

From the heart of the storm, another shape emerged. Smaller than the giants. Quicker. It didn’t walk—it skated across the ground, claws digging in for momentum. Its body was sleek, made of something dark and wet, and its face was split by a vertical maw filled with needle-like teeth.

It screamed as it lunged.

Leon barely got his blade up.

The impact knocked him back three paces. The thing clung to his sword, gnashing and thrashing like a starving beast. Before he could react, another one was on him—from the side this time—tackling him to the ground.

He rolled, pinned between blades and teeth. The thing hissed, trying to rip at his helmet.

Elena screamed.

A bolt of lightning cracked from her palm, slamming into the creature’s side. It exploded in a flash of smoke and pressure.

Leon drove his sword upward through the chest of the one still on him, then shoved the corpse off. "Thanks," he rasped.

Elena nodded, panting hard.

But there were more.

Dozens of them now.

Fast. Agile. Low to the ground. They zigzagged through the battlefield, bypassing soldiers, aiming for the rear lines—the mages, the archers, the wounded.

"Cutters!" Mira shouted. "Protect the back!"

Callen was already sprinting that way, shoulder-checking one into a crater before smashing his axe down through its back. "They’re not just testing us now—they’re breaking ranks!"

Leon wiped his brow, pushed himself up. "They’re not just adapting. They’re learning."

He turned toward the gate again—and froze.

A figure stood in the centre of the breach. Alone.

This one didn’t move like the others. Didn’t rush. Didn’t scream.

It walked.

Tall. Armoured in something dark and reflective. A cloak of tattered flame curled behind it.

Its eyes met Leon’s from across the battlefield.

And it smiled.

Leon felt it in his chest—that sudden, sharp pulse of awareness. Whoever that was... it wasn’t just another commander.

"Who is that?" Tomas asked, eyes narrowing.

The boy behind them was quiet for a moment.

Then: "The Herald."

Mira tensed. "Of what?" fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

"Of the thing that breaks through last."

The Herald raised one hand.

The sky answered.

A jagged bolt of energy split from the clouds, crashing into the valley floor with a deafening boom. Dozens of soldiers vaporized.

The Herald lowered his hand.

Leon gritted his teeth. "I’ll deal with him."

"No," the boy said. "You’re not ready."

Leon didn’t look back. "Doesn’t matter."

He started walking toward the Herald, each step slow but steady.

Behind him, the battle raged.

But ahead of him, a different war was waiting.

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