The battlefield was a nightmare. The sky was darkened by the shadow of arrows as they rained down on us. They slammed into our shields, rattling like a relentless storm, and the screams of those less fortunate pierced through the chaos. Around lost legion, men fell, their bodies crumpling under the weight of the bombardment. Stones from the catapults hurtled through the air, smashing into the ground, sending soldiers flying like ragdolls. This wasn't war—it was slaughter, and we were nothing more than cannon fodder, placed in the front to absorb the arrows so the nobles could stay safe behind us.
But I wasn't here to die. My way was different.
In the thick jungle, the mud and bushes became our allies. My men, now clad in makeshift suits of leaves and dirt, crawled silently through the muck, hidden from view. I had drilled it into them: honor had no place here. To die with honor meant nothing if you were dead. Survival, victory—that was all that mattered. And they trusted me. They had seen my spirit, seen how I never faltered even in the darkest moments, and they followed my lead without question.
We weren't like the others. While they clashed and bled on the frontlines, fighting and dying for glory, I was playing a different game. I'd studied war—real war. I knew the rules didn't matter. In war, everything is allowed. We were ghosts in the jungle, moving without sound, without honor. The enemy wouldn't see us until it was too late.
I had drilled my men in the art of guerrilla warfare, teaching them how to blend into the shadows, how to move without a sound, and strike from where the enemy least expected. They thought my methods were unorthodox at first—crawling in the mud, ambushing from the shadows—but after seeing the results, they believed. They had to.
Each of them wore their hand-crafted suits with pride, their faces hidden beneath leaves and branches, indistinguishable from the forest around us. I inspected every one of them before we began, making sure their gear was perfect. There was no room for error. Every movement had to be precise, every command followed without hesitation.
We moved like shadows, my 100 men as disciplined as soldiers from the old wars of Earth. Like robots, I needed them to follow my every command to the letter. If I told them to jump off a cliff, they would. There was no room for doubt in this kind of warfare.
This wasn't about fighting face to face—it was about getting to the heart of the enemy, cutting off the head of the snake while everyone else was distracted by the battle. While the armies clashed, I had my sights set on one thing: the enemy commander.
His head was all that mattered.
I glanced at my men, their eyes sharp and focused beneath the camouflage of leaves and mud. Every one of them understood the importance of silence, of blending in with the earth and becoming part of the landscape. Months of training had prepared them for this moment. Even now, as they lay hidden in the underbrush, not a single leaf stirred, not a breath was heard. We had become one with the forest, invisible, as though we had never been there at all.
With a subtle flick of my hand, I signaled the command using the sign language I had drilled into them. Each movement of my fingers spoke volumes—hide, wait, be ready. No words were needed. Lyra and Rylan had helped me perfect the system, a silent code that allowed us to operate without giving away our presence. My men responded instantly, their bodies melting into the shadows like ghosts.
I spotted them first—a group of enemy soldiers patrolling the flank, unaware that they had walked straight into the mouth of the beast. I motioned to one of my scouts, who crept back to inform Gideon of the situation. I couldn't help but wonder what my mentor truly thought of my methods. He'd been watching me closely while training for weeks, amused by my unconventional approach to war. His support had been unwavering so far, but I couldn't shake the thought of how he might react when he eventually learned of my greater ambition—to spark a rebellion. For now, though, survival was my only concern.
We lay in wait, silent as death, while our bait—the decoy soldiers I had sent forward—drew the enemy's attention. It was almost too easy. The enemy took the bait, rushing toward the distraction, unaware that they had walked into a carefully set trap. They were in our territory now, and this forest was ours to command.
My men had one job, and they had been trained to perfection for it—one strike, one kill. They knew every vital point on the human body, from the neck to the kidneys, and could take a life in a single, soundless motion.
As the enemy passed, I signed the final command—strike.
In an instant, my 100 men moved as one, emerging from the shadows like silent specters. Blades flashed in the dappled light, finding their marks with lethal precision. No sound escaped their lips as they crumpled to the ground, their bodies falling in silence, lifeless before they even realized they had been struck. One shot, one kill. It was flawless.
The trap had been sprung, and the enemy never knew what hit them.
The enemy soldiers moved cautiously, their eyes scanning the trees, but they had no idea they were already dead men. One by one, they followed the bait into the heart of our trap. The first soldier in the group barely had time to register the faint rustle of leaves before a blade pierced the back of his neck, severing the spine in one fluid motion. His body dropped without a sound, absorbed into the forest floor as if swallowed by the earth itself.
The second soldier turned his head just slightly, sensing something was off. But before he could even open his mouth, a hand clamped over his face, pulling him into the shadows where a dagger found his throat. His gurgling breath was the last sound he made, his comrades oblivious to the death unfolding around them.
A third soldier stopped, suddenly uneasy. He scanned the area, but it was too late. From the bushes, a figure rose, a flash of steel glinting in the sunlight, and then he was gone, his body crumpling to the ground without so much as a cry.
One by one, they vanished. Each strike was surgical—silent, efficient, lethal. The rest of the group marched on, unaware that their numbers were dwindling with every step. Fear began to creep into the ranks. Soldiers glanced nervously at one another, the growing realization dawning on them: they were being hunted. But by the time they understood, it was already over.
The last of them froze, his breath quickening, eyes wide with terror. His hand reached for his sword, but it never left the sheath. He fell silently, his body slumping to the ground, joining the rest of his fallen comrades in a grave of grass and leaves.
The forest was eerily quiet now. Only the soft rustle of the wind remained as the last of the enemy hit the dirt. Not a single sound had escaped the ambush. It was as if the enemy had simply ceased to exist.
I raised my hand, signaling my men to move forward. We were ghosts, slipping through the trees without leaving a trace. A swift hand signal sent the scout rushing back to Gideon with news of our success. The plan was in motion, and soon this war would be over.
As I continued to lead my men, I could feel the weight of what was coming. This was my debut. My chance to show the world what I was capable of. Gideon had recognized that potential in me, and under his watch, I had been taught something few ever mastered: Aether Null. It had taken everything I had to survive the training, but now I wielded a skill that could turn the tide of battle in an instant. For that, I owed Gideon more than he knew.
But for now, there was no time to reflect. The war wasn't over, and I had to keep moving.
I signaled for my squad to halt, raising my hand in a smooth, deliberate motion. The forest around us held its breath, and so did my men. My 100 soldiers, disciplined, focused, and invisible in their camouflage, melted into the shadows like they'd been born from the earth itself. Each of them awaited my command, their eyes sharp, their bodies coiled like springs ready to unleash a deadly strike.
I glanced at the enemy ahead. A group of soldiers, unsuspecting, following the bait we'd laid out. They moved with confidence, unaware that death was already creeping toward them.
I gave a single, silent gesture. My men knew what to do.
Like phantoms, they moved. Silent as the breeze. One by one, the enemy soldiers began to fall. No screams, no struggle. Just a quiet gurgle as throats were slit, an arrow finding its mark in a vulnerable neck, or a blade sinking deep into a vital organ. The enemy barely had time to register that something was wrong before their comrades disappeared into the underbrush—forever.
Fear spread among them. You could see it in the way their heads snapped back and forth, searching for an enemy they couldn't see. Their formations broke. One of them stumbled, another muttered a prayer under his breath.
But by then, it was over. The last of them dropped to the ground, eyes wide, body limp. And the forest returned to silence, as if nothing had happened at all.
I signaled for my men to regroup. Not a sound. We were ghosts again, moving with the precision of a single, deadly organism. I sent my scout back to inform Gideon: the plan was in motion, and we were ready.
This was no ordinary battle. This was a war where I, Lucan Stone, was the deciding factor. The enemy had one flaw, and that flaw was me.
They had no idea that I was their butterfly effect, the ripple in the water that would soon become a tidal wave. They were already losing this war—they just didn't know it yet.
With one final hand signal, I set my squad in motion again. We were heading for the enemy's heart, their commander, their end.
And as we moved, I couldn't help but feel it—this was the moment I'd been waiting for. My war debut. The moment I'd carve my name into history, not as a soldier, but as a prodigy.
The enemy had no chance. Not anymore.
And the war was about to change forever.