As the first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues, the entire camp stirred into action. Workers dismantled the wooden fortress they had erected, taking down barriers, packing supplies, and loading up carts. The Holy Knights assisted where they could, though many still cast wary glances at the Gloomtaurs who surrounded them, watching each other carefully. Despite their evident mistrust, none dared to voice their discomfort.
Mabbel's forces moved like a mass of darkness, their presence forming a living wall around the caravan. Their movements were calculated, their expressions unreadable. It was clear they were following her orders—but it was also clear that her orders had been shaped by Ophelia's will.
As the caravan advanced further through the middle circle of the Cragstone Outpost, tension remained thick in the air. The workers were on edge, the Holy Knights were filled with unease. Some still harbored deep-seated hatred for the Gloomtaurs, while others were more afraid than anything else. Yet, as the hours passed, those emotions gradually shifted to something else entirely for a split second—awe.
The monsters that lurked within the middle circle did not dare approach. They recognized the overwhelming force moving through their domain and understood they were outmatched. But as the group ventured into the inner circle, one creature either did not recognize the threat or did not care.
It was a towering abomination, its body composed of jagged obsidian-like scales that pulsed with dark energy. Its four crimson eyes glowed like embers, and two pairs of elongated arms, each tipped with razor-sharp claws, flexed as it let out an earsplitting screech. Shadows oozed from its form, swirling around its feet like living tendrils, lashing at the air with malicious intent.
And then—before it could even make a move—it was reduced to nothing.
Four hundred Gloomtaurs struck in an instant. Weapons of shadow materialized in their hands, slicing through the air like streaks of black lightning. The creature barely had time to process its impending demise before its body was torn apart, shredded into unrecognizable dust in the span of a breath.
The workers and Holy Knights froze in place, their mouths slightly agape. Many were horrified, some recoiled in disgust, but all of them—every single one—felt a moment of undeniable awe. Even the Knights who despised the Gloomtaurs could not deny the sheer efficiency, the ruthless power displayed before them.
The rest of the journey was much the same. Any monster foolish enough to cross their path was obliterated before it could pose a threat. Ophelia, walking near the front, allowed herself a small smile.
She had chosen well.
This was the army she needed.
As dusk fell and the day's final battle ended with the slaughter of another pack of creatures, the caravan finally set up camp. Fires were lit, tents were pitched, and the workers and Holy Knights settled into a weary but restless state.
Edwin's brows knitted together as he surveyed the camp, his mind already calculating their current supplies. He exhaled sharply, arms crossed over his chest, before finally speaking.
"We need to talk about rations and water. We're going through supplies faster than we can afford. If we don't find a reliable source soon—"
Before he could finish, Ophelia merely lifted a hand, silencing him without a word. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, she gestured toward a cluster of Gloomtaurs gathered near the outskirts of the camp.
Edwin followed her gaze and immediately wished he hadn't.
The Gloomtaurs had already begun carving into the corpses of the slain monsters, their sharp weapons of shadow slicing through flesh like butter. The raw meat was distributed among them without hesitation, and within seconds, they were feasting—tearing into the flesh with serrated teeth, blood dripping down their chins as they devoured their meal with an unsettling eagerness.
Edwin's stomach twisted. His lips curled in revulsion.
"Disgusting things…" he muttered under his breath, barely containing the urge to look away.
The sight was primal, animalistic—so far removed from what he considered civilized that it made his skin crawl. He knew that his teacher's words to be kind were more prominent in his mind now, but if there was one thing his kind teacher hated with a passion… it was demons.
Ophelia didn't respond. Instead, she approached a nearby campfire where Tridra and Alexandra were seated, both watching the scattered circles of Gloomtaurs spread throughout the forest. Due to their sheer number, they had no choice but to separate from the main group, forming isolated pockets around the perimeter.
As soon as Ophelia sat down, Alexandra scooted closer and whispered, "The tension is insane here. I don't know if I'll be able to get any sleep."
Ophelia remained composed, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "Nobody goes to sleep," she instructed calmly. "Tell all the workers and Holy Knights to stay awake. Something will happen tonight. They might come for me, or for any of us. So, no one sleeps."
Tridra let out a deep sigh, stretching her arms. "My Lady, are we seriously going to do this every night? I'm glad we're saving our strength for the real fights, but honestly, I feel more exhausted than I did fighting those monsters all day."
Ophelia's eyes remained locked onto the fire. "Just for tonight," she reassured. "After tonight, we will not have any more problems. I promise."
Dinner passed but it was filled to the brim with tension. The workers and Holy Knights were informed of Ophelia's orders, and though many were too exhausted to protest, unease still lingered.
Then, towards the end of their meals, the tension in the camp had been simmering all evening, and it finally reached a breaking point.
A Holy Knight, with broad-shoulders, sitting next to his mace and shield, sneered at a nearby group of Gloomtaurs, his voice laced with venom. "I don't care what Ophelia says, these things shouldn't be here. They don't belong with us."
A Gloomtaur, clad in dark, tattered armor, snapped his head toward the Knight, his glowing eyes narrowing. "We don't belong?" He scoffed, stepping forward. "You humans cry and beg for help, and now that you have it, you spit on the ones protecting you?"
Another Knight, gripping his twin short swords, scowled. "Help? Do you think we need your help? We've been fighting monsters for generations without your kind crawling out of the dirt." He spat on the ground near the Gloomtaur's feet. "Filthy creatures."
Several Gloomtaurs bristled, their hands twitching at their sides. One of them, his voice a guttural growl, stepped forward. "You want to test that, little man? We could wipe your entire band of knights off this planet before you even drew your weapons."
A third Knight scoffed, gripping the hilt of his longsword. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? You think we don't know what you are? You're not warriors. You're beasts barely pretending to be civilized."
A deep laugh came from the Gloomtaur who had spoken first. "And yet, we are the ones leading you through this cursed land unscathed. You should be thanking us, not whining like weaklings."
The mace and shield-wielding Knight stepped forward, his lip curled in disgust. "I'd rather die fighting monsters than fight alongside them."
A Gloomtaur, his eyes gleaming with anger, sneered. "Then do it, coward. Take your mace and strike. Or is all your talk just that? Hot air coming from a mouth that has never known real battle?"
That was it. The Knight's patience snapped. With a furious snarl, he threw a punch, aiming straight for the Gloomtaur's face.
But before his fist could make contact, a calloused hand snatched it from the air, stopping it dead in its tracks.
Edwin.
His grip was like iron, his glare sharp as a blade. The Knight tensed, his breath uneven, as Edwin's eyes bore into him.
"I understand your hatred, but Ophelia gathered them for a reason," He said.
The other Holy Knights shifted uneasily, and one of them clicked his tongue before muttering under his breath, "I can't believe we're working with these demons."
That sent a ripple of fury through the Gloomtaurs.
The moment the words left the Holy Knight's mouth, the Gloomtaurs bristled with fury.
"We are NOT demons!" one of them snarled, his voice cutting through the tense night air like a blade.
A taller, more battle-worn Gloomtaur stepped forward, baring his sharp teeth. "Say that again, human. I dare you."
A Holy Knight, lance slung across his back, scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "I'll say it as many times as I want, beast. You're no better than the monsters we've been slaying for centuries."
A female Gloomtaur's dark red eyes flared in the firelight. "And yet you cower behind our strength now, don't you?" She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "What would you have done today if we weren't here? Died? Run?"
Another Knight spat on the ground. "Don't pretend you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart. You follow orders like the mutts you are."
A deep growl rumbled from a Gloomtaur at the back. "At least we can follow orders. Unlike you humans, who turn on each other at the first sign of fear."
The Knight from earlier sneered. "And what are you if not creatures born of fear? You live in the dark like rats, skulking through shadows."
A Gloomtaur with a scar running across his forehead tilted his head. "You're right. We are the dark." He took a step forward, his voice dropping to something almost amused. "And that's exactly why you should be afraid."
Another Knight clenched his fists. "Afraid? Of you? I'd sooner die than let one of your kind look down on me."
The Gloomtaur smirked. "Look down on you? We're already beneath your feet, yet you still shake in our presence. That's the difference between us."
The mace and shield-wielding Knight's face darkened. "Fuck this! I can't believe Ophelia is making us work with these unholy demons."
Edwin, his patience wearing thin, exhaled sharply through his nose and growled, "Watch your tone. Do not speak of the Duchess like that."
The Knight whose fist he held took a step back as Edwin released him, his face twisted in frustration. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, but said nothing else.
Edwin turned his gaze toward Ophelia, expecting her to say something. To issue an order. To end the tension.
But she simply stared into the fire, her expression unreadable.
Mabbel, watching the chaos unfold, finally stepped in. With a commanding presence, she placed a hand on one of her own and whispered something low. Whatever she said, it worked. The Gloomtaurs backed off, retreating into their own circles.
The Holy Knights did the same, albeit with lingering resentment in their eyes.
Even as silence fell over the camp once more, the weight of unspoken fury hung thick in the air.
Practically nobody was going to sleep tonight.
The night was deathly silent, the kind of silence where even the rustling of leaves seemed like a thunderous roar. Most of the camp had settled in, though few truly slept, tension hanging over the air like a thick fog. But in the shadows, away from the flickering campfires, a handful of Gloomtaurs crept toward their leader.
Mabbel had been preparing to rest, exhaustion tugging at her body, when she heard the footsteps approach. She barely had time to register their presence before one of them, a grizzled veteran with sharp, sunken eyes, whispered with a certainty that sent a chill down her spine.
"We're killing that bitch tonight. Including all of her people."
Mabbel snapped awake, the words struck her harder than any blow. In an instant, she was on her feet, her hand shooting out and grabbing the man by his collar. Her grip was iron-clad, her voice urgent but hushed.
"Do not touch her or any of her people unless you wish to die."
The man scowled, shaking her grip away with a look of pure disdain. "When did you get so weak…" It wasn't a question. It was a statement, cold and damning.
Mabbel's eyes dipped to the ground, her teeth sinking so hard into her lower lip that blood welled up, the coppery taste filling her mouth. She had known this sentiment was growing among her people, but to hear it spoken so brazenly burned like a fresh wound.
As the group turned to leave, their leader among them, she forced herself to speak. "How many people do you have?"
The man paused mid-step, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he turned back to her. "Are you going to help?"
Mabbel couldn't respond. The words lodged in her throat like barbs, the weight of the situation pressing against her chest. The only thing she could say was a desperate plea.
"Please don't do anything rash. I'm begging you. You'll die."
Her voice, usually so strong, trembled. She lowered her head, a queen brought to her knees by her own people.
The Gloomtaur leader frowned. "Lady Mabbel, for a while now… I've respected you as our leader, as the queen of our underground city, but lately, you've grown weak. Even before all of this, me and some of my buddies have been discontent with your style of hunting... although, I'm sure you already know that."
Mabbel said nothing. She had known. She had always known.
The man exhaled, then turned on his heel and vanished into the night, his allies following suit, sinking into the darkness without a sound.
A few hours later, it was the dead of night. The entire camp was so still that even the smallest rustle of fabric or the snap of a twig could be heard. But even in the suffocating silence, seventy or so Gloomtaurs melted into the shadows like living phantoms.
Mabbel felt it. Even without seeing them, she felt them moving. Felt them drawing closer to the center of the camp. To her cart.
The first five to reach it slipped through the smallest crack beneath the door, their bodies stretching and dissolving into pure darkness before reforming inside. They landed soundlessly, conjured shadow weapons in hand, ready to end it in one swift motion—
Only to find it empty.
Confusion flickered through them for only a moment before they left and scoured the camp—
And then they saw it.
A pair of legs, dangling lazily from the top of the cart.
A pair of silver eyes, gleaming in the moonlight, cold and unblinking.
Ophelia stared down at them quietly, sending an unnatural chill crawling up their spines.
For the first time in a long time, these creatures of darkness hesitated.
But only for a second.
The moment passed, and they surged forward, bursting from the entrance to the cart in a flurry of blackened steel and death.
Then they heard her voice.
"As your apostle of light and greatness, I wield the [Supreme Command]."
A golden glow erupted from Ophelia's body, illuminating the camp in divine brilliance. The charging Gloomtaurs froze. Their bodies refused to move. Their muscles locked in place as if shackled by invisible chains.
All across the camp, the same thing happened.
Gloomtaurs, weapons in hand, had been surrounding the Workers, the Holy Knights, even slipping into the carts of Ophelia's servants where they had been resting—only to find themselves utterly paralyzed.
One by one, they were dragged into the center of the camp, their bodies rigid, their faces contorted with a mix of rage and fear.
Seventy-four of them.
All caught in Ophelia's grasp.
As Ophelia hopped down from her cart, her silver eyes swept across them, her expression unreadable. The tension in the camp became unbearable, every breath held in agonizing suspense.
The captured Gloomtaurs strained against the unseen force, veins bulging against their skin, but no matter how much they fought, they could not move.
Then, suddenly, Mabbel shot up from the gathered crowd. Sweat dripped down her face, but despite the fear coiling in her chest, she stepped between her captured people and Ophelia.
"I beg of you. Give them another chance. I didn't educate them properly."
Ophelia's gaze bore into her, cold and emotionless.
For several long, excruciating seconds, no one spoke.
Then Ophelia finally parted her lips.
"In exchange for me killing every single one of these demons, break both of your arms."
Mabbel stiffened.
Hesitation flickered across her face. She knew what this meant. Breaking both of her arms would render her useless for days, a mark of weakness among her people.
But that moment of hesitation—
SCHLK.
A blood-curdling scream tore through the night.
One of the frozen Gloomtaurs suddenly erupted into a grotesque display of pulpy blue blood, his body reduced to nothing but a steaming mess.
The other captured Gloomtaurs began to shiver violently, their anger swallowed by overwhelming fear.
Mabbel's breath came out shaky, her body drenched in cold sweat as she forced herself to speak.
"Y-Yes. I-I will do it," she stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
Her trembling hands found her own arm, fingers pressing into the flesh of her biceps. She braced herself, preparing for what she had to do. But just as she was about to squeeze down, a firm yet gentle hand settled on her shoulder.
She turned, and there stood Tridra.
Her usual composure was gone, replaced with a grimace of barely contained frustration. Her violet eyes flickered between Ophelia and Mabbel, her fingers tightening on Mabbel's shoulder as if to stop her from making the decision.
The camp had transformed into a chaotic mass of noise and tension. The Workers, who had cowered in fear before, now roared for blood. Their terror had turned to hatred, their voices rising in a frenzied chant demanding death.
The Holy Knights—Alexandra and Edwin among them—stood at the forefront, their faces set in cold, righteous fury. They, too, wanted the Gloomtaurs dead.
Even Ophelia's servants had emerged from their quarters, their cries joining the violent chorus.
Yet, amidst all of this, one woman stood apart.
Tridra.
Her gaze was sharp with emotion, filled not with anger or contempt—but pity.
"This is too much. Give them another chance," Tridra said, her voice steady despite the weight behind her words.
Ophelia's silver eyes widened just slightly, betraying a flicker of surprise before her expression returned to its usual, unreadable coldness.
"Tridra. What are you doing?" she asked.
Tridra's expression hardened.
"Stop this, Ophelia... please."
Ophelia tilted her head slightly, observing Tridra with a calculating gaze. Then, in a voice as calm as ever, she spoke.
"If we do not do this, they will continue to interfere with my plans. I cannot have that."
Tridra shook her head, stepping closer.
"I wanted to be a better person. And stopping something like this—" she gestured toward the frozen Gloomtaurs, toward Mabbel's trembling form, toward the horrified expressions of those who still had hope of survival "—is a must."
Ophelia exhaled lightly, almost as if sighing at a child who did not yet understand the world.
"You clearly do not understand. Being a better person does not mean always doing the right thing. To accomplish a greater righteousness, sometimes you must commit a lesser evil. It is a necessary sacrifice for the greater good."
Tridra clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palms.
"Then tell me," she demanded. "What is the greater righteous thing here?"
Ophelia's expression did not change.
"I will explain later…" She quickly snapped before laying her eyes against Mabbel once more. "Now, break your arms or let all of them die. And for hesitating, break them in two separate places."
Her voice carried absolute authority—unyielding, absolute, authority.
A sharp intake of breath came from Mabbel as she hesitated once more, the weight of her decision crushing her from all sides.
But before she could contemplate further—
BOOM.
A sickening, wet explosion shattered the air.
Another one of the captured Gloomtaurs erupted into a gruesome mess of blue blood and shredded flesh. The horrifying sound of splattering gore rang through the camp, sending the remaining Gloomtaurs into sheer panic.
Screams filled the night.
"OPHELIA!" Tridra shouted.
The ones frozen under Ophelia's power shivered violently, their bulging veins a testament to their sheer terror.
Mabbel's breath hitched in her throat.
Without a second thought, she grabbed her own arm and squeezed—hard.
A sickening CRACK tore through the silence, followed by a strangled, agonized wail. Mabbel's body shuddered violently, pain consuming every nerve as her biceps gave way under the brutal force of her own grip.
She barely had time to breathe before she moved to her forearm.
Another CRACK. Another scream.
It wasn't a clean break—her bones snapped unevenly, jagged, and cruelly beneath her skin. Tears blurred her vision, but she wasn't done.
Her other arm...
She couldn't break it with her own grip. The pain was too much, her strength already failing her.
So she dropped to the ground, pressing her forearm against the earth.
Then, with a deep, shaky breath—
She raised her foot and stomped.
SNAP.
She moved the rest of her arm against the ground and hovered over her bicep in an awkward position before once more…
SNAP.
Her body collapsed forward, sweat and blood dripping from her trembling form as her vision swam with agony.
The Gloomtaurs watching could hardly bear to look. Their leader—reduced to this.
Tridra clenched her fists, glaring daggers at Ophelia before she abruptly turned on her heel and stormed off.
Mabbel, her entire body shaking, lifted her head weakly. Through the haze of pain, she caught Ophelia's expression.
A light smile.
Then, without another word, the golden glow surrounding Ophelia vanished, and she simply turned and left—returning to her cart as if nothing had happened.
For a long, suffocating moment, silence reigned.
Then, slowly, the Gloomtaurs stirred.
Some looked away in shame, others in horror. But the strongest emotion among them—the one that overpowered the rest—
Respect.
Utter, unwavering respect.
She had sacrificed her body to protect them. She had submitted herself to the all-powerful, cast aside her own pride—all to protect her people.
Only now, in this moment of clarity, did the doubters among them understand.
They were lucky.
Lucky to have such a leader.
One by one, the same Gloomtaurs who had ridiculed Mabbel before, who had called her weak—now rushed to her side.
Yes. This was all part of Ophelia's plan… the plan to create an unstoppable army.