The sun filtered through the dense canopy of the forest, casting dappled shadows on the ground as Serena crouched in the underbrush, her black cloak blending seamlessly with the dark greenery around her. Behind her, the thirty-six soldiers of her soon-to-be 1st Dark Marine Forces moved quietly, their faces streaked with dirt and their armor scuffed from weeks of grueling training. Each of them had spent the last two months being pushed to their limits, enduring everything from simulated naval conditions to brutal battles against wild and magical beasts.
Ahead of them lay a small clearing, the edge of which offered a view of a village nestled in a shallow valley. Serena raised a gloved hand, signaling the troops to stop. "Down. Hide." Her voice was a sharp whisper, and the soldiers obeyed immediately, dropping into the shrubbery and falling silent.
Serena herself crouched low, placing a hand on her forehead as she activated her newly developed ability: Hawk's Dominion, an advanced spell she had adapted from her predator abilities. The spell sharpened her vision to incredible distances, acting like self-created binoculars. Thin, shimmering lines of magic extended from her fingers to her eyes, amplifying her sight. She squinted, her crimson gaze locking onto the distant village as every detail came into focus.
The cracked roofs, poorly fortified walls, and scattered debris of the settlement spoke of neglect and chaos. Armed men patrolled the streets, their movements sloppy but numerous. Serena's lips curved into a predatory smile as Great Sage chimed in, its calm voice cutting through her focus.
"Population analysis complete. The village contains 225 inhabitants. Of those, 157 are classified as bandits. Remaining inhabitants appear to be non-combatants or slaves."
Serena nodded subtly, her smile widening as she began running the numbers in her head. Thirty-six soldiers under her command. If her vision for the 1st Dark Marine Forces was to be realized, a single squad of nine troops should be capable of neutralizing an enemy platoon of thirty-six. That meant her thirty-six soldiers—split into four squads—would be pitted against an enemy force of over four times their number.
"157 bandits divided by four squads," she murmured to herself, the gears turning in her mind. "That's about thirty-nine per squad. And if one squad should handle thirty-six enemies… we're effectively the ones with the advantage here."
Her grin turned razor-sharp, a glint of excitement flashing in her eyes as the realization sank in. Outnumbered? Hardly. The bandits were the ones outmatched.
One of her soldiers, a lean man named Kael, crawled closer, his voice barely audible. "My Lady, is it as bad as we thought?"
She turned her head slightly, her smile still in place. "Worse for them, Kael. Better for us. We're going to test just how ready you all are to become my Dark Marines. And, judging by those sloppy patrols, I'm not expecting much of a challenge."
Kael nodded, his jaw tightening as he passed the information down the line. The soldiers remained low, their breaths shallow, their bodies tense with anticipation. Serena straightened slightly, her eyes narrowing as she finalized her assessment of the village.
"Great Sage, any hidden threats?"
"No significant magical presences detected. The bandits are poorly equipped, primarily using rusted weapons and piecemeal armor. Tactical advantage remains with you, my Lady."
She nodded again, her confidence unwavering. "Good. Then we move at dusk. Four squads, each targeting a different quadrant. I want efficiency, precision, and no unnecessary casualties among the villagers. They'll be more useful alive. Am I clear?"
A ripple of soft affirmations passed through her troops. She looked back at them, her gaze sharp but not unkind. "This is what you've been training for. For two months, I've pushed you harder than anyone else in this city because I expect more from you. And tonight, you're going to prove why you deserve to be part of the 1st Dark Marine Forces. Remember, you're not just soldiers—you're the tip of Celestafell's spear."
The soldiers nodded, their faces steeling with determination. Serena's grin returned as she turned her gaze back to the village, the promise of the impending battle igniting a spark of anticipation within her.
"Thirty-nine each," she murmured to herself again, her voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement. "Let's see if they're ready."
The castle manor was quiet, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the stone corridors. Lucien walked through the halls with his usual unhurried gait, hands tucked into the folds of his cloak. The faint hum of distant activity filled the air—servants preparing for the evening, the occasional clatter of a tray—but the absence of one presence was noticeable.
He paused near a window, glancing out at the horizon where the sun had begun its slow descent. The day was almost over, and yet she, the almighty Vengeful One, wasn't anywhere to be found. Not in the throne room, not in the grand chambers, not even overseeing the new guilds like she so often did.
"Where is she now?" he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and curiosity.
After another sweep through the manor, he turned a corner and nearly collided with Lian, who was carrying a stack of freshly sharpened swords. The clang of metal rang out as she steadied herself, her expression shifting from surprise to mild annoyance.
"Lucien," she said, adjusting the bundle in her arms. "Watch where you're going. These aren't props, you know."
Lucien raised a brow, his tone sharp but not unkind. "I could say the same to you. Carrying enough steel there? Planning to arm the entire city?"
Lian rolled her eyes, shifting the weight of the swords as she gave him a sidelong glance. "What do you want, Lucien? You don't usually wander the halls looking for trouble."
He crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall. "Have you seen her? The Almighty, the Vengeful One, the Queen—whatever title she's claiming today. She's not in the manor, and it's not like her to vanish."
Lian hesitated for a moment before answering, her tone matter-of-fact. "She's out. Took a platoon for training. They should be back soon."
Lucien blinked, his brows furrowing. "Out? Training? Again?"
"Of course," Lian replied with a faint smirk, shifting the swords in her arms again. "You know how she is. She doesn't just sit in the castle and bark orders. She's out there, in the thick of it, every single day. Today's routine was taking one of the platoons through the forests to fight magical beasts."
Lucien straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as he absorbed the information. "Magical beasts? With an entire platoon? Why? She doesn't exactly need backup."
"It's not about her," Lian said, her tone firm. "It's about them. She's building more than soldiers—she's building warriors. Testing them in real combat, pushing them to their limits. It's brutal, but it works. You've seen how the city thrives under her rule. This is part of that."
Lucien frowned, his gaze drifting toward the window again. The thought of her out there, putting herself in danger while training a group of soldiers, didn't sit well with him—not that he'd ever admit it aloud.
"She does know she's a queen, right? Not some grunt playing drill sergeant?" he muttered.
Lian's smirk widened. "That's what makes her different, Lucien. She doesn't ask her soldiers to do anything she wouldn't do herself. It's why they follow her so loyally."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, she'd better not get herself killed. I'd hate to have to deal with the mess she'd leave behind."
"She won't," Lian said confidently. "The Vengeful One always comes back. You should know that by now."
Lucien gave her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a faint, wry smile. "I'll believe it when I see her walk through those gates."
With that, he turned and headed toward the main courtyard, his curiosity now piqued. As much as he pretended not to care, a part of him couldn't shake the growing unease that lingered in his chest. Wherever she was, he hoped she hadn't gotten herself into more trouble than she could handle.
The forest clearing was bathed in the dim, fading light of dusk, the sun sinking below the horizon as shadows stretched long and ominous across the ground. Serena stood tall before her troops, her black cloak billowing faintly in the cool evening breeze. Behind her, the platoon of her soon-to-be 1st Dark Marine Forces crouched low, their faces illuminated by the faint glow of lanterns hung along the makeshift perimeter. The air was thick with tension, the distant hum of the bandit-occupied village a constant reminder of what lay ahead.
Serena's crimson eyes swept over her soldiers, their faces worn from weeks of brutal training but resolute, their postures rigid with anticipation. She stepped forward, the faint creak of her boots against the leather-wrapped ground echoing through the silence. When she spoke, her voice was a commanding presence, cutting through the thickening dark like a blade.
"Tonight, we begin something greater than ourselves," she began, her voice carrying weight and purpose. "You are not just soldiers. You are the blade that strikes for Celestafell, the hand that grips the future of this city. For months, you've fought tooth and nail, endured trials that would have broken anyone else—and here you stand. Not as mere men and women, but as the foundation of something eternal."
Her gaze locked with several soldiers individually, her eyes burning with conviction. "Tonight, we liberate. We show those who would take, enslave, and destroy that this city, our people, will not tolerate their kind. You are more than prepared for this. You have trained in fire and blood, and you have emerged stronger. But strength without purpose is meaningless. So tell me now—what is your purpose?"
There was a beat of silence before one soldier near the front straightened, his voice ringing out with resolve. "To serve the Queen's Will!"
Serena smiled, sharp and predatory. "And what is the Queen's Will?"
"That we fight and die!" the troops answered, their voices growing in unity and volume.
"And what is Death?" Serena called, her tone unwavering.
"It is our Duty!" they roared, the sound resonating through the clearing.
Serena's smile widened as she raised a hand. "Again! I want those bastards in the village to hear us."
"What is your Duty?" she bellowed, her voice cutting through the twilight.
"To serve the Queen's Will!" came the thunderous reply.
"What is the Queen's Will?"
"That we fight and die!"
"What is Death?"
"It is our Duty!"
The echoes of their chant seemed to reverberate through the forest, a powerful declaration that carried into the distance. Serena paced before them, her steps deliberate, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Once more! Louder! Let them tremble in their boots before we strike."
Her troops raised their voices again, their chant a battle cry that tore through the gathering darkness.
"What is your Duty?"
"To serve the Queen's Will!"
"What is the Queen's Will?"
"That we fight and die!"
"What is Death?"
"It is our Duty!"
Satisfied, Serena raised both hands, signaling silence. The troops fell quiet, though the fire in their eyes burned brighter than ever. From the distant village came a faint stir—shouted orders, hurried movement. The bandits had heard them. They were readying for something they couldn't hope to understand.
Serena turned back to her soldiers, her voice low but charged with an electric energy. "Let them prepare. It won't help them. You know your roles. You know your purpose. Tonight, we make them regret ever setting foot near Celestafell. Tonight, you become the Dark Marines."
The soldiers stood straighter, their weapons at the ready, as Serena raised her hand and motioned forward. "Advance. Let's end this."
They moved as one, their chants still echoing faintly in the air, a promise of the storm that was about to descend on the unsuspecting bandits.
As the platoon advanced through the darkened forest, their boots pressed silently against the mossy ground, Serena walked at the head of the formation, her black cloak blending seamlessly with the encroaching night. The tension in the air was palpable, a charged energy that only grew with each step toward the bandit-occupied village.
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly as she raised a hand, signaling a halt. The soldiers stopped in perfect unison, their training evident in their fluid movements. Serena turned, her voice a low, commanding whisper that carried just enough to reach them.
"We're close enough now. Time to show them the futility of their scrambling. Hold still, and don't move until I say."
She extended both hands, her palms glowing with a deep, shadowy aura. The energy coalesced, spreading outward like tendrils of smoke as she activated Umbral Veil, an advanced ability that allowed her troops to vanish into the darkness as long as even the faintest hint of shadow lingered. The magic wove through the air, wrapping around each soldier like a second skin, rendering their forms invisible.
"Umbral Veil active," chimed Great Sage in her mind. "Troop invisibility sustained under current conditions. Duration: indefinite, as long as shadows persist."
Serena allowed herself a small smirk, satisfied as the platoon melted into the surrounding gloom, their forms blending seamlessly into the shadows of the forest. Only the faint rustling of leaves and the muffled tread of boots hinted at their presence as they moved forward once more.
She paused for a moment, placing a hand on her forehead and activating Hawk's Dominion. Thin, shimmering lines of magic extended from her fingers to her eyes, sharpening her vision and allowing her to survey the village in exquisite detail.
The scene below was one of chaos. Bandits scurried through the narrow dirt streets, their movements hurried and disorganized. Some barked orders, while others hauled makeshift barricades into place or checked their weapons. The crude, ramshackle buildings were dimly lit by flickering lanterns, their weak glow doing little to push back the encroaching darkness.
"225 inhabitants," Serena murmured under her breath, Great Sage's earlier analysis echoing in her mind. Her sharp gaze flicked between the scrambling figures, the majority of them armed and wearing mismatched armor. "157 bandits. All that noise, all that panic… for thirty-six soldiers. They're already defeated, and they don't even know it."
Her smirk widened as she watched one particularly flustered bandit trip over a barrel, his sword clattering to the ground. Others shouted at him, their frustration palpable.
"Great Sage," she murmured softly, "what's the status of their leadership? Any identifiable figures giving orders?"
"Analysis complete," the orb-like entity replied in her mind. "No centralized command structure detected. Current actions suggest panic-induced responses rather than coordinated strategy. Tactical advantage remains in your favor."
She let out a soft chuckle, the sound nearly swallowed by the night. "Scrambling like rats. Good. That'll make this even easier."
Turning back to the platoon, her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with both authority and anticipation. "You're invisible now, but don't let that make you careless. Stick to your squads, stay in formation, and wait for the signal. Remember, tonight we don't just fight—we prove we're better than them in every way."
The soldiers nodded, their forms unseen but their focus palpable. With another small motion from Serena, they began moving again, their footsteps silent as they crept closer to the edge of the village. From her vantage point, Serena could see the bandits growing more frantic, their disarray a stark contrast to the calm, disciplined movements of her troops.
As she marched at the head of her invisible platoon, Serena allowed herself a rare, genuine smile. Tonight, her Dark Marines would show the world what they were capable of—and it would begin with the liberation of this village.
The throne room was eerily quiet, the flickering light of enchanted sconces casting long, dancing shadows across the high stone walls. Lucien stood near the foot of the throne, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping against the polished floor in a steady, impatient rhythm. The sound echoed faintly in the cavernous space, the only noise breaking the stillness of the late hour.
He glanced at the massive double doors every few seconds, his jaw tight and his expression tense. The night had long since settled over Celestafell, and yet she—the Queen, the Vengeful One—was nowhere to be seen. His fingers drummed against his arm as he tried to shake the unease creeping into his chest.
"She'll be fine," he muttered under his breath, though the words lacked conviction. "She always is."
Despite the rational part of his mind insisting that Serena was more than capable of handling herself, a strange ache had taken root in his chest. It wasn't something he could name, and he certainly wouldn't admit it aloud, but the absence of her sharp wit, her piercing crimson eyes, and her relentless confidence unsettled him in ways he didn't fully understand.
His foot tapped faster as his mind raced with unbidden thoughts. What if something went wrong? What if the bandits outnumbered her troops more than expected? What if…? He shook his head, scowling at himself.
"She's the Vengeful One, for gods' sake," he muttered, his voice sharp with frustration. "She doesn't need anyone worrying about her. Least of all me."
And yet, his gaze drifted to the doors again, his foot stopping briefly before resuming its nervous rhythm. The ache in his chest only deepened with every passing moment, a dull throb he couldn't seem to shake. It wasn't fear—at least, that's what he told himself. Fear wasn't something he allowed himself to feel. But this… this was something else entirely.
The minutes dragged on, the throne room's silence amplifying his unease. He paced the length of the room once, twice, then returned to his spot near the throne, his foot tapping all the while. The flickering sconces cast faint glimmers of light on the gold accents of the throne, but the grandeur of the room offered no comfort.
His mind betrayed him, conjuring flashes of imagined scenarios—her injured, her surrounded, her… gone. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. No. She'll walk through those doors, just like she always does, with that infuriating smirk and some sarcastic comment about my impatience.
"Any minute now," he whispered to himself, though his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.
The ache in his chest remained, a gnawing sensation that refused to relent. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he wouldn't be able to breathe fully until she returned, until her presence filled the room and quelled the uncomfortable void her absence had left behind.