2025-12-10 22:31:08The battlefield screamed. Dust clawed at his eyes, sand stinging his skin like tiny needles. The roar of combat hit like a tidal wave—deafening, relentless, impossible to ignore.
“Town militia! Spread out! Advance! Converge for the attack!”
“Shadowed Ones! Assault!”
Ares Valen’s voice cut through the chaos. Sharp, commanding, a blade slicing through silk. Every word carried weight, authority, fire. He didn’t just give orders—he owned the battlefield.
From the front, the town militia surged forward. Shields locked into neat, convex formations. The rhythm of their advance was steady, drum-like, a heartbeat amid the chaos. Behind them, the Shadow Regiment moved silently. Eleven masked figures slid forward, graceful and almost invisible, like smoke lifting off the desert floor. You could almost forget they were there, until an orc fell awkwardly into the sand, a sword buried where it shouldn’t be.
The encirclement snapped shut.
Even in this foreign desert, the orc wolf riders were terrifying. Massive beasts, muscles rippling, eyes glowing red, jaws foaming with rage. Ordinary Roman tactics strained under such momentum. Shields rattled. Spears bent. Formations wavered.
Ares Valen did not flinch.
He charged straight into the front. No ridge, no cover, just him. Crimson plume cutting the air like fire.
“Kill!”
The roar from his chest was more than a command—it was a force of nature. A declaration that the desert belonged to no one but him this day.
A wolf-beast lunged. Jaws snapping wide enough to swallow a man whole. Ares’s blade fell in a perfect, merciless arc. Greenish blood spattered across his armor and hair. He didn’t blink. Not once.
Combat Mode ignited.
Fear disappeared. Hesitation evaporated. Pain became a faint echo in the background. Precision replaced everything. Cold, exacting, unflinching. Every movement is measured. Every strike is decisive. Centuries of Roman combat doctrine thrummed in his bones. He wasn’t fighting anymore. He was executing.
The General’s Guard followed, loyal and iron-bound, struggling to keep up but refusing to leave him alone in the storm. Ares moved like living lightning. Another orc swung at him—parry, sidestep, rip beneath the ribs. Another fell silent before it could scream.
A knight trapped in the crush looked up in despair. Then his eyes widened. Ares’s horse vaulted over fallen bodies. Sword swung in a deadly arc, beheading the orc whose axe had hovered over the knight’s skull.
“General!” The knight’s voice cracked. Tears streaked through dust and sweat. They weren’t following a commander. They were following a man who bled for them, risked everything, pulled them back from death. Even the orcs sensed it.
“R-Roar! What a terrifying human! Who’s the real orc here?”
Ares ignored the outburst. Pain was irrelevant. Wounds opened like bruised flowers across his limbs, bleeding freely, but Combat Mode rendered it meaningless. His body moved like iron.
From the shadows came another command. “Kill!”
Eleven masked warriors of the Shadow Regiment erupted forward. Silent, swift, ghost-like. Each strike precise, elegant, fatal. Wolf mounts slowed under the relentless assault. Orc riders felt their courage drain like sand slipping through fingers.
At the front, the militia maintained rhythm. “Raise shields! Thrust spears!” Spears stabbed forward in perfect unison. Wolf riders, stripped of momentum, skewered alongside their mounts, were dragged into the sand. A final shriek cut through the air. Then silence.
Dust settled over a battlefield of orc and wolf bodies. Each one struck down, a testament to Roman discipline and strategy.
A chime echoed in Ares’s mind:
[Ding. Glorious victory. Enemy special cavalry: 38 eliminated. Roman casualties: zero. Reward: 1 Commander’s Star. Combat Mode: +1 level. Town militia strength +1. Shadowed Ones' strength +1. General’s Guard strength +1. War Glory earned: 3,800. Enter Roman City Interface?]
Enter.
The desert dissolved into streams of data.
Rome’s Golden LedgerThe city interface unfolded like golden parchment. Rome’s might, clear and precise:
Leader: Roman Senate
City: Rome (Large City) Public Sentiment: Loyal Population: 120,000 Public Order: 165% Treasury: 130,000 gold, 200,000 grain, 100,000 ironRedeemables glimmered: peasants, militia, youth army, diplomats, markets, training grounds.
Ares frowned. Even here, Rome’s chains gripped him. Farmland? Desert. Nothing would grow, no matter how much War Glory he spent. Reality outweighed mechanics.
“3,800 points… now, what do I do with you?”
The Weight of a Crown
A bitter memory stabbed him. Upgrading the Leader’s Temple three times had burned the starting funds. Debt: -1,670 gold.
He gritted his teeth. “Patch the hole first. Exchange 2,000 gold.”
[Ding. 2,000 gold redeemed. Debt cleared. Cost: 1,000 War Glory]
Fair trade. Defense came next. If wolf cavalry returned, his territory would die before it could breathe.
“Exchange wooden palisade. 500 points.”
Population. Men. Workers. Soldiers.
“One peasant unit. 500 points.”
Food. Nothing else mattered without it.
“Exchange all remaining for grain.”
1,300 jin of grain appeared. War Glory depleted. Interface exited.
A Village Born from NothingThe desert stretched endlessly, yellow and silent. Yet along the Lan Nong River, life flickered. A palisade rose, uneven but sturdy. Smoke curled from new fire pits. 240 young peasants knelt, daggers in hand, crimson cloth draped over them. Gold and grain at his feet.
For the first time since arriving, Ares felt anchored. Roman soldiers cleaned the battlefield, wide-eyed, then erupted into cheers.
“Not that hard, huh?” he laughed, exhilarated. Reckless. Part of him wanted to ride back out, just to face another wave immediately.
[Ding. Campaign concluded. Exit Combat Mode and Commander Mode?]
Exit.
Heat drained from his blood. Body swayed.
[General’s remaining HP: 73]
[Warhorse buff removed]The war god vanished. A battered young man remained. Hands shook. Clothes tattered. Skin shredded. In his palm lay the severed head of an orc. Nausea hit him like a wave.
Did I… really do all this?
Pain screamed from ignored wounds. Blood filled his mouth. He collapsed.
“Combat Mode… overdraft on life.”
Darkness claimed him.
Dreams of Life LostSunlight brushed his face. Not a battlefield. Home. Wife smiling. Warm apartment. Familiar scent.
Then a hospital hallway. Cries of birth. Heart pounding. Legs trembling, he ran.
The baby cried.
“Mother and child are safe,” said a masked doctor.
He sank to his knees, sobbing. A father. But the child… green-skinned. Tiny fangs. Blinking at him.
“This… this isn’t—!”
He roared.
And jolted awake.
Awakening to Reality“Priest, sir?” A Shade Guard shook him.
Temple ceiling above. Leg throbbed. Nightmare faded like smoke.
“How long… was I out?”
“One full day and night, sir.”
He rose, limped to the copper mirror. Pale-blue hair. Bright eyes. Sharp brows. Handsome… but unfamiliar. Wife’s face. Child… life lost in a cruel twist.
The temple is empty, except for the towering Jupiter statue. Golden armor glimmered. Thunderbolt in hand. Chariots of sun and moon swirled.
He bowed.
“Lord Jupiter… Guardian of Rome… protect me. And… show me a way home.”
Light exploded. Golden radiance poured from the statue. A Roman sword hovered midair. Eleven Shade Guards dropped to their knees, chanting. He barely noticed.
A mechanical, divine voice thundered in his mind:
“Guardian God of Rome, Jupiter, bestows upon Caesar Yang the Sword of the War God. Grant Caesar Yang authority as a War Priest. Level 1 Priest Skill unlocked: War Roar.”
Ares’s breath caught. Battlefield had shown its strength. This? This was something more.
He was chosen.
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