The Strongest Human

Chapter 5: Blood Alliance

The desert wind, thick with the iron tang of Daemonicus blood, roared past, sweeping away shards of steel armor and the mangled wreckage of the Sovereign Concord hunter-ship. Amidst the smoking debris, five soldiers in patchwork armor stood frozen, their rusted spears gripped tight. Their eyes widened as they stared at the black-haired man standing calmly upon the cracked earth.

"G-Goddammit... What the hell just happened?" one of the Ashen Vanguard scouts muttered, his hands trembling violently as he clutched the hilt of his faded blade. "The Enforcement Guard ship... flattened? Who is this guy?"

Alden Vance slowly rotated his neck, a sharp crack of bone echoing in the silence. His cold, piercing gaze locked onto the five scouts. The raw Aetherium he had just absorbed pulsed within his veins, radiating an oppressive presence that made it difficult to breathe.

"Are you Ashen Vanguard scouts?" Alden's voice sounded flat, yet it resonated with an absolute authority that sent the soldiers stumbling backward on instinct.

Torin, the scarred veteran leading the scout team, instinctively drew his sword. "Hold your ground! Don't come any closer, you bastard! What kind of trickery is this? No normal human could destroy an Enforcement Guard ship with their bare hands!"

"He’s not our enemy! He’s our savior!" Cael stepped forward from behind Alden, shouting with a voice raspy but certain. "This is Lord Alden! He slaughtered every Daemonicus commander in the Abyssal Chasm and freed us all!"

"That’s right! He crushed those Sovereign bastards without using a single spell!" added Eli, crossing his arms in deep respect toward Alden.

Torin and his men exchanged looks of profound disbelief. In the world of Eos-Vaelhart, humans were considered worthless trash because they lacked magic cores. Yet, the sight of hundreds of dismembered Daemonicus corpses and the high-value warship wreckage was an undeniable fact.

"Human... without a magic core?" Torin swallowed hard, slowly lowering his sword though his guard remained sky-high. "I don't care what kind of demon you are, but if you truly intend to see Leader Garrick, you have to prove it. The Iron Skull Valley is no place for intruders."

"Take me to Garrick Ironwill," Alden cut him off coldly. "I don't have time for your damn suspicion. Lead the way before more Sovereign forces arrive."

Torin growled, but the sheer aura of intimidation radiating from Alden sapped his courage. "Fine. Follow us. But remember, one suspicious move and the entire rebel army will be hunting your head!"

The trek through the Deadlands was tense. The bone-chilling night wind burned the skin, yet for Alden, the Somatic Resonance within his cells processed the extreme temperature change as pure energy stimulant. Every step Alden took left deep impressions in the rocky ground, projecting an unshakable physical stability.

After crossing a steep cliff pass hidden behind a natural illusion, the group finally reached the Iron Skull Valley. The valley was a massive circular crater hidden behind barren desert mountains. This was the secret headquarters of the Ashen Vanguard.

Hundreds of makeshift tents were crammed together. Thousands of human refugees—men, women, and children—looked gaunt, barefoot, and covered in magical whip scars. They stared at Alden’s arrival with hollow, hopeless eyes. Life in the Deadlands was nothing more than an open-air hell, a place where humans waited their turn to be slaughtered or used as blood sacrifices.

"Look at them," Torin said quietly, his tone bitter as they walked through the crowd. "These are the remnants of our race. The Sovereign Concord hunts us like cattle. Without magic, we are nothing but walking meat for their healing rituals."

"That is exactly why this order must be torn out by the roots," Alden replied, eyes fixed forward.

They stopped before a massive command tent constructed from ancient beast hides and salvaged warship scrap. Two hulking guards held their spears steady, but Torin gestured for them to stand down.

As the tent flap parted, a massive, gray-haired man with shoulders as broad as a doorway commanded Alden’s attention. He stood before a tactical map table. His left arm was severed above the elbow, replaced by a rusted, ancient mechanical prosthetic that occasionally vented hot steam. His scarred face glared directly at Alden. It was Garrick Ironwill, general of the Ashen Vanguard rebels.

"Torin," Garrick’s voice was heavy, like grinding stones. "You brought a stranger into the inner sanctum without permission? And who are these refugees behind you?"

"Leader Garrick, this is... Lord Alden," Torin said tentatively. "He slaughtered an Enforcement Guard squad and destroyed Commander Vrak’s warship at the border gate."

Garrick laughed harshly, a cold, mocking sound that echoed in the tent. "Destroyed Vrak’s warship? Torin, has your brain frozen in this desert night air? Vrak has Tier-4 defensive magic circles! A normal human couldn't even scratch the paint!"

"He’s not lying, you old carcass," Alden interjected flatly. He stepped forward, staring straight into Garrick’s eyes without a hint of fear.

The atmosphere in the tent thickened. Garrick narrowed his eyes. As a war veteran who had fought dozens of Daemonicus mages, he could feel that something was fundamentally wrong with the man before him. There was no Mana fluctuation, yet his presence felt like a dense mass ready to consume everything.

"You... human?" Garrick asked quietly, his tone shifting from mockery to intense seriousness. "I don’t feel a single pulse of Mana from you. But this pressure... what the hell is this?"

"My name is Alden Vance," Alden answered calmly. "I didn't come to ask for your protection. I came to take command of this rebellion and use it to topple the Sovereign Concord."

Garrick was stunned for a moment before his face flushed with anger. "Take command? You talk big, boy! You think fighting the Sovereign is child's play? We’ve lost tens of thousands of lives just to survive in this godforsaken land!"

*Sreet!*

With blinding speed, Garrick’s mechanical arm roared. Steam hissed as the massive iron fist launched toward Alden’s chest. It was a hydraulically powered punch capable of shattering solid stone walls in a single blow.

Alden didn't even blink.

*Brakkk!*

The sound of heavy metal striking metal echoed through the air. Everyone in the tent held their breath in terror.

Garrick’s iron fist stopped dead, two inches from Alden’s chest. Not because it missed, but because Alden’s right palm had caught the metal fist firmly. Alden’s stance hadn't shifted an inch. The ground beneath him didn't even crack.

"A decent punch for a one-armed veteran," Alden said coldly.

Garrick’s eyes widened. He tried to retract his prosthetic, but Alden’s grip was like a cosmic steel vice. More terrifyingly, the mechanical components and the remaining magical propulsion energy in the arm slowly drained and died upon contact with Alden’s skin.

*Krik... krek...*

The iron arm made of rare metal began to warp and crack under the pressure of Alden’s fingers.

"How is this possible..." Garrick whispered, cold sweat dripping down his forehead. "Pure physical strength... without magic? You’re devouring the energy from my mechanical gear?"

"The human body from my world doesn't need magic to be dominant," Alden said, releasing his grip. Garrick stumbled back two steps, clutching his bent and dead mechanical arm. "The Somatic Resonance in my cells converts this world's Aetherium energy into pure muscle fuel."

Garrick looked at his broken arm, then back at Alden with an entirely new perspective. The despair and defeat that had smothered his soul for decades seemed to lift, replaced by a sudden, violent spark of hope.

"Monster..." Garrick muttered softly, a wild, faint smile tugging at his scarred lips. "You truly are a monster, Alden Vance."

"I’m not a monster. I’m the apex predator this world forgot," Alden replied coldly. He walked to the map table and placed his hands on the thick wood. "Now, tell me. Where is the Sovereign Concord’s strongest fortress in these Deadlands?"

Garrick stepped closer, ignoring his broken arm. The veteran’s face turned grim and resolute. "Ironclad Fortress. It’s their frontline headquarters, led by elite commanders and protected by three thousand Daemonicus soldiers. They control the entire water supply and Aetherium resources in the west."

"Good," Alden clenched his fist until the air around it hissed. "Gather every man and woman who can still hold a weapon. We are done hiding in this rotten valley."

Garrick stared at Alden with eyes ablaze. "You mean to assault Ironclad Fortress? That’s suicide!"

"To you, it’s suicide. To me, it’s a slaughter," Alden answered sharply, his voice radiating undeniable authority. "This world needs to learn one thing: when humanity raises its fist, even the magic of gods will crumble into dust."