Parallel Memory

Chapter 550: New Orders

Two days later, the mood in Delta Outpost had shifted entirely. What had been a tense post-reclamation phase turned into the frantic hum of war preparations. Orders came directly from the Authority—reinforcements would arrive within the week, and all stationed forces were to prepare for the next strike deeper into corrupted territory.

The central plaza became the heart of controlled chaos. Blacksmiths and enchanters worked in shifts, repairing gear and reinforcing armor with hastily prepared mana inscriptions. Messengers darted between command tents with sealed orders. The air smelled of oil, iron, and the faint sharpness of mana crystals being primed for deployment.

Hiro, now a captain under the War Council’s provisional command, had been given authority to select his strike team. Military regulations dictated groups of between six and ten members, chosen at the captain’s discretion. It was a decision Hiro didn’t take lightly—this was more than just picking the strongest fighters. The wrong team dynamic could get people killed.

Misha was an obvious inclusion. Despite her exhaustion after the duel, her mana control and versatility made her a linchpin asset in close-quarters skirmishes. Lisa, Misha, Sylvia, and Zion were obvious as they had been together for a long time

The final slot, however, was the one that drew the most whispers.

Vance.

When the orders came down placing him under Hiro’s command, the initial reaction from the group was... skeptical, to put it mildly. The events of the duel were still fresh in everyone’s minds, and Misha’s glance at Hiro had carried a silent question: Are you sure about this?

Hiro’s answer had been simple. ”He’s not here to be liked. He’s here to be useful.”

And surprisingly, Vance was useful.

Whether it was out of wounded pride or genuine ambition, Vance threw himself into preparations with a single-minded determination that caught more than a few people off guard. He organized weapon resupply routes for the strike unit, negotiated with quartermasters to ensure their group received top-grade mana potions, and even took the time to drill with the defensive specialist to tighten their formation breaks.

It wasn’t camaraderie, not yet—but it was competence.

The nights before deployment were restless. Around campfires and inside tents, soldiers spoke of the upcoming offensive in hushed tones. Rumors swirled about the scale of devil forces beyond the front lines, about strange structures rising out of corrupted soil, about the possibility that the next battle wouldn’t be another outpost reclamation but a prolonged siege.

For Hiro’s team, the looming operation was an unspoken test. They would be moving as a single unit into contested ground, without the luxury of fallback lines. The Authority’s strategy was aggressive: multiple squads striking at key locations simultaneously to fragment devil command. If any group faltered, the entire offensive could collapse.

On the last night before departure, Hiro gathered the squad in the dim light of the strategy tent. The map before them was covered in inked symbols, each one a planned maneuver or target.

”We’re not the largest team,” Hiro began, his gaze moving from face to face, ”but that’s by design. We’re fast, adaptable, and we can move where the heavier squads can’t. Our objective is to breach and hold the western pass until reinforcements arrive. No heroics, no glory chasing—our job is to hold. That’s it.”

Vance stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But when Hiro’s eyes met his, there was no challenge in them this time—only acknowledgment.

As the meeting broke, Misha lingered. She watched Vance checking over his gear, noting the subtle changes in his manner. The arrogance was still there, but it had been tempered, redirected into something sharper.

When she finally spoke, it wasn’t mockery. ”If you slow us down, I’ll leave you behind.”

Vance smirked faintly, not rising to the bait. ”You won’t have to.”

For the first time, Vance was walking not as an isolated prodigy of noble birth, but as one part of a war machine—one cog among many. The road ahead was long, the air heavy with the scent of storm-bound rain, but his gaze stayed forward.

He still had a goal. Recognition.

And this war was about to give him his chance.

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By nightfall, the camp finally slowed. Most soldiers lay in their tents, trying to steal a few hours of rest before the coming storm. A few scattered patrols moved lazily along the perimeter, their armor clinking in the quiet. The air was still—too still.

Then, it began.

The first sound was not the war horn, but a low hum—so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind. At the outskirts of the camp, faint glowing lines began to snake across the ground like veins of molten light. They converged on a central point—an unfinished stone platform the soldiers had all but ignored since securing the outpost. Everyone had assumed it was some incomplete devil structure left behind in their hasty retreat.

In truth, it was no ruin. It was a mark.

And tonight, the mark activated.

The faint hum grew into a deep, throbbing pulse as the air above the platform warped, folding in on itself. A jagged tear split open, widening with unnatural speed until it formed a gaping, vertical wound in the world itself. From its center came the first armored devil, stepping forward as though crossing a simple doorway. Then came another. And another.

By the time the second patrol stumbled upon the scene, the tear had already grown large enough for entire squads to emerge in formation.

The alarm came fast and loud.

BOOM.The war horn’s deep, resonant call rolled through the camp, shaking every tent pole and snapping every soldier awake. Almost immediately after, the warning bells clanged in a frantic rhythm, their sharp notes cutting through the night like steel. Shouts rose as boots hit the dirt, armor was thrown over half-dressed bodies, and weapons were snatched from racks.

Hiro was already on his feet before the second bell rang, barking orders to his squad. Misha’s sword was in her hand before her eyes were even fully open. Vance, still pulling on his gauntlet, grabbed his spear and fell into position without complaint.

From the north, the ground trembled with the steady march of devil forces pushing into the camp. Shadows stretched unnaturally under the moonlight as the portal widened further, its glow bathing the battlefield in an eerie crimson hue. The stench of sulfur and burnt earth swept through the air.

Somewhere near the center of camp, a commander’s voice roared over the chaos—calling for defensive formations, ordering archers to take position on the barricades, and demanding immediate reinforcements to the portal site.

The last night before the war had ended before it could even begin. The war had come to them.