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His eyes locked onto the recruits one by one, sealing the raw understanding between them.

”I don’t care what your private reasons are for wanting to join this war, but you keep that fire hot in your chests.

”I hope it won’t come to this, but if it really does, do not trust a single Zharun warrior standing on that ridge today. When the clash begins, the dust gets thick, and the blood starts flowing, you keep your eyes even sharper and your guard up.

Not just against the enemy... against the Zharun too.”

He paused, letting the words sink in deep.

”And if a Zharun turns his spear blade even a single inch toward your back, you don’t wait for an elder’s permission, and you don’t think about the sacred pact. You drive your point straight through his throat first.

Of course, if the difference in strength is too much, just run. There is no shame in running away from a strong enemy.”

Sol’s voice grew even lower, almost a growl.

”There isn’t much difference in strength between Layer 1 and Layer 2. And you all are at least Layer 1. With the right timing and use of your brain, you can defeat them too. Be prepared to fight everyone out here on these flats today if the wind changes. Understood?”

”Yes, Lord Sol!” the three hundred recruits answered back in a single, fierce roar. It wasn’t the panicked shout of terrified children anymore; it was the sharp, unified growl of young predators ready to bite the hand that held their chain.

Their voices carried a heavy, unyielding resolve that seemed to shake the dry limestone gravel beneath their boots, echoing endlessly in the clearing.

The sound was raw. Primal. Full of the pain, shame, and determination that had been building inside them since Lumi was taken. They weren’t just following orders anymore. They were making a vow.

Sol let out a short nod, completely satisfied with the weight of their answer, and started waiting patiently for the Coalition forces.

The young recruits sat in tense silence, their spears resting across their knees, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The barren wasteland around them was deathly still, the sun beating down mercilessly on the cracked clay.

The only sounds were the occasional shift of gravel under someone’s boot and the faint whisper of dry wind. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours.

And he didn’t have to wait for long.

Sol suddenly raised his brow.

He stood up slowly from the flat boulder, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the northern flats.

He didn’t see anything through the thick heat distortion yet... the air shimmered like water, turning the distant horizon into a hazy, blurry line.

But deep beneath his ribs, his molten Golden Silver pool gave a sudden, heavy thrum.

The loose pebbles around his boots started to dance.

The bedrock beneath the gravel was vibrating with a heavy, rhythmic thumping of thousands of footsteps. It was distant but unmistakable...the synchronized march of a massive army moving with purpose.

The vibration grew stronger with every passing second, traveling through the ground like the heartbeat of a waking giant.

Soon, the recruits felt it too.

Their heads snapped up, eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. Some gripped their spears tighter, knuckles turning white. Others stood up halfway, scanning the horizon desperately.

”Is... is that them?” one boy whispered, voice trembling.

”They’re coming...” another muttered, his face pale. ”They’re really coming...”

The tension in the air became almost unbearable. The young warriors shifted restlessly, their earlier resolve now mixed with raw, primal fear.

They had trained for this moment, but the reality of facing thousands of enemies was starting to sink in. Their hearts pounded in their chests like war drums.

Because no matter what they were still kids. Kids that should be happily going to school without a worry in the world in his past life, but here they were fighting for their survival, survival of their families and even the whole tribe.

Sol remained completely calm.

He stood motionless, his black Rockhorn armor gleaming under the harsh sun, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the Dreadwing Blade.

His expression was cold and calculating, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon as the vibration grew stronger. The Golden Silver energy inside him continued to hum steadily, feeding him constant information about the incoming army’s size, speed, and composition.

He could feel them now.

Thousands of warriors. Layer 2 and Layer 3 elites mixed among the fodder. The heavy presence of several high layers.

The Coalition was coming in force... exactly as expected.

A faint, cold smirk tugged at the corner of Sol’s mouth.

Good.

The trap was ready.

The recruits looked up at him, drawing strength from his unshakable calm. If Lord Sol wasn’t worried, then they wouldn’t be either. They gripped their weapons tighter, their fear slowly burning away into determination.

The ground continued to tremble.

The distant dust cloud on the northern horizon grew thicker, darker, and closer.

The final battle was about to begin.

...

The distant rumble grew into a thunderous roar.

The ground beneath their feet shook violently as the massive Coalition army finally broke the horizon... thousands of Zerith and Gray Marauder warriors marching in a dark, endless tide across the wasteland.

Their war cries echoed across the plains. The sheer scale of the force was terrifying, a living wave of death coming straight for them.

Sol stood up slowly.

It was like a scene from a legend.

Time itself seemed to slow down around him. The wind stilled. The dust in the air hung suspended like glittering particles in golden sunlight.

His black Rockhorn armor gleamed under the harsh sun, every scratch and bloodstain telling the story of countless battles.

His silver-crimson eyes burned with an overwhelming, godlike presence as he looked toward the approaching horde.

A heavy, suffocating aura rolled off him.

The young recruits felt it in their bones. The air around him seemed to warp, as if reality itself bent to acknowledge the monster standing before them.