Even while keeping his eyes on the enemy, Val couldn't help but gnce around, searching for her; his mind uneasy without her.

  She'd been with him moments before. She was a pnner, not a fighter.

  And yet, Val had seen her intelligence, her brilliance. Even now, as the enemy army pressed forward, he could almost hear her voice in his head, guiding their every move.

  But where was she?

  The enemy's forces kept pushing, driving his soldiers back. Val's troops, though skilled, weren't ready for this onsught. The enemy had brought in reinforcements, led by their own master strategist—a man known for his harsh tactics.

  Val's soldiers were weakening. The battle was turning against them.

  And amidst the chaos, Lysara was nowhere to be found.

  He couldn't let himself be distracted. He had to focus. He couldn't afford to lose control.

  "A short time ago..."

  Lysara didn't look back.

  Valerius was still fighting, holding the enemy off with his immense strength. But she knew better than to rely only on brute force.

  "A kingdom isn't won by might—it's won by the heart."

  She ran through the underground passages of the ruined fortress, the distant sounds of war horns echoing through the stone walls.

  "They're attacking in waves. They think we'll break."

  They were wrong.

  She reached the war room—where the empire's human generals had gathered, worried. Maps covered the table, messengers hurried back and forth, and the smell of blood and smoke filled the air.

  Eyes turned to her.

  "Lysara!" A General, a seasoned veteran, looked relieved but also tense. "What's happening? Where is Lord Valerius?"

  She smmed her hands on the table, her expression fierce.

  "Fighting. Buying us time."

  A stunned silence followed.

  They all knew Valerius was incredibly strong—but for how long?

  And more importantly… what could they do?

  Lysara's voice cut through the uncertainty.

  "We are NOT losing today."

  The generals looked at her—some unsure, others desperate.

  She took a deep breath. Stay calm. Stay sharp.

  "The enemy thinks we're weak because we're human," she said, her voice steady and strong. "They think Valerius is the only real threat."

  She pointed at the map.

  "But what they don't realize is that one clever mind can change the battle."

  She quickly expined her pn, speaking fast and clearly:

  - The enemy was spread too thin, thinking brute force would win.

  - The fortress had secret tunnels—they could use them to outfnk and strike key areas.

  - The enemy's supply lines were weak—cut them off, and they would fall apart.

  "You." She pointed to a younger commander. "Take a group and attack their food supplies. Make it look like we’re stronger than we are. Confuse them."

  "You." She turned to another. "Set up false signal fires in the hills. Make them think we have reinforcements."

  "And you," she faced General, her expression serious. "Lead the main force. Don't fight directly. Make them chase us—pull them deeper into the battlefield where we control the nd."

  The generals exchanged gnces.

  It was risky.

  It was bold.

  But it was Lysara's pn—and they had seen her mind work wonders before.

  General breathed out, then nodded firmly. "Understood."

  The human army moved immediately.

  And Lysara, at the center of the chaos, felt something she hadn't felt in a long time—excitement.

  "Currently in the battle..."

  Meanwhile, at the back of the battlefield, Lysara stood at the command post, carefully watching the battle. She wasn't a fighter, but her mind was a weapon more dangerous than any sword.

  Her eyes flickered between gold and silver as she analyzed the changing battle, her gaze fixed on the enemy's movements. She gave orders to Valerius' generals, changing tactics as the battle went on.

  Though she had no sword, no shield, no armor, she was in her element.

  The battlefield was her domain...

  and she had never been more alive, her joy clear as she watched her strategies succeed.

  It was almost like a game to her—

  a thrilling, emotional game of minds. It was about outsmarting the enemy, using their weaknesses against them, and taking advantage of their overconfidence. Lysara smiled to herself, enjoying every successful move. She might have been frail, but in that moment, she was powerful. The rush of strategy, the excitement of outsmarting an enemy by the amusement and joy she felt, a world where emotions can dictate, was something she couldn't resist.

  But as the battle continued, something felt wrong.

  She looked up from her maps, her smile fading as she noticed the enemy's cavalry charging straight toward her position. The ground shook under the horses' hooves, and the air grew tense.

  The generals were too slow to react. They were being overrun. The enemy was targeting her.

  “Get her to safety!” one of the generals shouted.

  But Lysara wasn't leaving. She couldn't. She wouldn't abandon her position now.

  The enemy had realized who she was—the strategist behind Valerius' empire, the mind that had outwitted them. And they were here to stop her.

  As they approached, Lysara tried to tell her generals to hold the line, but it was too te. The enemy's general, a ruthless tactician known for his cold precision, led the charge. He was close. She could see the gleam of his bde as he raised it, aiming for her.

  Lysara froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat.

  She had no weapon, no way to fight back.

  The realization that this could be the end hit her like a wave.

  She was going to die there, alone and unarmed.

  Her chest tightened with panic as the sword came down, but before it could hit—

  A sudden, terrifying roar split the air.

  A burst of energy swept across the battlefield. Soldiers stopped. The ground shook as a new presence joined the fight—Valerius Dracul.

  He moved like a shadow, fast and relentless, his crimson armor shining in the smoky sky. His gaze was a cold, merciless fire as he moved through the enemy lines, killing soldiers with brutal efficiency. His enemies, the once-feared invaders, faltered as they realized the terrifying truth—

  they were facing the Devil himself.

  “Get away from her.” Valerius’ voice was low, commanding. It cut through the chaos like a bde.

  The enemy general, who had been so confident, froze, his eyes wide with fear. Val's soldiers, recognizing their leader's power, attacked with renewed determination.

  With one swift move, Val cut down the general's forces. No hesitation. No mercy.

  The enemy general tried to rally his troops, but Valerius moved too fast, too fiercely. In an instant, the general was on the ground, his dead body a stark contrast to the once-confident leader.

  “Do you know who you’re dealing with?” Val’s voice boomed across the battlefield, sending fear through the remaining invaders. “I am… Valerius Dracul, you might not remember my name after all of your death, but I assure that you will still remember me.. on your way down, to hell.”

  With his enemies fleeing in fear, Val turned to Lysara. She was on the ground, pale, weakened by the battle and the near-death experience. Her eyes flickered between blue and silver, but there was no time for gentleness, no time for emotion. She was alive. That's all that mattered.

  Val knelt beside her, his expression unreadable as he carefully lifted her into his arms. His movements were cold, efficient, his usual detached manner never changing, but there was a slight, almost unnoticeable softness in his touch.

  “Are you hurt?” His voice was steady, unyielding. But there was something in it—a concern he would never admit.

  Lysara looked up at him, her breath shallow, but a small, tired smile formed on her lips. “You came…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if it were a dream.

  Val’s eyes softened, though only for a moment. “Of course I did. Don’t think you can escape me so easily.”

  As the sounds of battle faded around them, Val’s generals began to regroup, rallying his forces and restoring order to the chaos. But for a brief moment, the world was still.

  And Val held Lysara close, his heart still racing from the battle, from knowing he had saved her—whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  But a howl came from nowhere, a sound that would change the tide.

  The moon hung high, casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. What had started as a fight against men had become a monstrous nightmare. The ground trembled under Valerius Dracul’s boots as the beasts came into view—wolves, no, lycans—their fur gleaming in the moonlight, their eyes glowing with unnatural hunger.

  Val’s crimson gaze flickered toward the horizon. The numbers were overwhelming. What had once been a hopeful, though grim, fight had become a desperate struggle for survival.

  The lycans had arrived in full force. Thousands of them.