Lord of the realm

Chapter 203: The Fight Without Jaenor

Morgana wore her combat robes, reinforced with origin energy to provide protection while maintaining flexibility. Her focus crystal hung at her hip, pulsing with stored power. She’d specialized in versatile magic, able to adapt to various situations rather than focusing on single devastating techniques.

Rena had practical leather armor and her short sword, but she’d also acquired a crossbow and quiver of bolts. She wasn’t a powerful fighter, but she was accurate and smart—she’d support from range and use tactics rather than brute force.

She didn’t want to rely solely on the Origin energy.

Baren was the most dramatically changed. He’d removed his shirt, revealing skin that showed subtle iridescence, scales just beneath the surface, not fully manifested but present. His eyes had shifted slightly, pupils becoming more reptilian. The half-dragon heritage was emerging as he prepared for serious combat.

"I can transform later," he said quietly, noting their stares.

"How long can you maintain it?" Morgana asked practically.

"Hours, if needed."

Taeryn wore light armor designed for mobility and carried his spear and several backup weapons. He’d been trained by a school of knights, and it showed in how he carried himself, loose and ready, able to react instantly to threats.

Darian’s black armor was functional rather than decorative, marked with scratches and dents that spoke of extensive use. His sword was plain but perfectly maintained, the blade showing the telltale shimmer of having been treated with aura to increase durability.

Raelana had opted for minimal armor, trusting her origin energy shields over physical protection. She specialized in barriers and force manipulation, defense that could also be turned offensive when necessary.

The militia captain, a man named Corvin, approached as they finished preparations.

"My scouts report the demon force is approximately four miles north, in the forest near the old mining camp. They’re fortifying their position there, probably planning to use it as a staging point for attacks on our defensive lines."

"How many?" Baren asked.

"Best estimate is two hundred demons. Mix of lesser demons and Black Orcs. No sign of major leadership, but they’re organized and well-armed."

"Sounds manageable," Taeryn said with more confidence than he probably felt.

"The Brotherhood is planning their own assault," Corvin continued.

"General Katujit wants to hit them tomorrow at dawn with his full force."

"We’re going now," Morgana said.

"Before they can fully entrench. Tell Katujit he can join us if he wants, but we’re not waiting for him to finish his elaborate battle plans."

Corvin looked uncertain but nodded.

"I’ll pass along the message. Good hunting."

They departed through the northern gate, moving quickly through snow-covered paths into the deeper forest. The eternal winter made tracking easy—demon forces didn’t bother hiding their passage, leaving clear trails through the snow.

After perhaps an hour of fast travel, Baren suddenly stopped.

"I smell them. Sulfur, rot, the distinct stench demons carry. They’re close, maybe half a mile ahead."

"Then we scout before engaging," Morgana decided.

"Raelana, can you maintain concealment on all of us?"

"For a while," the witch confirmed.

"But it’ll drain me significantly. Once we engage, I’ll be weaker than optimal."

"Acceptable. Do it."

Raelana’s hands wove patterns, and origin energy flowed outward, creating a field that bent light around them. Not invisibility, which was nearly impossible to maintain on moving targets, but significant concealment. Anyone looking directly at them would see blurred shapes, easily dismissed as shadows or snow distortion.

They advanced more cautiously now, and soon the old mining camp came into view.

It had been abandoned for decades, the vein of iron ore it had been built to extract long since depleted. But the structures remained: several wooden buildings in various states of decay, ore carts and mining equipment rusted but still present, and paths cleared between buildings that had once bustled with activity.

And now it was full of demons.

They’d taken over the camp efficiently, establishing defensive positions and organizing supplies. Black Orcs directed lesser demons in fortification work—sharpening stakes for palisades, preparing fire pits, and creating kill zones that would make attacking their position costly.

From their concealed position on a ridge overlooking the camp, Morgana counted numbers.

"One hundred eighty-seven visible," she whispered.

"Assume twenty more in buildings or on patrol. Call it two hundred even."

"Thirty-three to one odds," Taeryn noted.

"I’ve faced worse."

"Liar," Rena said without heat.

"Okay, I haven’t faced worse. But we’re not facing them head-on anyway."

"No, we’re not," Morgana agreed, a plan forming.

"Baren, in dragon form, can you create a distraction? Draw their forces out into the open where they’re vulnerable?"

The half-dragon considered this.

"I can. Dragon form is... impressive. Terrifying to those who’ve never seen it. They’ll focus on me as the primary threat."

"Which is when the rest of us hit them," Darian said, understanding the strategy.

"They cluster to fight the dragon; we attack from multiple angles and create chaos."

"Exactly," Morgana confirmed.

"Raelana and I provide support, barriers to protect Baren, and offensive techniques to thin their numbers. Taeryn, Rena, and Darian, you’re our mobile strike force. Hit fast, hit hard, don’t get pinned down."

"What about their organization?" Rena asked.

"Black Orcs are smart. They won’t just panic and cluster. They’ll try to maintain formation and coordinate responses."

"Then we target their leadership first," Morgana said.

"Kill the Black Orc commanders, scatter their lesser demons, and mop up what remains."

It was a solid plan.

Risky, requiring precise execution, but solid.

"Everyone clear on their roles?" Morgana asked.

Nods all around.

"Then let’s show these demons what happens when they threaten our home."

*

Baren walked down from the ridge alone, moving with purpose toward the demon camp. He’d removed all his armor and all his weapons, nothing that would restrict his transformation.

The demons spotted him quickly.

Shouts rang out, and warriors scrambled to defensive positions. A lone human approaching their fortified camp was either suicidal or bait for a trap.

They suspected a trap, which was smart.

But they didn’t suspect what actually came.

Baren stopped perhaps a hundred feet from the camp’s perimeter. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and released the control he’d maintained for months.

The transformation was violent.

His body convulsed, bones cracking and reforming, muscles tearing and regrowing. His skin split as scales emerged—not the subtle iridescence from before, but true draconic scales in deep crimson and orange. His size increased exponentially, from a six-foot human to a massive monstrosity.

Wings erupted from his back, massive membranes supported by bone structures that shouldn’t fit inside a human frame. His face elongated into a reptilian muzzle filled with fangs, and his eyes became fully draconic, vertical slits in fields of molten gold.

Horns grew from his skull, curved and wicked. His hands and feet became claws capable of rending steel. A tail thick as a tree trunk lashed behind him.

And through it all, he roared, a sound that combined rage and challenge and primal fury that made the very air vibrate.

The demons froze in shock. It had all happened in fractions of seconds, so they had no time to react.

Dragons were rare, legendary creatures of immense power. Seeing one appear without warning, seeing a human transform into one, it shattered their expectations and created a moment of paralysis.

Baren used that moment.

He launched himself forward with speed that defied his size, covering the hundred feet in seconds. His claws caught the nearest demon, a Black Orc trying to organize a response, and tore it literally in half. Blood sprayed in arterial jets, and the body fell in separate pieces.

The paralysis broke.

Demons swarmed toward him, dozens converging from all directions. Lesser demons attacked with mindless fury, throwing themselves at his scaled hide with claws and crude weapons. Black Orcs tried to coordinate, forming units that could attack from multiple angles simultaneously.

Baren met them with draconic fury.

His tail swept in wide arcs, crushing demons like insects. His claws opened bodies with casual swipes. His jaws closed on a Black Orc’s torso, and with a violent shake of his head, he separated the creature’s upper and lower halves.

And when demons tried to surround him, tried to bring him down through sheer numbers, he launched into the air.

His wings beat once, twice, lifting his massive form skyward.

Then he dove, building momentum, and crashed back into their ranks with devastating force. The impact created a shockwave that knocked demons off their feet in a twenty-foot radius.

"Now!" Morgana’s voice carried from the ridge.

The rest of them attacked.

Morgana unleashed a barrage of origin energy projectiles, each one precisely aimed, each one finding a target. Demons screamed as the origin force tore through armor and flesh. She didn’t aim for killing blows; she aimed to maim, to disable, to create targets of opportunity for the physical fighters.

Raelana’s barriers appeared throughout the battlefield, not protecting anyone, but creating obstacles. Walls of force that channeled demon movement, funneled them into kill zones, and separated units from each other. The organized demon response began breaking down as their formations were disrupted.