Parallel Memory

Chapter 588: The marching begins

The march began at dawn.

From the high walls of the fortified arena, the human banners unfurled like flames against the smoky horizon. Thousands of soldiers stepped out in ordered ranks, armor clattering, spears glinting under the pallid sun. The ground trembled under the synchronized rhythm of boots. The sound wasn't just movement—it was defiance, the declaration of a people who refused to bow.

Hiro walked near the vanguard, his group positioned close to the SS-ranked veterans who anchored the center. His chest was tight, but his steps were steady. Around him, Misha adjusted her grip on her blade, her usual smirk faint but present. Amelia muttered her quiet prayers, the silver pendant around her neck catching the morning light, while Zion kept pace with his spell-focus already glowing faintly, the runes etched into it pulsing with readiness.

But the devils were waiting.

They appeared as shadows first, figures rising from the blackened plains like specters called by the earth itself. Horns glinted, wings spread, and their laughter carried across the barren field as more emerged—a line of crimson-eyed soldiers stretching across the horizon, a wall of hatred barring the path forward.

The order to halt echoed down the human ranks.

"Form lines!" a captain barked. Shields slammed together, spears lowered, as the first clash erupted.

The devils charged with unholy vigor, their cries shaking the air. The humans met them head-on. Steel tore against claw, spells lit the field in blinding bursts, and screams—human and devil alike—shattered the morning calm.

Hiro's group stayed tight. Misha deflected a devil's strike, twisting to slash his throat before spitting a curse. "So much for an easy walk to the palace."

Zion grunted as he unleashed a volley of flaming lances. "Did you really expect them to let us walk up and knock?"

"They're not slowing down!" Lisa shouted, raising her staff as a protective barrier rippled outward, catching a blast of infernal flame before it could incinerate a squad of soldiers.

Hours passed, the battlefield a shifting tide. With the War Council veterans pressing at the center—Mia's frost blanketing swaths of enemies, Seraphine's spear cutting like lightning, and Nock's divine light burning through waves of corrupted flesh—the humans pushed forward, step by bloody step.

But for every dozen devils they slew, more appeared. The palace itself seemed to vomit forth its defenders, and by the time the sun dipped low, the field was still crawling with their foes.

Mia stood at the forefront, chest heaving with restrained fury as her frost misted around her. Her voice cut through the chaos. "Pull back! All units return to the arena before nightfall!"

Hiro clenched his fists as the horns sounded retreat. The exhaustion in the ranks was palpable. If they pressed forward now, they would be surrounded under cover of night. Reluctantly, they fell back, the march reversing, their wounded carried on stretchers, their dead left behind in the darkening plain.

By the time they returned to the arena, the soldiers were grim, their cheers muted. Fires burned in the courtyard, where healers tended wounds and commanders tallied the losses.

Misha broke the silence between them first, throwing herself onto a crate and spitting into the dirt. "All that effort, and we're right back where we started."

Zion gave a bitter laugh. "Except with fewer bodies to fight tomorrow."

Sylvia's voice trembled, though she kept her chin up. "We held our ground. That matters. The arena is still ours."

Hiro looked at them all, then toward the War Council, who had gathered at the far end of the courtyard. He could see Mia's sharp profile as she spoke with the others, her aura cold and unyielding despite the weight of the day.

The following morning, they marched again. And again, the devils waited. The second day's battle mirrored the first—progress measured in blood, steps forward undone by endless waves. And again, as the sun dipped, the horns of retreat were sounded.

When they returned to the arena for the second time, frustration thickened the air like smoke. Soldiers whispered doubts, their morale straining under the futility of their efforts.

That night, the War Council convened.

Inside the command chamber, the tension was suffocating. Maps sprawled across the table, marked with positions and estimated losses. The veterans stood in silence for a long moment before Mia spoke, her voice cutting through the quiet like ice.

"We cannot keep dragging the entire army forward. They are slowing us, and the devils know it. Every march, we lose more, and gain nothing. At this rate, we'll be bled dry before we reach the palace gates."

Seraphine crossed her arms, eyes sharp. "Then we carve with fewer blades. Take only those who can keep pace with us."

Nock inclined his head slowly. "A smaller force, yes. Enough strength to match the devils, but not so large that we drown in our own ranks."

The others murmured agreement.

Mia's eyes narrowed. "We take the SS-rankers. And from the S-rankers, only those proven. Volunteers. Anyone else stays behind to fortify the arena."

It was then that the Pope, seated quietly until now, finally spoke. His voice was calm, but brooked no argument. "And I will stay here."

Mia's brows furrowed. "Your Holiness, with all respect, the arena cannot be your burden. You should be with us."

The Pope's smile was faint, almost weary. "I am old, Mia Frostine. My days of marching into battle are long past. But here, I can serve. The devils will not breach this place while I remain to safeguard it." His gaze swept across them all, heavy with quiet authority. "You need speed, not an old man slowing you down."

No one dared argue further. Even the veterans of the War Council bowed their heads.

The decision was made.

By the following dawn, the selection had been announced. Hiro's group stood among the chosen, along with a handful of other S-ranked squads who had volunteered without hesitation. Some were eager, some grim, but all understood what it meant: they would march not as one army, but as the spearhead aimed directly at the palace itself.

Misha cracked her knuckles, a dangerous grin tugging her lips. "Finally. Less marching in circles, more cutting throats."

Zion smirked faintly, though his eyes were shadowed. "You'll regret saying that when we're knee-deep in them."

Amelia simply tightened her grip on her staff, nodding once. "Whatever it takes. We can't keep retreating. We can't keep running."

Hiro looked at them, then at Mia as she passed down the line, her cold eyes steady. She met his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, her expression softened.

"This won't be like before," she said quietly, so only he and his friends could hear. "You'll be marching with us now. Keep your blades sharp, and don't fall behind. The devils won't spare you because you're young."

Hiro inclined his head. "We won't falter."

Mia studied him for a heartbeat longer, then turned back to the ranks, her voice rising above the courtyard. "This time, we march not as an army. We march as a blade. And blades cut deep."

The chosen force readied themselves under the crimson dawn, fewer in number but sharper in purpose. Tomorrow, the palace would feel their strike.