The outliers.
No one knew exactly why they hated humans. Some said it was for food, others for the thrill of the hunt, and some believed it was fear—fear of what humanity could become. But judging by the expressions on the faces of the outliers storming the battlefield, it looked like they simply enjoyed the violence.
Especially the Nomands and Barbarians.
The Nomands were humanoid in shape, but that's where the resemblance ended. Their skin was a deep shade of blue, and they had four arms instead of two. Their strength scaled with their height, and even the shortest among them towered over a grown man.
But what were they known for? Their lust.
In that regard, they preferred other races to their own. However, in the absence of other species, they turned on themselves. Their urges were so depraved, it wasn't rare for them to assault their own kind—siblings, elderly, males—it didn't matter. If caught on the battlefield by a Nomand, it wasn't uncommon to become a victim of rape. Their having four arms made matters worse.
Then came the Barbarians.
Also humanoid in stature, but once again, that's where the similarity stopped. Their skin was crimson, bodies covered in tribal tattoos that glowed faintly with energy. Their strength wasn't based on muscle but on markings. Each tattoo represented a conquest, a ritual, a kill. The more they had, the stronger they were.
And what were they known for? Their love for battle.
The Barbarians could have easily breached the front long ago, but they never did. They didn't want conquest. They wanted war. They sent small waves just to release stress. They even waited between assaults, giving the humans time to rebuild and regroup, just to fight again.
But this...this was different.
The two tribes, known to despise each other, were now fighting together. Attacking with overwhelming numbers and coordinated fury.
But in their confidence, they forgot one thing.
RAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR—
With the roar of dragons, massive shadows swept over the vanguard. The sky rained fire. Crimson dragon flames scorched the battlefield, consuming Nomands and Barbarians alike.
They forgot that the "prey" could also call for help.
But the Vanguard didn't stop. They never stopped. Mounted for momentum, they pierced through the fire and blood, never lingering.
The strategy was brutal, yet effective. They moved continuously. If one missed… the next wouldn't.
Baines rode at the edge of the left flank—his battalion at his back. His lance gleamed as he pierced through outliers beneath the fourth star. With their momentum and on this warhorse, he could probably one-time an outlier of similar ranks.
With no unique threat yet, he chose to observe.
In the end, the barbarians piqued his interest, specifically the markings on their body.
'How are those tattoos formed?' he asked silently.
[SCANNING...]
[MARKINGS SEEM TO BE FORMED FROM THE BLOOD OF CREATURE]
'Blood of creatures?'
[A RITUAL WHERE THE TALENT OF DEAD CREATURES IS FORCED INTO THE BODY.]
'Doesn't that limit them?' Baines noted. It was common sense, if you forced the talent of one on another, there were bound to be limits.
And Eye confirmed it,
[CORRECT. THEY CANNOT SURPASS THE TALENT OF THE DEAD BEING.]
'I can imagine the strongest ones must've used an ancient beast of some sort.' He glanced forward.
'There are so many of them…' Even with the Vanguard's devastating formation and dragon fire support, the sea of enemies kept coming.
Inevitably, the weaker soldiers in the vanguard began to fall. Unfortunately, most were among the recruits.
"ᏩᎨÖᎹ ØËÐðÿÔ ÑĀăċᏩ"
"ĦņĹŐIJĤŒœ ŹƐƜƜƜĀƛƙ"
"ƗƕƔƓƁƁ ƁƂƋDŽ"
"ǯDzȜȠ ȣȢɀȾ ȶȴȲɃ"
"ɆɎɏɐ ɞɜɛəəɮɸʉ"
"ʅɣʩΝΨ"
Their language was a discordant, alien mess. Harsh, inhuman, filled with no familiar roots. Even between Nomands and Barbarians, there was no common word, raising the difficulty of communicating with them.
However,
'Eye... translate.'
[SCANNING…]
[TRANSLATING…]
Leaving it to process the language, Baines stared at the swarm before him, his lance dripping with blackened blood, which later burned from the flames surrounding his body.
'This number is overwhelming, even with a 7th star, I don't think we can clear it.' Everywhere his sight looked, he could only find outliers. And their numbers were going to overwhelm them one way or the other.
With no choice, he looked around to find variables.
'Soldiers, fire,' He looked around him, then looked up, 'Dragon... fire.' An idea then lit in him.
Like that, ten minutes passed.
And,
[TRANSLATION OF NOMAND LANGUAGE COMPLETE.]
'Transfer it.'
He winced as a sharp jolt passed through his brain as the dialect embedded itself. Like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
[SCANNING… TRANSLATING BARBARIAN DIALECT…]
This time, it took longer. Around him, the battlefield got bloodier.
"Arghh!"
"No—NOOOOO!"
Nomands tackled soldiers from their mounts, pinning them down with four arms and violating them amidst the screams. Male. Female. It didn't matter.
The Barbarians…They weren't raping, they were stacking. Competing to form the highest hill of corpses.
Hundreds were dying every few minutes. And yet, the outliers were also falling in droves.
Thirty minutes passed.
[TRANSLATION OF BARBARIAN LANGUAGE COMPLETE.]
'Transfer it.'
He braced this time, his eyes twitched as the second dialect settled into his mind.
After a few seconds,
"Phew..." He exhaled and took in his surroundings.
Now, he could hear their words.
"Die."
"Let's see who can stack higher."
"I'll violate their corpses too."
"Rip their spines out."
'So, this is their language.' Baines felt that if he wanted to speak that way, he would have to twist his mouth and grind his teeth.
Their speech… it wasn't just ugly; it was malicious at its core.
Still, something didn't add up.
The Nomands and Barbarians had never fought together. So why now?
'Eye, filter the conversations of fifth stars.'
"These ones are weak."
"They can't even last one thrust."
"..."
He scowled. Their conversations were no different from the rest.
'Filter sixth stars.'
"Is this all of them?"
"I think so."
That caught his attention.
"With me," he ordered, turning his battalion forward.
The arrowhead formation had already splintered under the chaos, so taking a few steps forward wasn't wrong, right?
"Hyaaaaah!" they shouted, driving deeper into the battlefield with him.
Explosions fell from the sky. Flames melted snow. Blood painted steel. As they got to the center, the battle got more intense, and Baines found himself blocking and attacking with more power.
Then, he saw them.
"Stop!" he ordered his subordinates to help clear the outliers around, as he watched it.
Commander Wastin Ploot, locked in combat against two towering seventh-star enemies: a Nomand and a Barbarian.
Their shockwaves caved the earth and split the sky.
And just beyond them, the three Legion Commanders were fighting five sixth-star outliers, two Barbarians and three Nomands.
Baines narrowed his eyes. His sight could barely keep up. He only knew the grand commander was fighting because his battlefield was the loudest and largest, followed by the legion commanders.
'Eye, slow it down for me.'
A screen appeared before him in real time, playing the battle in slow motion. And after watching for about five minutes, he concluded,
Ploot was holding strong against his opponents. But the Legion Commanders… they were struggling.
And then—
"These guys are weak," a Barbarian scoffed, dodging a fiery strike and kicking a commander in the chest.
"That's why they'll fall today," a Nomand grinned, dragging a female commander by her hair.
Another Barbarian frowned. "Hey, we don't want that either."
Baines' ears perked. 'What do they mean?'
"They should be attacking now, right?" one Nomand asked, glancing to the horizon.
Baines turned his head sharply, following the direction of the Nomand.
'The mountains… but the Sunblade and Radiant Legions aren't stationed there…'
His breath caught.
They're planning an ambush. From the mountains.