They called it a "Holy Alliance".
Five banners, one goal: my head.
Each kingdom wrapped its greed in gold and called it justice. Each crown that plotted my death once sat in councils that praised me.
I helped them win wars. Now they wage one against me.
The irony would be amusing, if it didn't sting so much.
"They're setting camp near the river fork", said General Kael, standing beside me on the ridge.
Kael was once a human warlord. He died choking on his own blood. Now, thanks to Lady Sahria, he serves me, undead and unflinching.
He still remembered how betrayal tasted. That made him loyal.
"How many?" I asked.
"Ten thousand, maybe more. They march in shifts. Knights from Solgrace, spellcasters from Eriden, mercenaries from Westvael. A proper feast of fools."
I smirked.
"And they really think five armies can crush the demon realm?"
Kael's bone jaw twitched, something like a grin.
"No. They think five armies can kill you."
The Binding Chains inside me pulsed at those words. A reminder.
If I die, the pact ends. The demons lose their strategist.
But if I betray the pact… I die screaming.
No easy outs.
I stared down at the flickering lights of the human camp below.
Once, I would have walked among those tents. Advised those kings. Trained their soldiers.
Now, I only saw weaknesses.
Their formation was overconfident. Their supply line stretched thin.
They expected us to react like brutes.
But I wasn't going to react.
I was going to set the board myself.
Back in my war tent, the core council gathered. Demons, wraiths, revenants, and two humans who had been exiled like me.
"We strike tonight", I said, unfold the battle map.
Gasps, low murmurs.
"But Lady Ayaka, their numbers---"
I raised a hand.
"I said strike, not storm. We target their rations. Their water stores. Their horses. Not their soldiers."
The demons looked confused. They preferred blood over patience.
But one voice spoke in approval.
Lady Sahria, shrouded in mist, leaned forward.
"Rot the root before the fruit, yes?"
I nodded.
"Exactly. If they march without food, they'll starve. If they panic, they'll scatter. And then...", I tapped the heart of their camp. "Then we crush what's left."
Night fell like a curtain.
I led the shadow team myself.
Three revenants. Two spellcasters. One war-beast.
And me, armed with nothing but silence and spite.
We moved like ghosts.
The camp was lazy. Overconfident.
Their guards shared ale and stories by the fire, unaware their death walked beside them.
I reached the water barrels first. A simple vial of Sahria's essence was enough.
It hissed as I poured it in, turning clean water to a memory of plague.
The food stores were next. Kael's revenants made quick work, spilling salt, fouling meat, cracking jars of honey into mud.
"They'll wake starving and sick", whispered one of them.
"Good", I replied. "They deserve worse."
We returned before dawn. No casualties.
By mid-morning, the humans were in disarray.
Messengers scrambled. Horses foamed at the mouth. Soldiers argued over who to blame.
From the ridge, I watched it all through a spyglass.
One tent caught my eye.
A red banner. Sunburst crest.
Solgrace.
The kingdom that gave me my first uniform. The kingdom that stabbed me first.
"Zoom in", I told Kael.
He adjusted the scope.
Inside, I saw him.
Commander Elric.
He once trained me in strategy. Called me a "brilliant mind wasted on a peasant".
Now he paced like a rat in a trap.
I almost felt pity.
Almost.
Later that night, I sat alone by my fire.
The demon camp buzzed with excitement. They were blood-hungry, eager for slaughter.
But I was still… still.
Because part of me remembered.
What it was like to believe in the kingdoms. To believe that effort mattered. That strategy, loyalty, intellect could overcome birth.
I'd believed that once. Foolishly.
Now, all I believed in was consequences.
"You seem troubled", came a voice.
Valekhar. The Demon King himself. He rarely visited tents.
I stood quickly. He waved the formality away.
"May I sit?"
I nodded.
He sat across from me, his black armor gleaming with embers.
"You did well", he said. "Even without bloodshed."
"I prefer winning to killing."
He studied me.
"Is that still true?"
I hesitated.
"Yes", I said finally. "But sometimes… the two go hand in hand."
He nodded, satisfied.
Then he said something unexpected.
"You don't serve me."
My body tensed. The chains inside me whispered otherwise.
"You think I don't?"
"You serve your vengeance. I merely gave it shape."
I didn't answer.
Because he was right.
He stood to leave.
But paused.
"Your past is your weapon. Sharpen it. One day, you'll need it."
And then he was gone.
I stared into the flames, the smoke rising in long, coiling strands.
The past was no longer just memory. It was the sword I forged, link by link.
Tomorrow, the humans would bleed.
And I would not stop until every banner that betrayed me, burned.