The battlefield had long since descended into something far worse than chaos.

What had begun as an organized defense had shattered into fragmented pockets of survival, each group of soldiers and mercenaries fighting their own desperate battle against an enemy that did not tire, did not falter, and most dangerously… did not lose coordination.

The second wave of demons crashed into the already strained lines with terrifying precision, not like a mindless surge but like a calculated push designed to break what little structure remained.

Where shields had once formed an unbroken wall, there were now gaps—small at first, but growing wider with every passing second. Through those gaps, demons poured in like floodwater, tearing into isolated groups of defenders before they could reform.

The ground itself had become unrecognizable. What had once been dry plains was now a churned mixture of mud, blood, and shattered earth. Bodies—human and demon alike—littered the battlefield, trampled underfoot as the fighting pressed forward without pause.

The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the suffocating heat of magic being cast too frequently, too desperately.

"Hold the line!" the Commander roared again, though even he could hear the strain in his own voice now.

He stood at the center of what remained of the defensive front, his armor battered, his breathing heavier than before. Each movement of his blade was still precise, still deadly—but no longer effortless.

The demons in front of him fell one after another, yet it made no difference. For every one he killed, another took its place immediately, as if the army itself had no end.

This wasn't a battle of strength anymore.

It was a battle of endurance and the humans were losing.

Not because they lacked power—but because they lacked time and number.

To his left, one of the peak Platinum-ranked mercenaries fought like a man possessed. His blade moved in wide, sweeping arcs, each strike cleaving through multiple demons at once.

His control was exceptional, his movements efficient, wasting no energy—but even he was being pushed back step by step.

"Too many!" someone shouted nearby.

"They're not slowing down!"

"They're rotating their front lines—!"

That was the worst part. The demons weren't just charging. They were cycling.

Fresh units constantly replaced the ones at the front, allowing the pressure to remain constant while the defenders grew increasingly exhausted. It was a tactic no ordinary horde could execute.

Which meant one thing.

The Captains were in control.

At the center of the battlefield, the leading demon Captain stepped forward once more, its crimson eyes glowing faintly as it observed the gradual collapse of the human defense.

It had not yet gone all out.

It didn't need to.

The humans were already nearing their limits.

Its gaze shifted toward the Commander again, who raised his blade despite the blood dripping steadily from his side.

"…You're persistent," the Captain said calmly.

The Commander didn't respond immediately. He adjusted his stance, tightening his grip.

Then, he answered, "Someone has to be."

He moved first this time.

Their clash erupted again, far more violent than before.

Steel met claw with explosive force, shockwaves rippling outward as their attacks collided again and again. The Commander pushed harder now, drawing on everything he had left, forcing his body beyond its limits just to keep up.

For a brief moment, he matched it. The Captain's eyes flickered with mild interest.

Then it stepped in.

The Commander's guard broke.

SLASH.

A deep wound tore across his shoulder, forcing him back several meters. His footing slipped in the blood-soaked ground, and for a fraction of a second—just a fraction—his balance faltered.

That was all it took.

The Captain raised its claw to finish it but then the battlefield changed.

It wasn't immediate or explosive.

But something shifted.

A pressure.

Subtle… yet overwhelming.

The kind that didn't crush the body—but made the instincts scream.

The Captain paused.

Its claw stopped mid-motion.

Its eyes narrowed slightly.

"…What is this?"

The air itself seemed to tighten.

Even the demons nearby slowed, their movements faltering for the first time since the battle began.

Across the battlefield, soldiers and mercenaries felt it too.

A cold presence. Focused and dfferent.

Then a tear opened in the air. It was neither large nor dramatic.

Just a small, controlled distortion that split space itself near the center of the battlefield.

A portal.

Formed not by wild magic—but by precision.

A scroll.

One of the Dunters stood beside it, arm extended, the remnants of a burned-out scroll crumbling between their fingers. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Gate open," they said calmly.

And then... he stepped through.

Silence followed.

Not true silence—but the kind where everything else seemed distant, muted beneath the weight of a single presence.

The man who emerged was… ordinary at first glance.

No towering frame.

No exaggerated armor.

No overwhelming aura bursting wildly outward.

And yet, everything slowed down around him.

The demons felt it first with their instincts—sharper than any human's—reacted instantly.

Danger.

Not the kind they had been facing.

Something else.

Something… seemingly absolute.

The leading Captain's expression changed for the first time.

A faint frown.

"…So."

Its gaze locked onto the newcomer.

"A Diamond."

The Dunters shifted slightly behind him, their formation tightening, their movements aligning instantly around his presence.

They didn't speak because they didn't need to.

Their leader had arrived.

The man stepped forward once. Just one step.

But it was enough.

The pressure in the air stabilized—not heavier, not lighter—but controlled.

Like a blade resting against the throat of the battlefield.

The Commander, still kneeling from the earlier clash, looked up.

And for the first time since the battle began, he felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel.

Relief.

"…You took your time," he muttered hoarsely.

The Diamond-ranked Dunter didn't look at him.

His eyes remained fixed on the demon Captain.

"I came when it mattered."

His voice was calm.

Flat.

Certain.

The leading demon Captain studied him in silence.

Then slowly, it smiled.

Not mockery but recognition.

"Good," it said. Its claws flexed slightly. "I was beginning to lose interest."

The battlefield held its breath.

Humans.

Demons.

All of them felt it.

This was no longer a clash of armies.

This was something else entirely.

Two apex predators had stepped onto the same field.

And everything else… was just in the way.

The moment the Diamond-ranked Dunter stepped fully onto the battlefield, the balance had shifted.

It wasn't subtle.

It wasn't gradual.

It was immediate.

The leading demon Captain felt it most clearly. The pressure that had once belonged entirely to it—commanding, oppressive, absolute—was now being contested. Not diminished or overwhelmed… but matched.

And that alone was unacceptable.

Its crimson eyes sharpened as it studied the human before it, taking in every detail—not the appearance, but the stillness. The control. The complete absence of wasted motion or leaking aura.

This wasn't like the others.

This wasn't prey.

This was something that hunted.

"…You hide your strength well," the demon Captain said slowly.

The Dunter Captain didn't respond immediately. His gaze swept across the battlefield instead—taking in the broken formations, the wounded soldiers, the thinning lines, the overwhelming number of demons still pressing forward.

He calculated everything in an instant.

Then he moved.

No warning.

No buildup.

Just a single step forward and he vanished.

Vwoooosh...

The battlefield didn't even have time to react.

A sharp distortion split the air several dozen meters away where another demon Captain stood—the silent one that had been directing the flow of the army from within the chaos.

It turned but it was too late.

The Dunter Captain appeared directly in front of it.

One strike.

Clean.

Effortless.

His hand moved like a blade, cutting through reinforced demonic flesh as if it didn't exist.

CRACK!

A dull, final sound.

The demon Captain's body froze.

Its eyes widened—not in pain, but in realization.

Then its head separated cleanly from its body.

For a fraction of a second, the battlefield went still.

Then the corpse collapsed.

The pressure it had been exerting across the battlefield vanished instantly.

Gone. Erased.

No drawn-out fight.

No clash.

Just… elimination.

The shock rippled outward like a wave.

Demons faltered mid-charge.

Soldiers froze.

Even the remaining Captain's expression changed completely.

The Dunter Captain stood where the body fell, not even glancing down at it.

"…One less problem," he said calmly.

Behind him, the Dunters didn't react with surprise or excitement.

This was expected.

At the same time, across the battlefield, the final demon Captain—the one that had been observing from afar—stepped forward at last.

Its presence surged, no longer restrained.

The ground cracked beneath its feet as it descended into the battlefield, its aura expanding outward in a violent wave that forced nearby soldiers and demons alike to stagger.

This one was different.

Stronger.

Sharper.

Peak Grade Three.

Its gaze locked onto the Dunter Captain, fury burning within its crimson eyes.

"You—"

Its voice carried, heavy with killing intent.

"—will pay for that."

The Dunter Captain turned slowly to face it.

For the first time, there was a faint shift in his expression.

Neither fear nor hesitation.

Focus.

Behind him, one of the Dunters stepped forward slightly—the Vice Captain.

Their aura flared briefly, sharp and controlled, locking onto the battlefield instead of the approaching demon.

"I'll stabilize the field," the Vice Captain said.

A simple statement.

Absolute confidence.

The Dunter Captain gave a slight nod.

That was enough.

No further words were needed.

The battlefield roles had been decided instantly.

The strongest would fight the strongest.

The rest… would survive if they could.

The demon Captain stepped closer, its presence pressing down like a storm ready to break.

"Running already?" it sneered.

The Dunter Captain shook his head slightly.

"If we fight here," he said calmly, "your army dies faster."

A pause.

"And the city also suffers."

The demon's eyes narrowed.

It understood immediately.

The scale of their power…

If unleashed fully here, the battlefield wouldn't matter anymore.

The city behind it would not survive the aftermath.

For a moment, rage warred with reason.

Then the demon smiled.

A cold, sharp expression.

"…Fine."

Its claws flexed, space around them distorting faintly from the pressure.

"Let's see how long you last."

The Dunter Captain turned without another word.

Then stepped forward and vanished into the distance.

Not retreating.

The demon Captain followed instantly, its form blurring as it shot across the horizon, chasing after him without hesitation.

Within seconds, both were gone.

Far from the battlefield.

Far from the city.

Gone to decide everything.

Silence lingered for half a breath.

Then the war resumed.

Violently.

Without the oppressive presence of the demon Captains controlling every movement, the army lost some of its cohesion—but not enough to collapse. The demons were still overwhelming in number, still dangerous, still relentless.

But now, they were no longer perfectly controlled.

"Push them back!" a mercenary roared.

"They're disorganized!"

"Don't let them regroup!"

The Vice Captain of the Dunters stepped forward.

And this time, the humans felt it.

A second pillar of strength.

Not as overwhelming as the Diamond Rank.

But far beyond anything else on the field.

"Reform the lines," the Vice Captain ordered calmly.

"Follow our lead."

The Dunters moved as one. Precise, efficient, and deadly.

Where they stepped, demons fell.

Not in wild clashes—but in controlled executions.

Every strike placed perfectly.

Every movement calculated.

The battlefield began to stabilize. The stability was slow and painful.

But it was also noticeable.

The Commander forced himself back to his feet, gripping his sword tightly as he watched the shifting tide.

"…So this is what real hunters look like," he muttered.

Around him, soldiers regrouped.

Mercenaries pushed forward.

Hope—fragile, uncertain—began to return.

But it wasn't victory.

Not yet.

Everyone understood the truth.

This battle… was no longer being decided here.

Far away, beyond the reach of the city, beyond the plains, two figures had already begun their clash.

A Diamond-ranked hunter.

A peak Grade Three demon.

Whoever returned would decide everything.

If the demon came back, there would be nothing left to stop it.

If the Dunter Captain returned,the city would live.

Back on the battlefield, the fighting continued without pause.

Steel clashed and magic roared.

Demons screamed and humans answered.

And above it all, an invisible clock ticked forward.

Because now, it was only a matter of time.