"Berserkers!"
"Deploy the Berserkers!"
As the charging cavalry of the Nascent Duchy drew ever closer, the soldiers defending the walls cried out in panic. The order was swiftly issued: unleash the Berserkers to counter the enemy assault.
With primal roars that echoed across the battlefield, the Berserkers let their battle-lust surge. Their bodies swelled like giants, muscles expanding to inhuman proportions. And then, they launched themselves toward the cavalry attempting to storm the battlements, initiating a fierce and brutal counterattack.
But it didn't last.
Their resistance was intense—but brief.
When Augustus, mounted atop his warhorse, ascended to the top of the fortress walls at the head of the assault, a strange and overwhelming pulse erupted from him like a thunderclap.
BOOM!
Centered on his body, an invisible shockwave swept outward in all directions.
Splurt!
Every defender of the Macedonian Kingdom stationed on the walls was thrown back violently, vomiting blood midair. It was as if they had been struck in the chest by a hammer from the heavens.
Meanwhile, the cavalry of the Nascent Duchy surged forward with renewed fervor. The pulse from Augustus had ignited something within them—every soldier's eyes turned bloodshot, their breaths flaring, their aura boiling with savage strength.
Even those who had already suffered broken bones and torn flesh refused to fall back. Driven by that invisible force, they roared forward once more, throwing themselves at the enemy like a frenzied tide of iron and death.
A grinding war machine. A steel wave of slaughter.
"S-rank class—Warlord! That's the Grand General of the Nascent Duchy!"
A commander among the defenders finally recognized the figure blazing like a beacon amid the chaos—tall, imposing, unmistakable even in the night.
Panic gave way to pure terror.
That man… was a king-tier awakener.
An S-ranked Warlord was more than a general—they were an army unto themselves.
With the strength to devastate entire forces, and with an actual army supporting him, the Warlord became an unstoppable force of warfare. The coordination, the momentum, the synergy—it was overwhelming.
And under Augustus's command, the tide turned completely.
The ten thousand-strong cavalry swept forward like a scythe through wheat, and Evaheim fell like a crumbling dam before a flood.
The fortress was captured—swiftly, brutally, decisively.
And once the gates had fallen, the slaughter began.
Chaos descended upon Evaheim like a plague.
Screams filled the night—women's shrill cries, children's wails, the thunder of hooves trampling the earth.
Sounds of terror. Sounds of madness. Sounds of Hell itself.
Evaheim had become a living nightmare.
The cavalry knew their mission—and carried it out with methodical cruelty.
They seized every scrap of food.
They took every woman they could find.
They left no man alive.
Some corpses were discarded like refuse; others were butchered, salted, and packed. Meat was meat.
What should have been a night of joy and celebration—a new year's festival—had become a mass funeral.
But Augustus and his army were far from done.
They didn't stop.
They moved forward.
Riding on the momentum of Evaheim's rapid collapse, the cavalry advanced into the heartland. Most nearby towns had only just received news of the attack—and before they could respond, the black tide was already at their gates.
Cities weaker than Evaheim—cities with no defenses, no preparation—stood no chance.
One by one, they fell.
Like dominoes before the tempest.
This was lightning warfare at its most devastating. Blitzkrieg at its most brutal.
And in a single night, region after region was swallowed up.
Eventually, even the unstoppable cavalry began to slow. The warhorses breathed heavily, and the soldiers, too, showed signs of exhaustion. At dawn, Augustus ordered temporary camps and brief rest across the newly conquered territories.
Still, morale was sky-high.
"The defenses of all the nearby cities are virtually empty! This is the perfect moment to carve our names into history!"
"Once the year's celebrations end, every last border town of the Macedonian Kingdom will belong to us!"
Reports of victory came in from all corners. Augustus unfurled the campaign map and looked upon it with satisfaction.
Most of the outposts had already raised the Nascent Duchy's flag.
If things continued at this pace…
The entire Macedonian Kingdom would soon be theirs.
With this fertile land, the Duchy would no longer suffer during harsh winters.
Their people would never again go hungry.
They would no longer merely survive.
They would rise.
Augustus could already see it—the bright future of the Duchy.
He saw an empire.
A kingdom of kingdoms.
A realm that would dominate the continent.
Midnight.
As the clock struck twelve and the world shifted into a new year, a man named John opened his eyes in the darkness of his room.
For most, the day marked celebration.
For him, it marked something else entirely.
A glowing prompt suddenly appeared in his vision—the dormant system that had ignored him all year finally blinked awake.
"Congratulations, Host!
You've successfully completed a full year of doing absolutely nothing!
Achievement unlocked: 'Laze and Graze!'
Reward: Concept-level Skill — Sure Shot!"
"Sure Shot: You didn't hit any of your goals this year… but in the real world, you are a Sure Shot sharpshooter! Within 200 meters, anything you throw will strike its intended target with absolute accuracy. (Note: purely symbolic. Cannot deal real damage.)"
John read the message with a blank expression.
Totally expected.
This system had never been serious. Its skills were always flashy on the surface—and useless underneath.
Sure Shot sounded incredible at first—something a sniper god might use.
Two hundred meters of guaranteed precision?
But then came the kicker.
"No actual damage."
It was like throwing a dagger that always hit—but bounced off like foam.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
Hurl rotten eggs from long range? Toss garbage into mailboxes?
Maybe even weaponize poop for long-distance humiliation?
The thought made him cringe.
Then again… maybe not completely useless.
"Wait…"
A thought sparked in John's mind.
He sat up sharply, his eyes widening as a sinister grin began to form.
Sure Shot… by itself, worthless.
But what if…
What if it was paired with something else?
He suddenly burst into motion.
Across the room, Celia—who'd been quietly lying on a nearby sofa—sat up in alarm. She caught a glimpse of John's gleaming, scheming eyes and immediately felt a chill.
Oh no.
He was planning something again.
Something evil.
Early the next morning.
Before dawn had fully broken, John was already out of his room and marching into the living room.
Inside a lavish golden cage sat a parrot—its feathers vibrant and majestic.
And as always, it was loud.
"Wake up, old man! Your daddy's hungry!"
"Wake up, old man! Your daddy's hungry!"
It repeated the phrase over and over in a shrill, annoying squawk.
But the moment it saw John, it switched gears.
"Grandson! Hurry up and bow to Grandpa! Bring me some health tonics while you're at it!"
John had been waiting for this.
This foul-mouthed parrot had it coming.
Without hesitation, he pulled out a special item from his inventory—Shuriken of Gender Flux—and hurled it with all his might.
The parrot flapped its wings in a panic, narrowly dodging the projectile.
"Heh! You missed, loser!"
But it was too soon to celebrate.
The shuriken curved around mid-air, performed a loop, and struck it clean in the back.
WHUMP.
Instantly, the bird's dazzling plumage began to shed.
Its body shrank.
Its color dulled—transforming into a dull gray.
Even its voice changed—no longer rough and scratchy, but light and… feminine.
"Hey! What the heck was that?!"
"What did you do to me?!"
The newly transformed gray parrot stared in disbelief at its wings, its tail, its now-silky tone of voice.
"Is this me?! No—it can't be me!"
It fluffed its feathers angrily, screeching in rage.
It didn't know what had just happened, but one thing was clear—
This was John's doing.
And John?
He was delighted.
It worked!
The parrot—once a loudmouthed male—was now, thanks to the Shuriken of Gender Flux, a fully transformed female parrot!
Not just in appearance, but biologically.
The change was real.
And John was just getting started.