Athena's General Reincarnated in Another World

Nathan Evenhart:

"My son!" King Bartholomew exclaimed as the Inquisitor stepped forward, his name still echoing in the minds of those around him—Leonhard Olarion.

"Is everyone safe?" Leonhard asked, his voice calm despite the chaos. He raised his hand and pointed toward the direction the undead were pouring in from. A colossal barrier of wind erupted across the battlefield, spanning the entire clearing—forceful, blinding, impenetrable. The undead hurled themselves into it, only to be launched backwards by violent bursts of air, their corpses scattering like dry leaves in a storm.

"What in the hell is happening here?!" demanded King Charles.

"A portal," Leonhard replied, and all eyes turned to him. "A massive one. It opened in the heart of the city. I flew over it—it's complete chaos down there. The undead are pouring out of every alley." He paused, grim. "And worse things are in the center. My horse wouldn't even go near it. I came here first to protect you—but there are other Inquisitors in the city. Scattered. Fighting."

My heart seized.

My mother!

She had gone into central Apsalon—with Queen Siofna.

"There are still royals out there!" shouted Grand Duke John. "Important figures. Entire bloodlines could be lost tonight!"

From the ground, I spotted winged cavalry sweeping through the sky—Sky Knights on winged horses, their spells raining destruction on the undead below. Strategic. Precise. Relentless. Further ahead, ground troops surged through the streets, knights on horseback clearing paths with lances and flame-coated blades.

"Finally," King Charles muttered. "Reinforcements."

A large winged horse descended near us, Asalon Manticora.

Duncan's face tightened with resolve. "I'm going to find my mother and sister. Alice might be with them."

I turned toward the winged horse, my mind racing. I had to get to the center. I needed to reach Chloe. Kinue. My mother. Everyone who was still out there. But would they let me fly with them?

"Father!" a voice called out.

I turned just as Princess Elara arrived on another winged horse. Behind her, Rose and Anastasia dismounted and rushed forward.

"Where's your cousin, boy?" Marquis Caelan demanded.

"She's at the mansion," I said, stepping forward. "I need to go there first. Then I'll head to the center. I'll try to seal the portal."

They all turned to me. Leonhard grinned.

"Perfect. I needed someone crazy enough to try. I'll give you a lift."

"Wait!" my aunt Margaery called out, stepping toward us. "I want to help too."

King Bartholomew raised his voice. "If your daughter's at your home, bring her back here. The more we have in one place, the better. The army is securing this zone."

"Tia... it's better if you stay," I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I promise I'll bring Chloe back."

Leonhard appeared beside me again. "We can reach her in under a minute," he said.

Princess Elara approached, flanked by Rose and Anastasia. "We'll fly together," Elara said, her voice sharp and commanding. "There are people out there who need help. We'll strike from above."

Some nobles stepped in, worried. "You can't just take off. We need a plan—"

"There is a plan," Leonhard interrupted. "You hold this position. I need allies in the city—people who can help me contain the chaos while I look for a way to seal the portal… or at least cage it with a barrier of wind." He mounted his winged horse. "That portal is enormous. Throwing bodies at it won't stop anything. We'll need precision, magic, and time."

The wind barrier he'd summoned began to dissolve, revealing the undead being torn apart by Sky Knights in coordinated strikes. Arrows and spells lit up the night sky like a storm of light.

And in that moment, I understood the dominance of House Asalon. Nothing on land could match the might of an army that flies.

I noticed King Bartholomew speaking quietly to Princess Rose, trying to convince her to stay behind. She resisted, firm. "I'm going with my brother," she said.

Leonhard turned to me and extended his hand. "Let's move, soldier."

My aunt grabbed my arm before I could climb on. "Don't do anything reckless. Find your mother, Chloe, and Kinue. Get them to safety."

I nodded and mounted behind Leonhard. "I'll see you soon," I said, and looked toward the others one last time.

Leonhard kicked off, and our mount surged into the air. Wind howled around us as we rose with speed—others joining us in flight.

Elara. Rose. Anastasia. Dozens more Sky Knights followed.

Below us, the city burned.

Above it—

We would strike.

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"Not afraid of flying?" Leonhard asked over the rush of wind. "Most people panic their first time."

"I think my worry's aimed a little higher than that…" I muttered, eyes fixed on the burning horizon.

He let out a low chuckle. "I always imagined the first person I'd give a ride to would be a beautiful woman," he said, still grinning.

We soared above rooftops and broken streets. Below us, soldiers clashed with small clusters of undead.

"There aren't many here," he noted, scanning the streets. "But the closer to the city center… it gets worse. Much worse. I don't know how these things got to this district so quickly…" His voice dropped into something more thoughtful. "…unless they were already here."

Ahead, I spotted it—a mansion blanketed in snow, partially scorched and crumbling.

"That's my house!" I shouted.

Leonhard angled his mount downward. A few Sky Knights followed, while the rest remained overhead, picking off any lingering undead. Dozens of corpses littered the yard—some frozen solid, others burned beyond recognition. And among them—skeletons of ice. Knights sculpted from frost, still standing guard.

As we landed near the front of the mansion, I spotted the shattered wall. Fire licked through the ruins. My boots hit the ground and I ran forward. Near the breach stood Chloe, flanked by maids and a few armored soldiers. She was cradling a small, unconscious phoenix in her arms—Cylla, in her fledgling form.

"I'm just glad you're safe," I said, moving toward her. "What happened to Cylla?"

"She… she protected me," Chloe said, voice trembling. "Then she just collapsed…"

I looked around. The damage. The ashes. The bodies. Even in her weakened state, Cylla had unleashed something catastrophic to protect Chloe. She'd forced herself into dragon form—sick as she was.

"Young master—what about your aunt?" Martha asked urgently, approaching me.

"There's a portal," I said, serious. "A massive one. But my aunt is safe—for now. I'm heading to the center of the city. My mother and Kinue… they're out there. Caught in the worst of it."

I turned toward Leonhard, already mounting his winged horse again. "You need to regroup at the royal district. The Sky Knights have secured the route. Take everyone. Go now."

I began to move when Chloe's voice cut through the air. "Wait! I'm coming with you!"

I stopped, but didn't turn. "That's not a good idea," I said. "There's no room—"

Another winged horse landed beside us. "There's room with me," Princess Elara said firmly, offering her hand to Chloe. "And we need all the help we can get."

I hesitated—but I didn't argue. My mind was already racing toward the center. Toward my mother. Toward Kinue. I trusted Kinue's strength. I had to. But my mother… she was still recovering. Mana-depleted. Weak. Barely able to walk without a chair.

Chloe glanced down at Cylla, her grip tightening. She gently handed the unconscious phoenix to Martha. "Please… take care of her."

I met Martha's eyes and gave her a firm nod. "Protect everyone."

Katherine Evenhart:

They were coming from everywhere. Grotesque, shambling things—half-rotted corpses, yet moving with unnatural speed and brutal coordination. Their mouths let out low, guttural snarls, each more inhuman than the last. Some held rusted swords or bloodstained axes. Others carried spears. All of them surged forward like a single wave, unified by some unseen will.

A wave of death.

Civilians ran, screaming, tripping over rubble and bodies in a desperate attempt to flee—but they weren't fast enough. I watched, frozen, as one of the creatures leapt onto a fleeing man's back, stabbing him again and again with a jagged dagger. Another—taller, broader—swung a cleaver into the arm of a soldier, severing it clean. A third impaled the man with a spear just as he collapsed.

They didn't fight like mindless monsters. They moved with intent. With strategy. Some swarmed over their victims, tearing into still-living flesh. Others formed clusters, covering angles like trained units. There was a terrifying intelligence at work—something calculating.

"Tiffania!" Queen Siofna's voice rang out, sharp with urgency. "Help me!"

Tiffania stood paralyzed, her hands trembling around her staff, eyes wide with horror as the carnage unfolded around us. Mages and soldiers tried to form a defensive line, but it crumbled instantly. I saw a stone wall rise in front of one squad—only for it to be pierced by a barrage of black arrows. Undead archers. Rare. Coordinated.

Before the mage who'd cast the wall could react, a corpse flung itself from a nearby rooftop and landed squarely on him. He screamed—but only briefly. More followed, clawing, biting, tearing.

"By the Great Mother… what are these things?" Tiffania gasped—then finally snapped out of it.

With a cry, she raised her staff and unleashed a cascade of radiant light. The nearest corpses disintegrated where they stood, charred bones collapsing into ash. She slammed the base of her staff into the ground, and a brilliant yellow barrier surged to life before us, shielding us as the undead smashed against it—rattling steel, cracking bones, using their own bodies to bash their way through.

Siofna appeared beside me, pushing a battered wheelchair she'd salvaged from the wreckage of our carriage. She knelt, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry, Katherine," she whispered, calm even in chaos.

Healing light flowed through me. It dulled the sharp pain in my chest and legs, but didn't erase it.

"We need shelter," she said firmly.

Before we could move, Tiffania dismissed the barrier—not by fading it, but by detonating it outward in a radiant pulse of light. The undead were thrown back like leaves in a storm. Soldiers from a nearby battalion surged forward, launching volleys of magic and steel. The street lit up with fireballs, lightning arcs, and defensive sigils.

And then—another sound. Heavier. Wrong.

A deep thud echoed from above.

One of the black-armored knights—one I'd seen earlier, standing motionless on a rooftop—leapt.

He descended like a falling star.

BOOM.

He crashed into the middle of the soldiers, the impact cracking the stone beneath him. The ground trembled. The shockwave blasted soldiers backward. Dust exploded outward.

And where he landed—there was only destruction.

The towering figure rose slowly, cloak billowing in the wind. His blade, massive and obsidian, lowered in a deliberate, almost ceremonial arc. He stood over three meters tall—imposing, absolute—and the aura radiating from his armor seemed to devour the light around him. Shadows deepened. Colors dulled. The world dimmed.

"Death welcomes you," he intoned, voice low and resonant—like a funeral bell ringing through bone.

Then, with a fluid, monstrous grace, he spun his sword and cleaved a soldier clean in two.

That was when it came. Something unseen. A translucent wave—cold, pale, and silent—rushed through the air like a phantom breeze. I felt it before I understood it. An instinctual terror. A presence that made every hair on my body rise.

The yellow barrier Tiffania had conjured began to flicker—and then it vanished, snuffed out like a candle. Siofna's healing spell faded mid-cast, the warm glow dimming until it was gone, as if drained by an unseen hand. Even the faint thread of mana that still lingered in me—weak, fragile—disappeared. Not burned out. Not exhausted. Erased. Like magic itself had been ripped from the world.

"This… this can't be happening…" Tiffania whispered, her voice barely audible.

We looked at each other. No words—only panic. And we weren't alone.

Around us, mages and clerics faltered. Soldiers stumbled. Spells fizzled before they could ignite. Enchantments failed mid-chant. The battlefield fell into a stunned silence.

Then we understood. All of us.

Magic was gone.

The black knight turned his gaze toward us. There was no rage in his stare—only contempt. Then, without a word, he leapt—vanishing to the top of a nearby building. Watching. Judging. Waiting.

Below, the horde froze.

Their eyes—those hollow, corpse-filled sockets—locked onto us in unison.

No spells. No barriers.

We were exposed.

And they knew it.

Then, like a dam breaking, the undead charged. An avalanche of rot and rage.

And we were completely, utterly defenseless, unable to cast magic.