The clash between the defenders of Brindlecross and the goblin warband raged in a frenzy of fire and screams until the goblins began to falter. Arrows cut them down, traps tore through their mounts, and blades carved through their ranks. The shrieking cries of the riders broke into discord, and one by one, the surviving goblins pulled their worgs back from the palisade. Fewer than two dozen still living, battered and bloodied, they turned and fled back into the night. Their horns wailed a retreat, the sound thin and ragged compared to their earlier confidence.
A single riderless worg remained; it hesitated for a moment before charging towards the nearest group of defenders. Three steps in, and its front right paw found a small stake trap, a sharpened spike stuck through its paw, causing the beast to stumble and fall. Before it could rise, a dozen villagers—led by Brian—swarmed it with swords, axes, and spears, hacking until its snarls and cries of agony ended.
For a heartbeat, all fell quiet but for the crackle of fire and the panting of men and women. Then a ragged cheer rose from the defenders. Farmers lifted pitchforks skyward, archers raised bows, and adventurers let out bellows of triumph.
“We did it!” a woman cried.
“No losses!” shouted another.
“Brindlecross stands!” shouted one man, his face wet with tears and blood.
Even the elder raised his staff high, though his face was grim as he watched the last of the riders vanish into the darkness. “Brindlecross!”
The call ‘Brindlecross!’ echoed through the defenders.
William lowered his sword, the holy flames guttering away as the [Divine Fire] skill faded. He breathed heavily, his muscles aching from the fury of his strikes. Under his helmet, sweat ran down his brow as he cleared an [XP: +1] away. That was so intense, but we did it.
He swept his gaze across the defenders. They did well. All around him, the villagers and adventurers looked stronger than they had only moments before. Their faces were streaked with dirt, some were bloodied, and some stared wide-eyed in disbelief.
They had stood shoulder to shoulder and won their first victory without a single casualty. But Will’s gaze lingered on the treeline, where shadows writhed deeper than before. He could still hear the horns, faint and echoing, and he knew in his bones that the true test for Brindlecross had not yet begun.
The smoke of burning worg hair still hung in the air as William stood among the defenders, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the fight. The cheering had begun to fade into tired mutters, and dozens of men and women were already clambering down from the palisade to pull dead worgs and goblins from the pits. The battle was not over, and every soul here knew it.
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William felt different, knowing his stats had changed, he checked his interface with a smile.
[SYSTEM ERROR: Incomplete Interface]
Character: William Draven
Race: Half-Elf/Human
Class: Holy Paladin of the Fallen Gods
Level: 200
XP: ??/??
Health: ??/??
Mana: 111/140
Strength: 200
Charisma: ??
Agility: 80
Intelligence: 60
Willpower: ??
Luck: ??
Free points: ??
Stamina: 78%
[Skills] Divine Fire (6), SYSTEM ERROR
[Professions] SYSTEM ERROR
[Titles] Player Killer, SYSTEM ERROR
[Reputation] The Kingdom of Mercia Rep: 12,098, SYSTEM ERROR
[Quests] Clear the Caves of Goblins and Other Threats, Shadows of the Goblin King, There Can Be Only One, Defend the Village of Brindlecross, SYSTEM ERROR
[Oaths] SYSTEM ERROR
“Finally.” His Intelligence stat had recovered 10% of its original value, which meant his mana would regenerate faster.
“Shift yerselves!” Sibrek roared, his axe already hooked beneath the carcass of a dead worg. “The pits won’t clear ‘emselves. Ger on with it.”
Groans answered him, but the defenders obeyed. Ropes were slung, hooks fastened, and farmers pulled together in straining lines to haul carcasses out. The ground squelched with blood as bodies hit the dirt, and the stench of death grew thicker with every passing breath.
Fredric barked commands, his voice already hoarse, forcing order on the exhausted hands. William joined him, gripping a rope, his muscles still burning from the fight, but he pushed through. He had no right to rest while others laboured.
The last worg corpse was dragged free of a pit with a wet thump, blood and dirt streaking across the earth. William tore off his helmet, sweat trickling down his face, and wiped at it with the back of his gauntlet, smearing mud across his brow. Around him, men and women scrambled to reset sharpened stakes, covering them with brush as best they could in the dim torchlight. Nobby was amongst them, replacing spent rune-enchanted mines. It was ugly work, rushed and clumsy, but it was all they had.
“Some o’ these’ll hold,” Sibrek grunted, driving a fresh stake down with the heel of his boot until it lodged firm in the blood-soaked earth. “The rest are buggered. Too much gore in the ground, aye? Slippery as a greased pig.” He spat into the dirt. “Still, it’ll kill a few more o’ the vermin if we’re lucky.”
Will looked down at the mangled ruin of a pit too broken to reset and nodded. “Then we’ll make do. Every trap that holds buys us a few heartbeats longer.”
Marie clapped him on the shoulder. “I prefer to count in minutes rather than heartbeats. That way it’s easier to keep track of time on my fingers and toes.” She chuckled, easing some of his tension.
Before William could answer, a sharp whistle cut through the night. He turned to see Pip, the catkin rogue, crouched on a half-broken tree at the edge of the clearing. She jumped from the tree; her silhouette was in shadow against the forest as her tail flicked in the air.
Her voice carried clearly over the area as she ran towards them. “They’re moving. You have minutes, no more. Not just riders now. The main force. And they’ve seen your pits.”
“How many?” Will asked.
“Too many to count in the dark, but at least five hundred.” Pip turned and headed back towards the tree line. “Watch out for the war orcs, they’re big ones.” She leaped back into a tree and disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter 028 [Raid Event: Explosive Surprise from A Master Runesmith]
