Chapter 175 — The Door That Closed

  The momentum shifted again.

  Knights who had just regained their vigor went pale.

  Some who had fought through day and night dropped to their knees.

  “How… how could we take another thousand in this state?”

  Weapons lowered.

  Hope wavered.

  “Do not falter!”

  Selene’s voice cracked across the battlefield like a whip.

  The knights jolted upright.

  “Mages! Form the line and begin casting!”

  Those capable of magic stepped forward without hesitation.

  “Cavalry! With me! We’ll break their momentum! The rest fall back to the fort!”

  Margrave Alaric raised his sword high.

  “Forward!”

  Sir Caelum lowered his lance.

  “Knights of the Barony! Form the second spear! Follow the Margrave!”

  “OOOOO!!!”

  Fifty knights thundered forward.

  “Magicians!” Selene roared. “Aim at the flanks of the leading charge! Cover their withdrawal! Begin!”

  The clash erupted as spells of flame, wind, lightning and frost detonated along the sides of the charging line.

  The beast vanguard collapsed under the barrage and the compressed spear of cavalry.

  Steel tore flesh.

  Lances pierced bone.

  Alaric’s formation wheeled left, beginning their retreat.

  “You won’t escape! Die, humans!”

  A beast lunged—

  —and Sir Caelum’s lance pierced through its skull.

  “Second spear! Push!”

  He drove deep into enemy lines before pulling back.

  Struggle.

  Pressure.

  Then—

  BOOM!

  A meteor of flame fell from the sky.

  Lysette’s magic.

  The ground became molten ruin — a burning corridor.

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  “Knights! With me!”

  Caelum bent his trajectory sharply.

  “Follow them!”

  Boom!

  Not magic.

  An arrow the size of a short spear ripped through the air.

  Maris, far on the slope, severed the pursuers’ momentum.

  Shadow flickered behind the beasts.

  Screams followed.

  Sylra.

  A petite figure landed lightly behind Caelum’s saddle.

  “Retreat!”

  The vanguard had been halted.

  The path was open.

  Humans surged toward the keep as beasts gave chase.

  “Over my dead body!”

  A twin-headed spear ignited.

  Rivel stepped forward.

  “If you want to give chase—over my dead body!”

  Young.

  Burning bright.

  Unafraid of death.

  “Just one human! CHARGE!”

  “GET A TASTE OF THIS ‘ONE HUMAN’ THEN!”

  Flame exploded.

  Crimson arcs carved the air.

  He stood like a beacon.

  Like a fool.

  Like a hero.

  Beasts swarmed him.

  Fur and claws buried his figure whole.

  Selene’s face twisted—but she did not stop.

  Margrave Alaric did not turn back.

  Yet.

  “YARGHHHHHHHH!”

  Crackle.

  Frost detonated outward.

  The swarm froze mid-motion.

  Ice spread in jagged bloom.

  At the center—

  Rivel.

  The opposite end of his spear blazed with frigid rune-light.

  His trump card.

  One use per day.

  It froze enemy and wielder alike.

  His other spear-end burned with ember rune, fighting the frost that crept along his veins.

  Alive.

  But immobile.

  “Weak! He’s dying! Seize him!”

  Surviving beasts surged again.

  “Damn it—!”

  Rivel tried to move.

  His body refused.

  Then—

  A wall of green stood before him.

  “STRONG WARRIOR!”

  “PROTECT!”

  “KIN!”

  Three Orcish berserkers.

  Gretukt roared and charged.

  “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

  Steel-wrapped arms swung wide.

  CRACK.

  Necks snapped under double lariats.

  Gertakt leapt overhead.

  “HAHAHAHA! BULK! SMASH!”

  His hammer flattened beasts into pulp.

  Gruthak stepped into the center.

  He roared challenge.

  Primal instinct answered.

  Beasts lunged.

  Two tomahawks cleaved them down.

  But they could not advance.

  They could not retreat.

  Not without Rivel.

  An Orc does not abandon a warrior who stood for all.

  That is law.

  “…Sir Caelum,” one knight spoke quietly, “it was an honor.”

  “What?”

  “Men! With me!”

  The Barony knights detached from Caelum.

  They turned.

  And charged back.

  “For Baron Eldrien!”

  “For Pinta!”

  “For Humanity!”

  They drove into the disordered beasts.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  They did not retreat.

  They drew the enemy with them.

  “BRAVE HUMANS!”

  “WE REMEMBER!”

  “YOUR DEATH SHALL NOT BE IN VAIN!”

  The three brothers retrieved Rivel.

  Ran.

  Caelum galloped, jaw tight, eyes forward.

  Behind them—

  The Barony knights dismounted.

  Formed a circle.

  Steel met tide.

  They were swallowed.

  But not broken.

  The beasts pursued.

  They were close.

  Too close.

  “Got you!”

  A beast leapt—

  —and found nothing.

  “…?”

  “Surprise.”

  Slash.

  Its head fell.

  Four silhouettes peeled from shadow.

  Grim Vulture.

  “Chase further,” one whispered, “and death awaits.”

  Illusion magic warped perception.

  Coordinated strikes fell in silence.

  Confusion.

  Fear.

  Delay.

  By the time the gates slammed shut—

  The Vultures fired grapples and vaulted over the walls.

  Mission complete.

  Far above the battlefield.

  “General… they retreated successfully.”

  An officer spoke, frustration poorly hidden.

  Silva smiled faintly.

  “The other day,” he said calmly, “you asked me why I allowed the messenger to escape.”

  The officer stiffened.

  “…Yes, General.”

  “Do you still require the answer?”

  Silence.

  “…No.”

  Silva’s gaze never left the fort.

  “Messenger escapes?” he murmured.

  “Good. They consolidate.”

  “Messenger caught?”

  “Better.”

  “Reinforcements arrive?”

  “Break morale by targeting the Margrave.”

  “Assassination fails?”

  “They exhaust themselves proving resilience.”

  “First battalion withdraws. Second pushes. Force escalation.”

  “They fight?”

  “Good.”

  “They retreat?”

  A faint smile curved his lips.

  “They are contained.”

  The officers felt it then.

  The pattern.

  The enclosure.

  Layer upon layer.

  “Their morale will rise tonight,” Silva said softly.

  “They will believe they survived.”

  “…You never intended to breach today.”

  “No.”

  Silva looked down at the sealed gates.

  “I intended to close the door.”

  Inside the fort.

  Ivaline stood still.

  Chronicle observed through her sight.

  Not emotion.

  Structure.

  The retreat had been too clean.

  The escalation too measured.

  Every branch converged.

  One conclusion surfaced in his thoughts.

  He has read too many war relate document.

  “The beast general… is highly competent.”