Chapter 203: Airam and Hermione Join The Fight [1]

The camp had become a nightmare.

Valdris’s attack had turned the quiet clearing beside the stream into a place of fire, broken armor, and death. Only a short while ago, the Rubenhart knights had been resting around the campfire. Some had been speaking in low voices. Some had been checking their weapons before sleep. Others had watched the three sisters dance beneath the moonlight with quiet amusement.

Now the grass was torn beneath armored boots.

The tents had been scorched by stray fire spells. The supply carriage burned near its wheel, sending smoke through the clearing. The stream reflected crimson light from Ulrich’s magic, orange light from Valdris’s flames, and darker stains that spread across the water where the dead had fallen close to its banks.

The Rubenhart knights had faced a difficult battle from the beginning.

Valdris’s soldiers carried anti-magic swords and armor made to resist spells. The usual advantage of a knight who could reinforce a blade, bind an enemy’s movement, or strike with elemental magic had been stripped away. Every time a Rubenhart knight tried to weave a Formula Ring, the black weapons cut through the spell before it could become decisive.

Then the Valmorian soldiers drank the serum.

After that, the battle became impossible.

Their strength increased. Their speed rose. Their bodies moved with an unnatural force that ordinary men could not match. A Rubenhart knight who might have held one opponent back before now struggled to survive against the same enemy. A single careless exchange could send someone flying. A sword strike that should have been blocked could break through a guard and tear into armor.

One by one, the Rubenhart knights fell.

Airam, Hermione, and Esther had kept their eyes on Ulrich for as long as they could.

They had watched him fight Valdris beside the stream. They had watched him defend against flames, swords, and spells while bleeding from his side. They had watched crimson mana flare around his blade again and again, only for the black anti-magic sword to shatter it.

But the battle around them could no longer be ignored.

Hermione saw a familiar knight collapse beside the campfire.

She did not know whether it was a sword or a spear that struck him. The darkness hid the worst of it. For that, she was grateful. The night covered the ground in shadow and spared her from seeing every detail of the blood spreading beneath bodies.

It could not hide the sounds.

The screams reached them.

The clash of weapons.

The dull impact of armored bodies falling into the mud.

The tearing noise when a blade found a gap between plates.

The harsh breaths of people trying to remain standing after they had already been wounded too badly.

Worst of all were the voices.

They belonged to people the sisters knew.

Not well enough to call family, perhaps, but well enough that their deaths did not feel distant.

The female knights who had helped them prepare for bed were dead.

Hermione remembered one of them fixing Esther’s hair just earlier while the other just wished them good nights with a kind smile.

The cook who had prepared their meals during the journey lay near the supply carriage. His wooden spoon had fallen beside him. Esther had thanked him after supper. He had smiled and told her that she should eat more if she wanted to grow strong.

He did not move now.

Esther had stopped looking.

At some point, she had completely broken.

She clung to Airam from behind, burying her face against her sister’s back. Her small body shook with sobs. Tears soaked into the cloth of Airam’s nightgown. She tried to keep quiet, but each time another scream rose from the clearing, a frightened sound escaped her.

"I...I want to go home," Esther cried.

Her voice cracked.

"I want to go home. I want Lord Ulrich to make them go away."

Airam’s face darkened at hearing Esther crying and so vulnerable.

She could not turn around to comfort Esther fully. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, watching the black-armored knights surrounding the camp. But she reached one hand behind her and held Esther’s wrist.

"We will be all right," Airam said.

The words came out firm.

Hermione knew her sister was lying.

Airam knew it too.

Nothing was all right.

Hendrick stood near the entrance of the main tent, fighting three Valmorian knights alone.

His armor had been damaged in several places. Blood ran down the side of his face, disappearing beneath the collar of his breastplate. His left arm moved more slowly than his right, and his breathing had become rough. Yet he remained on his feet.

A spear came toward him.

Hendrick knocked it aside.

One of the swordsmen struck from the left. Hendrick turned his blade and barely blocked the attack. The second swordsman came from the right before Hendrick could recover.

He stepped back.

The three enemies pushed him closer to the tent.

Only three Rubenhart knights remained nearby.

They had formed a desperate line before the sisters. One was wounded in the leg and could barely place weight on it. Another carried a shield split nearly in half. The third held a sword with both hands, her arms shaking from exhaustion.

They faced one Valmorian knight.

Even three against one, they were struggling.

The black-armored soldier had drunk the serum. Mana leaked from the seams of his armor in dark, unstable wisps. Each movement he made carried enough force to drive the Rubenhart knights backward. He swung his sword once, and the broken shield cracked further. He stepped forward, and the wounded knight stumbled.

The line was failing.

Airam watched it happen.

She watched Hendrick fight three enemies while blood ran down his armor.

She watched the final Rubenhart knights give ground before a single Valmorian soldier.

She watched the black-armored men moving toward Ulrich on the far side of the clearing, responding to Valdris’s silent order.

Kill him.

Airam’s eyes turned cold.

"Stay behind me, Esther."

She reached back and carefully pulled Esther away from her back. Esther resisted at first, clinging to her nightgown, but Airam turned and took both of her younger sister’s shoulders.

"Look at me."

Esther lifted her wet face.

Her cheeks were red. Her breathing came in uneven little gasps. She looked terrified.

Airam’s expression softened only for her.

"You stay behind Hermione and me," Airam said. "Do not run away. Do not leave the tent. Do you understand?"

Esther nodded weakly.

Hermione looked at Airam.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to help them."

Hermione looked toward the battle.

"Airam, magic does not work against their swords."

"I know."

"Their armor resists it too."

"I know."

"Then what are you planning?"

Airam faced the clearing again.

Her shoulders straightened.

"We do not need to defeat them with a spell," she said. "We only need to distract them. Make them look somewhere else. Give Hendrick and the others one opening."

Airam raised her hand.

"And besides, I am not going to use magic."

The difference mattered.

Magecraft required a Formula Ring. A mage drew mana from the core, built concentric circles, placed runes in their proper order, and guided the mana through a complete structure until the final release produced an effect.

Witchcraft did not require that structure.

A witch could seize individual runes directly.

No protective Formula Ring stabilized them. No carefully measured path guided the mana from one instruction to the next. The witch used raw control, forcing the runes to answer through instinct, willpower, pain, and experience.

It was faster.

It was more flexible.

It was also dangerous.

A mage built a bridge for mana to cross.

A witch stepped into the river and tried to command the current.

Red light appeared around Airam’s raised hand.

Runes floated into existence.

They did not form a circle.

They drifted around her fingers like fragments of burning glass, each symbol glowing a deep crimson. One rune pulsed with the pressure of the earth beneath them. Another carried the sharp movement of wind. A third flickered with a binding force that made Hermione’s skin crawl.

Hermione grabbed Airam’s wrist.

"Wait."

Airam looked at her.

"You should not do this alone."

"I have to."

"That is not what I mean." Hermione’s fingers tightened around Airam’s wrist. "Witchcraft hurts you. You know it does."

Airam’s eyes shifted toward Esther.

The youngest sister stood behind them, shaking as she held the back of Hermione’s nightgown. Beyond her, Hendrick’s sword met three enemy weapons in a frantic exchange.

A Valmorian knight struck Hendrick across the shoulder.

Hendrick staggered.

Airam looked back at Hermione.

"If we do nothing, they will take us."

Hermione’s lips pressed together.

Airam was right.

The black-armored soldiers had come for the three of them. The Rubenhart knights were dying to prevent it. Ulrich was fighting Valdris and ten more soldiers alone. If Hendrick fell, nothing would remain between the Valmorian knights and the tent.

Hermione slowly released Airam’s wrist.

"I will help."

Airam shook her head.

"No. Stay with Esther."

"It meant nothing if in the end, they are all dead!"

Airam glanced at Hermione, who continued seriously.

"I can use witchcraft too."

"No." Airam stopped her before Hermione could raise her hand. "You are better with magic than I am. Use magic."

Hermione’s eyes widened.

For an instant, she looked as though she meant to argue again. Then the meaning of Airam’s words settled in. A small, determined smile appeared on her face.

Airam was the best of them at witchcraft.

She could seize individual runes and force them into effects no ordinary mage would attempt in the middle of a fight. Her control was instinctive, dangerous, and sharp. She could tear at the ground beneath an enemy’s feet, twist air around a sword arm, or bind movement with loose runes before a Formula Ring could even be completed.

Hermione was different.

Where Airam possessed the stronger instinct for witchcraft, Hermione understood magecraft more naturally. She saw Formula Rings as patterns that could be taken apart and rebuilt. She remembered the order of runes after seeing them once. She understood how a small change in geometry could change the purpose of a spell.

She did not have to use something grand.

A large spell would be too dangerous.

The remaining Rubenhart knights were fighting too close to the enemy. Hendrick was still trapped between the tent and three Valmorian soldiers. Even a powerful fire spell, ice storm, or force blast could injure the people they were trying to protect.

They only needed to help.

They needed to create openings.

They needed to make the Valmorian knights hesitate.

Hermione stepped away from Airam and Esther, giving her elder sister room. Esther remained behind Airam, holding tightly to the back of her nightgown. She watched Hermione with wide, wet eyes.