Chapter 259 – The Battle for Frontier City Akela (7): The Fledglings

Chapter 259

The Battle for Frontier City Akela (7): The Fledglings

Date : Day 18 of Firstthaw 1024 Aethellgard Concord Year.

Hyoren glanced back over his shoulder.

Through the crimson haze, he found him right away. The tabby Cat-clan Beastkin who always called him Big Bro.

Jackey was wrapped in a thin layer of flickering pale-blue Aethell now. His wounds had been pulled shut, and his tail streamed out behind him. And his hands had become a blur. Both axes moved so fast that Hyoren could barely follow them, even with Berserker sharpening his senses. Goblins fell around Jackey one after another, several in the space of a single second, cut apart before they could even raise their weapons.

Hyoren's eyebrows rose.

Did Jackey get a new skill…?

He turned back to the front and slammed his shield into the next goblin.

That looks like… a trump card…

A grin spread across his face beneath the crimson streaks.

Are you happy now, Jackey…? You kept complaining you didn't have a trump card like the rest of us... Haha…

He kept charging. Shield forward. Spear and banner raised. Dawn Breaker cutting down anything that slipped in from the side.

Then he saw it.

Across the plain ahead, a massive runic array blazed to life. It was a vast red circle, sprawled across the ground beyond the front of the goblin horde, burning brighter by the moment.

Hyoren slowed his charge and glanced back toward the city wall.

At the center of the battlements, Baron Guts stood with his red-orb staff raised high, the orb blazing crimson. His second Hellfire of the day was already finished channeling.

Hyoren turned forward again.

The red array flared.

Fire erupted across the plain.

A wall of flame roared up from the earth and swept outward, swallowing the goblins still charging toward the wedge. It rolled over them in a crimson tide. Heat washed back across the battlefield in a scorching gust, strong enough that Hyoren felt it on his face even through the steam rising from his skin. Screams rose from inside the fire, high and shrill, then cut short one after another.

But it wasn't the same as the opening bombardment.

Back then, Reinora's Tempest Storm had swept through the Hellfire and fanned it into a raging inferno that spread across the plain and burned for minutes. Now, without the storm, the flames stayed where they had been born. They burned fierce and deadly, but they didn't spread as wide, and they didn't last as long. Within moments, they were already sinking back into smoldering patches of blackened earth and charred bodies.

The combination spell really was powerful… Without the storm, that Hellfire only killed about six hundred…

He narrowed his eyes at the scorched ground.

No... About five hundred…

He tightened his grip on Dawn Breaker.

His vision was hazy, and Berserker was roaring through every fiber of his body. But his mind could still work, and he forced it to.

That Hellfire, plus everything we've killed in the half hour since phase four began… maybe four hundred more… So the goblins should be down to around three thousand…

He looked out across what remained of the horde.

That's barely a quarter of what they started with… But three thousand is still a huge number… And our mages have already spent almost everything they have…

There would be no more Rods of God. No more Earth Fissures. No more Hellfires. From here on, it would be steel against steel.

So the only choice left is to strike the Goblin Chieftain… and quick…

He looked around him.

The wedge had stalled.

The defenders behind him were still fighting, still cutting, still pushing. But they couldn't drive any deeper. Every goblin they killed was replaced by another. The front of the wedge had sunk into the horde like a blade stuck in wood, unable to cut through and unable to pull back. And beyond it, the road to the Chieftain was still far. It was blocked by a sea of green bodies and a wall of guttural snarls.

Hyoren gritted his teeth.

His face hardened into grim determination.

But there's no other way…

He lowered his stance and angled his shield forward. Every muscle in his body coiled.

"Jackey! On me!"

He charged again, harder than before.

Behind him, Jackey nodded without slowing down even a fraction, both hands still blurred around his axes.

"Right behind you, Big Bro!"

The two of them tore forward together, the Berserker and the Cat-clan Beastkin, shield and axes driving into the green tide.

Killa swept her scythe through the goblins trying to close in behind Jackey and ran after them, her short legs pumping hard.

"Jackey! Don't you dare leave me behind again!"

Jackey didn't turn around, but his tabby cat ears flicked back toward her voice.

"Then keep up, Killa!"

Killa clicked her tongue. Her drooping ears turned faintly pink. Then she gripped her scythe tighter and pushed even harder.

A few steps behind her, Jigor slammed his glowing shield into a goblin and roared with laughter.

"Gyahaha! The lad and the cat are at it again! Come on, Unbreakable Will! If those two can charge like madmen, we can at least keep their backs clean!"

Beside him, Fits cut down two goblins in a single golden arc and flicked the blood from his thin greatsword. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned.

"Respect is earned, not given. And right now, those two are earning it. Haha!”

He raised his voice to his party.

"Shining Force! Close the gap behind them! Don't let the wedge break!"

The dwarf woman slammed her hammer against her shield in answer. The Lion-clan scout was already gone, a blur darting between goblins to cut down anything that tried to slip around the edges.

And they weren't alone.

The second wall had been thinned so badly that there was no line left to hold. Every defender still standing had been pulled into the wedge, and the wedge had shrunk. The commanders who had led the flanks from a distance all morning were now only a few steps from its tip.

On the left side of the wedge, Fiona tore her greatsword out of a goblin's chest and swung it overhead in a wide, brutal arc that sent three more flying. Her red hair was matted with sweat and blood, and her breath came hard. But her grin was fierce.

"You heard him! Follow the banner! Anyone who falls behind now buys the first round tonight!"

A ragged roar answered her from the adventurers around her.

A few steps from her, Ronald took a goblin's blade on his dented shield and drove it back into the mud.

"Slow and steady! Stay close to the guild master! Don't let them cut us off!"

On the right side of the wedge, Captain Yugold advanced with his knights at his back, their square shields locked into a narrow wall that guarded the wedge's flank. The Templar Knights moved among them, their golden glow dimmed by exhaustion but still shining.

Yugold leveled his sword toward the hill. His crisp voice cut through the noise.

"Knights! Advance with the field commander! Shields forward, spears ready! We guard the wedge's right flank until it reaches the Chieftain!"

"YES, CAPTAIN!"

The knights' answer thundered as one. Their shields slammed forward together, and the goblins pressing in from the right were driven back.

The whole wedge lurched forward behind the white banner.

At its tip, the Berserker and the Cat-clan Beastkin carved the path. Behind them, Killa, Jigor and Fits held it open. On both sides, Fiona and Yugold drove the flanks forward with everyone they had left.

Step by bloody step, the wedge pushed deeper into the horde.

***

On the watchtower, the silver-haired elf loosed green arrow after green arrow.

Each one streaked across the battlefield in a thin emerald line, and each one found an elite. A Goblin Archer drawing its bowstring behind a squad. A Goblin Lord barking orders. A Goblin Shaman raising its crooked staff. Elise didn't waste a single shot on ordinary goblins anymore. The defenders below could handle those. Her arrows were for the ones that could actually hurt them.

With Sharpshooter Aim, the battlefield lay spread out before her as if she were standing in the middle of it.

Then she spotted it.

A Goblin Shaman was crouched behind a cluster of Warriors, its staff raised, bone charms rattling at its tip. A dark glow was gathering around it. Its beady eyes were fixed on the white banner at the tip of the wedge, on the crimson-streaked figure charging beneath it.

Elise's breath stilled.

She drew and loosed in a single fluid motion.

SWOOSH!

SQUELCH!

The arrow punched a clean hole through the Shaman's chest. The glow around its staff guttered and died, the spell unfinished. The Shaman crumpled into the mud, and the Warriors in front of it never even noticed.

Her emerald eyes were already moving.

There. On the edge of the horde, a Goblin Archer had climbed onto a mound of corpses. It had an arrow nocked and was aiming low, at the tabby Cat-clan Beastkin charging right behind Hyoren.

She loosed again.

SWOOSH!

SQUELCH!

The Archer jerked backward. Its bow slipped from its fingers and tumbled down the pile of bodies. Jackey charged past without ever knowing it had been there.

Elise reached back and nocked another arrow.

Her shoulder twinged as she drew. It was a dull, burning ache that had started an hour ago and had been growing worse ever since. Her fingertips were raw beneath her gloves. Her arms felt heavier with every pull of the string.

But I can't stop now…

She glanced at the two longbow archers sharing the watchtower with her.

They were close to their limit. Their faces were gray with exhaustion, and their arms trembled each time they drew. Their rate of fire had slowed badly. Their arrows didn't fly as far as they had this morning, and they struck with far less force.

She loosed another arrow.

Her gaze drifted north along the battlements. Cathy was still crouched behind the parapet, still shooting. But her movements had grown sluggish, and her bright, bouncy energy was gone. Along the wall below, the other archers were the same. Shoulders sagged. Shots came slower and slower.

Everyone has slowed down… Everyone is exhausted…

Elise's jaw tightened.

But that's exactly why I can't stop. Not now. Not in this critical phase.

If she stopped picking off the elites, the Shamans would cast freely and the Archers would shoot freely. And all of it would be aimed at the tip of the wedge.

Her emerald eyes wandered toward the front of the charge.

The hulking mass of muscle. The crimson streaks. The dark mist and steam twisting around him as he slammed his shield into the horde, the white banner streaming overhead.

She had watched him become this three times before.

He always goes in front, protecting me…

Her fingers tightened around Moonveil Bow.

And I've always been at the back, protecting his.

That had never changed. Not on the Green Grassland. Not in the Old Quarry. Not at Riverville Town. And it wouldn't change today.

As long as he's still standing, my arrows will never stop.

She reached back for another arrow, and her fingers closed on almost nothing.

Her quiver was nearly empty.

She glanced over her shoulder at the Wood-rank girl kneeling beside the crates. The girl hadn't fought at all, but she had been running back and forth between the three archers since morning, hauling heavy bundles of arrows without rest. She was low-level, and it showed. Her face was pale and glazed. She was staring into space, her arms limp around the bundle in her lap.

Elise kept her voice gentle.

"Please refill my arrows…"

The girl jolted out of her daze, eyes going wide.

"Oh…!"

She scrambled to her feet, grabbed a bundle of arrows from the nearest crate and hurried over, nearly tripping on the way.

"S-sorry!"

She held the bundle out with both hands. Elise took it and slid the arrows into her quiver. Then she smiled at the girl, soft and warm.

"Don't worry. It's understandable to be exhausted. But please work a little harder for us, okay?"

The girl froze.

For a moment, she simply stared at Elise. The elf's silver hair caught the light. Her emerald eyes were kind, and her smile was gentle despite the sweat and grime on her face. The girl's cheeks flushed bright red.

Then she nodded so hard her braids bounced.

"Y-yes!"

Somehow, that smile had given her strength. She dashed back to the crates and started pulling out the next bundle, faster than before.

Elise giggled behind her hand.

"Fufu."

Beside her, the two longbow archers had watched the whole exchange. Tired smiles tugged at their faces. Then they rolled their aching shoulders, nocked fresh arrows and pulled their bowstrings back with renewed effort.

But Elise's eyes had already returned to the battlefield.

She loosed. Nocked. Loosed again. Green streaks flew across the plain one after another.

And while her hands kept working, her mind kept analyzing.

The low-level goblins are almost gone…

She studied the horde below. The ordinary goblins and the weaker Fighters had been culled by the Rods of God, the Hellfire, the hours of grinding on the second wall. What remained were the hardiest. Goblin Warriors at Level 10, even Level 15. Bigger, stronger and better armed than anything they'd faced in the morning.

And the ratio has changed too.

At the start of the battle, there had been roughly one elite for every hundred ordinary goblins, Fighters and Warriors. Now it was closer to one in twenty. And even the ones that weren't elite were high-level Warriors.

Elise wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

This battle isn't going to get easier. It's going to get harder…

She could see it happening.

The wedge had slowed. At its tip, Hyoren was still slamming his shield into the horde, but the goblins in front of him weren't flying apart the way they had before. Sometimes a high-level Warrior survived a Shield Bash. It staggered, braced and struck back. Each time, his momentum broke for a heartbeat, and he had to stop, cut it down and start again. Behind him, Jackey and the others were being slowed in turn.

The spearhead was grinding to a halt.

Elise bit her lip.

What can we do to break this stalemate…?

Elise's emerald eyes swept across the battlefield.

She pushed Sharpshooter Aim as far as it would go. Her vision stretched and magnified, past the wedge and the churning horde, all the way to the hill beyond. The edges of her sight began to blur and throb with the strain.

Her lips parted, barely above a whisper.

Should I try using Sacred Wind to snipe the Chieftain?

The thought hung in her mind, tempting and dangerous.

Her fingers hesitated on the bowstring.

She focused on the hill. Somewhere up there, behind its wall of elites, stood the creature that had commanded this whole army all day.

My Sacred Wind could definitely reach the Chieftain… but…

She narrowed her eyes, straining.

She couldn't see it properly.

At this distance, even with Sharpshooter Aim pushed to its limit, the Chieftain was little more than a smudge. A larger shape among smaller shapes, blurred and shifting, with no clear outline.

Reaching it and hitting it are two completely different things.

Sharpshooter Aim let her see far, far beyond what any ordinary archer could. But even it had a limit. Out to about a kilometer, she could see a target clearly enough to aim at it. Past that, she could still see, but the target became too small and too blurred to aim at with any real precision.

And the hill where the Chieftain stood was about a kilometer and a half from her watchtower. It had come partway down the hill. But only partway. Even now, it kept itself far behind its army.

Her gaze shifted to the shapes clustered around it.

Plus, the Chieftain has an entourage…

Even blurred, she could make them out. Several Goblin Lords stood close around it, crude shields raised. Goblin Shamans hovered at its sides, staves in hand. Shamans who could raise barriers.

Sacred Wind was powerful. Its beam could punch through almost anything. She had seen it pierce the Flesh Golem's chest and tear out through its back.

But it drained nearly all her Aethell in a single shot. If she pushed herself past her limit, she might manage a second. And after that, she would collapse, just as she had at Riverville Town.

If the Lords raised their shields together, if the Shamans threw up their barriers in time…

The beam would tear through them. Most of the Chieftain's guards would die. But the Chieftain itself, shielded behind all of them, might survive.

And then she would have nothing left.

Hyoren's voice echoed in her memory, calm and steady, from the war council days ago.

"Elise. Unless you're sure, don't use Sacred Wind. This is a battle of attrition. We'll benefit more from you shooting many targets than from one risky shot that may or may not end the battle."

Elise knew he was right.

Her head understood it completely. Every elite she shot was one less threat to the wedge. A hundred small, certain shots were worth more than one great gamble.

But knowing something and accepting it were two different things.

Not when he was down there at the tip of that wedge, surrounded on every side, slowing more with every step. Not when a single arrow might end all of it.

She grimaced.

Really… what can I do…?

Even while her mind churned, her hands never stopped.

Draw. Loose. Nock. Draw. Loose.

Green arrows kept streaking across the plain, one after another. A Lord fell. An Archer fell. A Shaman fell.

Her grip on Moonveil Bow tightened until the silver wood creaked under her fingers.

Other than chipping away at those elites…

She exhaled slowly.

It wasn't the role she wanted right now. It wasn't the shot that would end the battle. But it was important. Every elite she dropped was one less blade, one less spell, one less arrow aimed at the people she loved.

So Elise kept doing it.

She drew the string back to her cheek, found the next Shaman through the haze and let the arrow fly.

***

Baron Guts Akela was swaying on his feet.

He braced one hand against the battlements, his fingers digging into the cold stone to keep himself upright. His second Hellfire of the day had drained nearly everything he had left. His Aethell Core felt hollow, scraped down to almost nothing. His head throbbed with a deep, pounding ache that pulsed behind his eyes with every heartbeat. Sweat soaked his black-red robe and ran in rivulets down his temples and the back of his neck. He could hear his own heart hammering in his ears, louder than the battle below.

His knees wanted to buckle.

He wouldn't let them.

He was standing on sheer determination alone, and he knew it.

If I fall here, who will lead my people…?

That was his responsibility. As the head of the Akela Barony, every soul in this city was his to protect. He had handed the mantle of field commander to Hyoren so that every defender on the battlefield could share in the banner's blessing. That had been the right choice. He would make it again.

But the responsibility had never left his shoulders. It never would. He was still the Baron.

And now, with Hyoren deep in his Berserker charge, the young man could no longer give detailed orders. Someone had to watch the whole battlefield and see what came next.

That was his job.

He forced his gaze along the battlements.

Most of the mages had run dry, just as he had. They leaned against the stone or sat slumped behind the parapet, their staves resting across their knees, their faces gray. A few had stopped casting altogether.

A little way down the wall, Dennis and Reinora were still on their feet, but only barely. Dennis's lanky frame swayed like a reed. Reinora's knuckles were white around her staff. Every few minutes, when a trickle of Aethell crept back into their cores, they raised their weapons and sent another small spell sailing out over the plain. Each time, they winced. Dennis pressed a hand to his temple. Reinora's breath hitched. Every cast was costing them a splitting headache.

But they kept going.

Only two mages on the entire wall were still casting without pause.

Oria stood at the battlements with her Azure Wand sweeping in steady arcs, sending blade after blade of water out across the plain. Out on the river, her water spirit kept firing.

And his daughter.

Arianna was still sending small spells down onto the charging squads, a Fire Javelin, then a Stone Bullet, then another. Her crimson hair was plastered to her face. She was swaying too, just as he was. But she hadn't stopped.

Baron Guts' chest tightened with pride and worry in equal measure.

Even those two will reach their limit sooner or later…

He turned his gaze to the battlefield.

The wedge had slowed.

At its tip, Hyoren and Jackey were still carving forward. The white banner still streamed above them, the black Aetovacus still soaring. But even from here, he could see how much harder every step had become. The goblins in front of them weren't the weak, ragged ones from the morning anymore. They were bigger. Stronger. Warriors that took a blow and kept standing.

And there, on the left side of the wedge, a familiar red-haired figure swung her greatsword with wild abandon.

Fiona.

His wife hacked through goblin after goblin, roaring as she fought, the adventurers around her rallying to her voice. She looked unstoppable. She had always looked unstoppable.

But he knew her better than anyone alive. He could see the heaviness creeping into her swings. Sooner or later, even she would tire.

If this continues…

The wedge would grind itself down against those Warriors. The defenders would exhaust themselves one by one. And then the sea of green would close over them and swallow them whole.

He clenched his jaw.

They had already accomplished something incredible. Eleven thousand goblins had stood on that plain at the start. Now there were fewer than three thousand left.

But three thousand was still a lot.

It was more than half the number that had attacked eight years ago.

Baron Guts' gaze drifted toward the gate below him. The new gate, rebuilt from Ironwood. The gate that now bore his name.

And his mind drifted back—eight years ago.

He had been the new Baron then. The title had been his for barely a season, and the weight of the Akela crest still sat uneasily on his shoulders. He had never led a campaign. He'd fought as an adventurer, Silver rank, side by side with Fiona in the same party for years. But fighting in a party and commanding an entire city's defense were two very different things.

Then the goblins came.

Five thousand of them, pouring out of the forest and across the eastern plain. And at their head, a Goblin Chieftain.

A Lord-born.

Of all the Chieftains, the Lord-born were considered the easiest to fight. They were the stupidest and the most straightforward. They had no patience for strategy. No feints, no flanking, no sending squads in a queue. The Lord-born simply charged at the head of its horde, roaring, with every goblin it had packed tightly behind it, and tried to batter its way through by sheer weight of numbers.

In theory, it should have been simple.

But Akela hadn't been ready.

There had been no dungeon then. No place for adventurers to train and grow stronger, no steady stream of magic stones and experience. Akela's adventurers had been fewer and weaker. There had been no capital party like Shining Force, drawn to the city by a new dungeon. No Rods of God falling from the sky, no Earth Fissures, no five-phase plan.

And he hadn't been ready either.

He remembered standing on this very wall, his heart pounding, as the horde swept toward the city like a green flood. He remembered his first Hellfire. The vast red array blooming across the packed goblins. The flames roaring up and swallowing them whole. And then his second, sweeping through the survivors as they surged on.

Because the Lord-born had packed its army so tightly, the fire had nowhere to miss. His two Hellfires had incinerated more than half of the five thousand.

But it hadn't been enough.

The rest had reached the wall. They had thrown themselves at the old gate over and over, hacking and battering, climbing over their own burning dead. The defenders on the walls had fought desperately, and they had fallen one after another. Among the adventurers who held the walls that day was a young silver-haired elven archer, loosing arrows until her fingers bled.

Then the gate had given way.

He still remembered the sound. The deep, splintering crack of the old timbers breaking. The roar of the goblins as they poured through the gap.

He had run down from the wall with his staff in hand, his Aethell nearly gone. And at the breach, there had already been a red-haired woman with a greatsword, planted in the gap like a mountain.

Fiona.

The two of them had held that breach together. Him with what little fire he had left, her with her greatsword cutting down everything that came through. For hours. Back to back. Covered in blood, choking on smoke, refusing to give a single step.

When it was finally over, the Lord-born was dead, the horde was broken, and the two of them were still standing in the shattered gateway.

Akela had won. But the price had been terrible. So many casualties. So many names.

The people of Akela had started calling that gate the Gate of Guts. And when the new Ironwood gate was raised in its place, the name had stayed.

Baron Guts blinked, and the present came rushing back.

The roar of battle. The stink of smoke and blood. The throbbing in his skull.

He clutched his red-orb staff so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Eight years ago, five thousand goblins under the Lord-born Chieftain had nearly taken his city. Today, they faced an Archer-born—the most dangerous kind of Chieftain, a true commander that sent its army in measured waves, guarded itself with snipers and Shamans and adapted to every move they made. And it still had three thousand of its strongest goblins on the field.

If this continues… this time, we'll lose our city for real.

He looked down at the white banner at the tip of the wedge. The crimson-streaked figure beneath it, still charging, still refusing to stop.

What should we do…?

His grip tightened even further.

What should I improvise, Hyoren? How should I adapt… to overcome this?

***

Then a voice called out from behind him.

"Baron Guts!"

He flinched. He hadn't expected anyone to address him from the city side of the wall. But he didn't let it show. A Baron couldn't afford to look startled, not today and not in front of his people.

He pushed himself off the battlements, crossed the walkway to the inner parapet and looked down over the edge.

Below, lined up in the open square behind Gate of Guts, were the night riders.

All of them were already mounted. Adventurers and knights sat side by side in light armor, crossbows and spears at the ready, their horses stamping and snorting in the cold. They had ridden all night, circling the goblin camp from dusk until dawn, denying it a single moment of rest. Their faces still showed it. Dark circles under their eyes. Dust caked into the creases of their skin. Shoulders that sagged when they thought no one was looking.

But their eyes were lit with determination.

At their head, a man in a knight's light armor nudged his horse a step forward. Filipe Tartard, the knight who had led the night riders alongside Ronald. He raised his hand in a crisp salute.

"Let us out, Baron Guts!"

Baron Guts shook his head.

"It's not time yet. Your turn is the fifth phase. That's when we'll need your mobility to chase down the goblins that flee!"

Filipe didn't lower his hand. His voice rose, hoarse but steady.

"Forgive my insolence, Baron. But if this continues, there won't be a fifth phase! Order us to help!"

He swept his arm toward the gate, toward the battlefield beyond it.

"We can help thin the horde alongside the wedge, just like we did last night! Hit and run. Strike their flanks and pull away before they can surround us. Draw their attention and take the pressure off the wedge!"

A rumble of agreement rose from the riders behind him.

"He's right, Baron!"

"Let us ride!"

Among them, three men from Ironclad Guardian pushed their horses forward. Ronald's party members Terry, Digo and Richard. Their armor was battered and their faces were gray with exhaustion. But their voices joined the others, loud and certain.

"Our leader is out there holding the line! Let us go to him!"

Baron Guts gripped the edge of the parapet.

Should I keep to the plan… or let them go?

He already knew the answer to the first half of that question. If nothing changed, they wouldn't win. The wedge was stalling. Sooner or later, it would be swallowed.

But if he sent the cavalry out now, they might not have enough riders left for the fifth phase. If the Chieftain fell, its army would break and scatter in every direction. Hundreds of goblins would spill out across the plains and into the forests, threatening every village and settlement around Akela. That was the whole reason the fifth phase existed.

I need to improvise. I need to adapt…

He weighed both choices.

Scattered goblins would be leaderless and disorganized. They would be a threat, yes, but a manageable one. He could send his knights out tomorrow, or in a few days, to hunt them down one band at a time.

But if Akela fell today, there would be no tomorrow.

He made his decision.

"Very well. I authorize your deployment!"

The night riders erupted in cheers. Fists and weapons shot into the air. Horses reared and whinnied.

Then the cheers faded, and their faces settled into grim determination. They were finally going to help. And every one of them knew what that might cost.

Baron Guts turned to head back to the outer battlements and order the gate opened.

Before he could take a step, more voices rose from below.

"Baron Guts!"

He looked down again.

Beside the night riders, another group was hurriedly gathering. The Wood-rank and Iron-rank adventurers, the young ones who had spent the entire battle running stretchers back and forth between the second wall and the medic tent. Their clothes were filthy with mud and other people's blood. Their hands were stained red to the wrists. They were forming ragged lines, gripping whatever weapons they had.

At their front stood a young woman with a round shield on her arm and a short sword in her hand—Reon, Ronald Powell's daughter.

She stepped forward and lifted her chin toward the wall.

"Baron Guts! Let us fight too!"

Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't stop.

"We know we're weak! But at least we can be shields! We can help reinforce the wedge! Please!"

Behind her, the other Wood and Iron ranks raised their voices.

"Please, Baron!"

"Let us help!"

Baron Guts grimaced.

Fiona had deliberately kept the Wood and Iron ranks off the frontline. They were newcomers. Most of them hadn't even reached Level 10. Out there, against Level 10 and Level 15 Goblin Warriors, they wouldn't last.

Sending them out would be sending them to the gallows.

He shook his head firmly.

"No. You're not like the night riders. You'd be swallowed in moments!"

He raised his voice so every one of them could hear.

"You are the future of Akela! Don't throw your lives away! Stay focused on your support duties!"

Reon gripped her shield tighter and raised her short sword.

"Forgive me for saying this, Baron Guts. But if there's no Akela, there's no future!"

Her eyes met his across the height of the wall. Baron Guts knew that look. Unyielding. Steady. Exactly like her father's.

"I want to protect my home! I want to protect my mother, and the little brother or sister she's carrying!"

She thrust her sword toward the sky.

"I want to protect Akela!"

The Wood and Iron ranks behind her roared in agreement. It was a ragged sound, young and frightened, but loud and fierce.

"FOR AKELA!"

"WE WANT TO PROTECT OUR HOME!"

Baron Guts' knuckles went white on the parapet.

His mind churned. Every part of him rebelled against it. They were children, most of them. Barely trained. Barely leveled.

But what Reon had said was true. If Akela fell, none of them would have a future anyway. Not them, not their families, not the unborn child in Ronald's wife's belly.

His conscience wouldn't let him send them marching to their deaths so easily.

He glanced toward the battlefield.

The wedge was still stalled. The white banner was still trapped in a sea of green. Every second he spent hesitating was another second the defenders out there bled.

He had to decide. Now.

He closed his eyes and drew a long, slow breath.

When he opened them again, his resolve had hardened into something cold and heavy.

I'll bear this sin.

He raised his hand.

"Very well. I permit your deployment as well."

He looked straight at Reon.

"Stay together. Stay behind the night riders. Reinforce the wedge, and don't you dare die."

For a heartbeat, the square went silent.

Then the Wood and Iron ranks erupted.

"YEAHHHH!"

"WE'RE GOING!"

"FOR AKELA!"

Reon didn't cheer. She simply lowered her sword, settled her shield more firmly on her arm and took a deep, steady breath. Her eyes went to the gate, and to the battlefield beyond it.

Where her father was still standing.

***

Baron Guts watched from the battlements as the gate swung open below him.

The night riders poured out first. Hooves thundered across the churned earth, kicking up clods of mud as the horses broke into a gallop. Adventurers and knights rode side by side, crossbows raised and spears lowered, their exhausted faces set like stone.

Behind them came the others.

They didn't ride in formation. They spilled out of Gate of Guts in a ragged, uneven stream on foot. A band of Wood-rank and Iron-rank adventurers in mismatched gear, gripping swords and spears and shields, some still with bandage rolls tucked into their belts from their stretcher duty. They were young. Most of them were far too young. And at their head ran a girl with a round shield, her eyes fixed on the battlefield ahead.

Baron Guts watched them go until his throat tightened.

Then he guided Aethell into the communication magic tool.

"Change of plan. There may not be a fifth phase. But with this, I hope we can win the fourth."

He paused. The next words were heavier.

"Also, there's no more medic support. Everyone is fighting now."

Captain Yugold's reply came at once, crisp and unwavering.

"Understood, Baron."

Then silence.

Neither Fiona nor Hyoren answered right away. The pause stretched on, longer than it should have. Through the earpiece, Baron Guts could hear only the clash of steel and ragged breathing.

Then Fiona's voice came through, low, almost a mutter.

"Those fledglings…"

There was a weight in those two words that only Baron Guts would recognize. Fiona had kept them off the frontline for a reason.

A moment later, Hyoren answered. His voice was rough, distorted by the strain of Berserker, but steady.

"Understood, Baron. I'll push harder to break through."

A brief pause.

"I promise I'll kill the Chieftain."

Baron Guts closed his eyes for a moment. Then he cut the connection.

***

Out on the battlefield, the night riders split in two.

One column swung wide toward the left side of the goblin horde. The other curved toward the right. Like a pair of claws, they raked along both flanks of the army pressing in on the wedge.

They didn't charge into the mass. They had learned that lesson last night. They swept in at a gallop, loosed crossbow bolts and slashed with their spears at the goblins on the outer edges, then wheeled away before the horde could close around them. Then they circled and struck again somewhere else. Hit and run, over and over, never staying in one place long enough to be surrounded. Never overcommitting.

The goblins on the flanks snarled and turned to chase them. Squads peeled away from the wedge to meet the new threat.

The pressure on the wedge eased, just a little.

And then the Wood and Iron ranks arrived.

They hit the back of the wedge like a wave, gasping for breath, weapons clutched in shaking hands. Then they spread out along its weakest points without being told, pushing into the gaps where wounded defenders had fallen or exhausted ones had begun to give way.

Reon ran straight for the left side of the wedge.

Toward a broad, battered shield she would have recognized anywhere.

She slid in beside it, slammed her own round shield into the goblin lunging at it and shoved the creature back.

Ronald's head snapped toward her. For the first time all day, the calm in his face cracked.

"Reon!? What are you doing here!?"

Reon braced her shield as another goblin swung at her. The rusted blade rang off the metal rim. She stabbed back with her short sword, drove the goblin off and only then answered.

"Because I want to protect Mother, my little brother or sister and our home!"

Her eyes met his. Unyielding. Steady.

Exactly like his own.

Ronald grimaced. For a heartbeat, a dozen different words seemed to fight behind his eyes. Go back. It's too dangerous. You're not ready. Your mother will kill me.

But he knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror his whole life.

He could only nod.

"Very well."

He took the next goblin's blow on his shield and threw it back.

"But slow and steady. Don't overcommit. And don't you dare leave my side!"

Reon set her feet, braced her shield against her father's and pushed against the goblins together with him.

"Yes, Father!"

All around them, the other Wood and Iron ranks threw themselves into the wedge. They weren't strong. They weren't skilled. But they filled the gaps with their own bodies, raising their shields beside the veterans, stabbing at anything that came close, holding the wedge together wherever it had begun to crack.

On the left side of the wedge, Fiona saw them coming.

She ripped her greatsword free of a goblin and spun to face the fledglings flooding into her lines. Her red hair whipped around her face. Her voice tore across the battlefield like a whip crack.

"You fledglings! Don't you DARE overcommit and give us even more work!"

The nearest Wood-rank boy flinched so hard he nearly dropped his spear.

She swept her blade toward the battered veterans around her.

"Stay focused! Help the veterans! Nobody charges off on their own!"

She turned back toward the goblins, her jaw clenched so hard it ached.

You little fuckers aren't ready for this…

Not even close. Half of them were barely out of training. Some of them she had personally turned away from the frontline that very morning.

Her grip tightened on her greatsword.

But you're already here.

She drew a deep breath into her burning lungs.

So I'm not letting a single one of you die.

Fiona roared.

It was a raw, furious sound that rose above the clash of steel and the snarls of goblins. Then she charged to the front of her side of the wedge, her greatsword sweeping out before her like an executioner's blade.

Goblins fell. Then more goblins. Heads, arms and bodies flew apart in great sprays of blood. She cut through them in wide, brutal arcs, carving a space in front of the fledglings behind her where nothing could reach them.

The wedge held. Then it steadied. Then, slowly, it began to push forward again.

The fledglings had joined the Battle for Frontier City Akela.