Chapter 109: The Mathematics of Survival

The dawn was heavy, choked by a gray haze that seemed to press Dornheim to the ground.

​At the edge of the forest, six hundred meters from our walls, stood thousands of men. The clanking of armor, the neighing of hundreds of horses, and the thumping of boots merged into a single low rumble. It rattled the glass in the houses we had worked so hard to rebuild.

​"Scared?" Noah approached silently.

​He wore light leather armor, with the same high-carbon steel sword slung across his back. His face looked pale in the morning light, and his pupils had narrowed into sharp, vertical slits.

​"Fear is an inefficient emotion," I replied, though I felt everything inside me tighten. "But denying the obvious is foolish. There are too many of them, Noah."

​Forty people stood frozen on the wall. Lumberjacks, blacksmiths, and ordinary laborers. Beside them stood buckets of sand and spare fuses.

​[Target: Count Wayland's army. Numerical disparity: 300 to 1. Probability of maintaining the first line of defense: 42%.]

​On the other side of the field, a horn brayed.

​The first wave—several hundred infantrymen—advanced upon us.

​"Fire!" I shouted.

​The first cannon battery, mounted above the gates, shattered the air. Three cast-iron cannonballs tore through the sky and slammed into the dense ranks of the infantry. Men were ripped to pieces.

​"Now, the traps!" I ordered into the void, knowing Lumon would hear.

​I slammed down the detonator lever. The ground before the walls was supposed to blow sky-high. I had calculated the minefields to create a "kill zone."

​A click.

​Nothing.

​"What's wrong?!" I shouted. "Lumon, report!"

​[Circuit failure. Cause: high soil moisture and poor insulation of the ignition cords. Trap efficiency reduced by 70%.]

​"Damn it, why now of all times," I slammed my fist against the parapet.

​The infantry instantly charged into the breach with a savage roar. They were already at the walls. Ladders slammed against the wood with a dull thud.

​"Elyria! Noah!" I rushed down from the wall toward the gates, which were already beginning to shudder under the blows of a battering ram.

​Noah vaulted over the parapet, leaping from a height of five meters straight into the thick of the enemy. He spun like a whirlwind, leaving a trail of severed limbs and ripped-open bellies in his wake.

​In the sky above him, a vortex swirled. Her eyes glowed with a toxic emerald light. Tree roots erupted from the earth, wrapping around the soldiers' legs, snapping bones, and dragging living men beneath the turf.

​I reached the inner gates. The battering ram smashed through the first valve, and the count's mercenaries flooded into the breach.

​I raised my modified musket. A shot—one fell. A second shot—a misfire. I tossed the weapon aside and drew a short blade. Electrical discharges began to dance across the metal of my prosthetic arm.

​I hacked, stabbed, using my prosthetic as both shield and battering ram. But there were too many of them. They began pinning me against the wall. One of the mercenaries swung a heavy axe, while a spearman took aim from the flank.

​"Lumon, fallback strategy!" I rasped, feeling the Skill burning through the remnants of my strength.

​[Analyzing... creating a diversion. Priority: High.]

​At that moment, two boys darted out from the shadow of the warehouse—Thomas and Pete, who had been helping me in the forge for the last three months. They gripped primitive pikes in their hands.

​"Master Iron, get back!" Thomas shouted.

​I wanted to scream at them to get out of there. But at that exact instant, I felt a strange impulse. My mouth wouldn't open.

​Instead, Lumon, using my own voice through the helmet's external speakers, commanded coldly:

​"Hold them off! That's an order!"

​Without a second's hesitation, they threw themselves forward. Pete shielded me from the spear, taking the blow to his chest. With a wild cry, Thomas drove his pike into the joint of a mercenary's armor, but was immediately crushed by three others.

​It bought me three seconds.

​Lumon automatically calculated the dash vector. My prosthetic struck the ground, launching me backward, behind the second line of barricades.

​I watched as the mercenaries finished Thomas off.

​"What did you do?.." I whispered, staring at my hands, stained with their blood. "What the hell did you do, Lumon?!"

​[Targets: Thomas and Peter. Status: Eliminated. Probability of your survival increased by 64%. The value of these subjects to the completion of Project 'Dornheim' was minimal.]

​Something snapped inside me.

​Meanwhile, I saw Garrat on the wall. He was trying to clear the barrel when a crossbow bolt pierced his shoulder. He fell, but did not let go of the ramrod.

​I fought my way to him, sweeping enemies out of my path.

​"Garrat!" I caught him.

​"Leave me," he breathed heavily, blood bubbling on his lips.

​He went still in my arms.

​Ryden the blacksmith, who had been so proud of his first cannonballs, lay near the forge with his skull split open. Martha, who used to bring us food, had been trampled by cavalry in the breach.

​At the second line of defense, out of the several thousand who had breached the wall, barely thirty men ran back. The enemy was fleeing, leaving behind mountains of corpses. The field before Dornheim was littered with bodies.

​I stood among the debris of the gates. My armor was covered in gashes, my prosthetic sparking. The world remained colorless and cold.

​Noah approached me. He was covered in blood. His left shoulder was slashed open, but the wound was knitting shut right before my eyes. Beside him, Spirit slowly lowered herself, her wings drooping, her green light nearly extinguished.

​I closed my eyes.

​Lumon... If you ever use the lives of my people without my direct order again... I will find a way to shut you down. Even if I have to put a bullet through my own head.

​Lumon did not reply.

​I turned to the survivors. Out of fifty people, barely twenty were left standing. They stared at the scene before them in horror.

​"We repelled the first wave," I said, my voice cracking. "Gather the wounded. Reload the cannons. This isn't over yet."

​I looked toward the horizon.

​New lights were igniting there—strange, purple ones.