The clouds parted, and the full moon once again bathed the Lands Between in its cold radiance. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating Don as he stood over the cooling corpses, his blade slick with gore.
Drip. Drip.
Beads of blood fell from the hem of his robes. Don stood with his head bowed, the Bloodhound's Fang buried deep in the sorcerer's back as a pool of crimson spread across the forest floor.
There was nothing left to say. The Academy lecturer, seized by panic, had lashed out blindly with magic, splintering trees in a desperate attempt to fend off his stalker. But Don had never closed the distance initially; he had stayed at range, using Glintstone Pebbles to systematically shatter the man's legs.
Don Wright was born a sorcerer; he knew the weaknesses of casters all too well. Once the man was crippled and rolling in agony, Don had pounced, ending his life with a single, merciful thrust.
Flick—
He shook the blade, sending a line of blood flying. Don leaned down and pried off the Karolos Glintstone Crown, revealing the terrified face of a middle-aged scholar.
"Just as I remembered. Most sorcerers are mere academics, poorly suited for the rigors of combat. On the battlefield, they are nothing without the protection of warriors."
It was a simple truth. Glintstone magic emphasized raw power over tactical versatility. He closed his eyes, and despite himself, his lips curled upward.
My mana and focus are expanding. It's confirmed: while all life yields power, sorcerers primarily bolster my Intelligence.
Unlike the game, power here was a synthesis of physical constitution, magical capacity, and perception. Depending on the prey, Don's harvest differed.
He glanced behind him. The fires in the woods were spreading, charring the four corpses. Even with the advantage of terrain, this was his first time successfully assassinating a knight in open combat. It proved he had the capacity to survive the Lands Between—that he wouldn't be casually snuffed out by some random foot soldier.
I'm still not strong enough. Before I can truly rely on raw power, I need to elevate my magical pool, or that Carian Slicer will never be the one-shot kill it needs to be.
Don wasn't satisfied. Gripping his sword, he grabbed Daliger's severed head by the plume and began his trek back. The roar of battle was still at a fever pitch, but his pace was measured, using every second to recover his stamina.
The Cuckoos were no fools. They had waited until the Carian reserves were depleted before launching their infiltration. Had Karin's squad not held them, the manor would already be in flames. If the granary fell, the manor was doomed.
But Caria had reached its limit. As for the true masters like Ranni...
He looked toward the horizon, where the massive Carian Manor loomed in the darkness. Faint flashes of light flickered from its heights. They couldn't come out; there were even more terrifying enemies keeping them pinned within the walls.
"The water in Caria runs deep," Don murmured, accelerating his pace. He returned to the old mantra:
Sincerity met with righteousness!
As he burst from the treeline, the chaotic manor came into view. Soldiers from both sides were locked in a death struggle atop the walls. Occasionally, the brilliant arc of a Carian Greatsword illuminated the night.
Alayn was carving through rows of enemies with surgical precision. Nearby, the Troll Knight Bollus was blocking the gate, his massive body bristling with arrows as he stomped enemies into a red paste. Ballista bolts and trebuchet stones whistled through the air, shattering stone towers. Sorcerers from the Azur Conspectus were scurrying for cover amidst the rubble.
The front line looked dire, but the narrow terrain favored the defenders. No matter how many Cuckoos scaled the walls, they were met with cold steel. The ground was a carpet of the dead, littered with broken swords and shattered spears.
Behind the manor, the struggle continued. Over thirty Cuckoo soldiers, led by a knight, were pushing their way in along the dirt path. They moved in a tight phalanx, Fire Pots and Cuckoo Glintstones flying through the air. Opposing them was a ragged group of wounded Carians and a lone Troll swinging a massive blade.
The scene was pure carnage. Don couldn't see Karin's squad in the chaos; it looked like a stalemate.
No—Caria was losing. The Fire Pots had ignited the barracks, and many defenders were looking back in panic. In the heat of a desperate defense, no one had the breath to count how many enemies had slipped into their rear.
Don didn't hesitate. He tied the knight's head to his belt, snatched the reins of a riderless, panicked warhorse, and vaulted into the saddle. He grabbed a heavy spear from the saddle holster and slammed the shaft against the horse's flank.
In this night of blood and fire, I shall lead the charge!
CLANG!!
Greatsword met greatsword, the resulting shockwave blowing soldiers back for several meters. The two commanders, Alayn and Mathews, recoiled several paces and stared each other down.
Mathews flexed his numbed wrist. Seeing several Cuckoo Knights cresting the battlements, he grinned savagely. "The city falls. Why not retreat to your little manor while you still can?"
"Hmph. I could hold this wall until the day I die," Alayn replied, raising his shield. Internally, however, his heart was sinking. He didn't regret his deployment, but with his manpower spread so thin, the Cuckoo's assault was proving overwhelming.
Have they not driven those rats out of the rear yet?
Alayn glanced back instinctively, then immediately threw his shield up.
Five Cuckoo Knights lunged at him simultaneously. Greatswords, halberds, and warhammers rained down. Even if a Carian Knight was a tier above them in skill, he had no room to breathe. Nearby, Cuckoo archers loosed bolts from treacherous angles to disrupt his counter-strokes.
"Hard-headed to the end," Mathews sneered, shaking his hand to regain feeling. He roared to his men, "Push! Bind them! They cannot hold much longer!"
The Cuckoo morale soared. They didn't know the exact strength of their infiltration unit, but from the walls, it looked like a pincer movement. They were compressing the Carian line inch by inch.
"If those sorcerers would just do their jobs, we wouldn't have to lose so many men," Mathews grumbled. But he had to press on. Once this manor fell, Caria would be trapped in a single fortress and effectively out of the war. Liurnia's fate would then be a simple matter between the Cuckoos and the Academy.
"Commander, look!"
A knight shouted, pointing toward the rear. Mathews looked up and saw a single armored horse thundering toward them from the direction of the Manor. His pupils constricted.
Carian reinforcements? Impossible. They said...
The fear lasted only a second. He realized it wasn't an army. It was a single rider, blood-soaked and ragged. Mathews' jaw dropped.
"What kind of madman is this!?"
Clip-clop, clip-clop...
The rapid drum of hooves beat against the earth. The fighting Cuckoos turned in shock to see a white horse screaming toward their rear. The lone rider held a spear leveled, plunging into the enemy formation without a shred of hesitation.
"KILL!!"
With a thunderous roar, the spear skewered two men instantly. Hooves ground others into the dirt. Don kicked the horse's ribs, his eyes locked onto the Cuckoo Knight leading the infiltration. He tore through the rabble like a gale.
What!?
The knight, Tore, had just severed a Troll's Achilles heel and was raising his spear to finish the giant off when he saw the horse bearing down on him.
Too fast. Too fierce. Carried by a momentum of pure, suicidal intent, the spear-point expanded in his vision.
Tore was a veteran. He twisted his body, the spear-point grazing his helm and whistling past his ear as the metal plume was sheared off. Using the momentum of his turn, he swung his own spear like a club.
THUD!
The armored horse was struck with such force that its hooves left the ground. It screeched and collapsed. Tore fared little better; the sheer inertia of the charge slammed into his shield, knocking the wind out of him and leaving his forearm throbbing and swollen.
"Who dares!?"
He planted his greatshield, scanning for his attacker.
Don was airborne. He had already discarded the broken spear and gripped the curved blade on his back.
"SLAY!!"
A silver crescent rose in the air, severing Tore's incoming spear-thrust. Don focused his entire weight into his left shoulder, slamming into the top rim of the shield as he fell.
BOOM!
Having slain Daliger, Don't's strength had surged once more. The impact dented the knight's pauldron, and the caught-off-guard Tore stumbled backward.
Don's feet hit the ground, and he braced himself. Tore stared, having never seen such a "mad dog" style of combat. He saw the blood-drenched youth press close, his staff erupting in a blinding light.
Magic?
Swift Glintstone Shard!
Don swung his staff like a madman, unleashing shards like a machine gun. Ordinarily, his mana couldn't sustain such a barrage, but now, the volley lasted for several seconds.
Ping-ping-ping-ping...
Sparks erupted continuously. The shards carved a thousand tiny dents into the surface of the shield. They didn't break through, but the sheer kinetic force drove Tore back step by step, the seeping magical energy numbing his left arm.
"Get off me!"
Tore bashed his shield forward, creating a blast of air. Seizing the opening, he drew his straight sword, preparing to cut down this bizarre sorcerer. But as he stepped forward, a massive hand clamped around his trailing ankle.
The crippled Troll reached out, its fingers closing around the knight's leg. The overwhelming strength began to crush the armor. Before Tore could swing his sword down to sever the fingers, the Troll yanked backward with a roar.
This was his plan?! The knight was sent flying through the air. He realized too late—the sorcerer hadn't been trying to kill him with magic; he was just pushing him into the giant's reach.
SLAM!
The Troll's other hand rose and fell, smashing Tore into the dirt. Protected by his plate armor, Tore was only dazed. He prepared to cut the Troll's fingers, but a foot slammed onto his back, pinning him down.
"Thy time is at an end."
The cold words reached his ears. A heartbeat later, all consciousness faded into black.
Don moved with the practiced efficiency of a butcher. He hacked off the knight's head with a single blow, then stabbed the Bloodhound's Fang into the earth. He grabbed the freshly severed head by the hair and unlatched the other head from his belt.
Holding both trophies high before his chest, his voice rang out like a clap of thunder across the battlefield:
"THE ENEMY GENERALS HAVE BEEN TAKEN!!"
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