By the flickering orange light of the fires, two mangled, hideous, and unmistakably familiar heads were thrust before the eyes of the twenty-odd Cuckoo soldiers. Many were still mid-lunge, frozen in their tracks as if struck by a paralysis hex.
Silence reigned. Thoughts congealed; minds turned to stone. Before they could process their terror, the blood-soaked swordsman tossed the two trophies into the dirt and leveled his curved blade.
"Flee or die."
The blade was a dark, bruised red, having drunk its fill of lives throughout the night. Behind him, the ragged remnants of the Carian defense finally found their second wind. Arno, clutching his abdomen to keep his viscera from spilling through a jagged wound, stood with veins bulging from the sheer effort of his agony.
"Flee or die!" he wheezed.
More men stepped forward, their voices merging into a single, jagged roar.
"FLEE OR DIE!!"
Clatter.
A Cuckoo soldier dropped his straight sword and bolted. They had fought through the night, exhausted and fraying at the edges; with their knights fallen, the last cord of their discipline snapped. To them, these Carians were no longer men, but rabid dogs. The roar forced their frozen minds back into gear.
Run. Get out now!
The phalanx collapsed. Shields and weapons were abandoned in the mud. The Carian soldiers didn't stand idly by; the rhythmic twang of bowstrings followed the retreat. Arrows found their marks in retreating backs, pinning soldiers to the earth like hunted game.
Don glanced up. Karin stood atop a half-collapsed roof, her rugged face a mask of blood. A deep gash across her cheek pulled back far enough to reveal the bone of her jaw.
A true iron-willed warrior, Don thought. He sheathed his blade and used his remaining mana to pick off stragglers with Glintstone Pebbles. By the time his energy was spent, the path out of the manor was a trail of meat and iron. Every Cuckoo infiltrator lay dead.
The arrows and magic ceased. Every eye turned toward Don. Because he had changed his gear, many didn't recognize him at first. In the heavy, awkward silence, Don turned to face them and slowly raised the Bloodhound's Fang toward the sky.
"Glory to Caria!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight of absolute conviction. Framed against the carpet of corpses, the words held more power than a thousand speeches.
"GLORY TO CARIA!!"
A wild, thunderous cheer erupted, a storm of sound that swept through the blood-stained manor, drowning out the distant echoes of the main battle.
Perhaps it was an illusion, but the cacophony of the siege seemed to falter for a heartbeat. Friends and foes alike were drawn to the sound, turning their heads toward the rear.
"Those who cannot walk, stay and finish the wounded," Don commanded, sensing the gazes of shock and newfound hope. He lowered his blade. "Those who can still move, follow me. We drive the bastards out!"
The battle was not over. Their bodies were at the brink of collapse. Yet, looking at the lone warrior marching forward, the soldiers found a strength they didn't know they possessed. They followed.
Don't's limbs trembled from the depletion of his stamina, but his stride remained steady. He stepped through blood-soaked mud at the head of the formation, acting as a living banner. Scattered groups of stragglers and survivors saw him and merged into the line.
Fifty men. Eighty. A hundred.
Under the firelight, a tide of iron surged from the manor's interior. They were tattered and broken, but they acted as a shot of pure adrenaline to the defenders on the walls—and a hammer blow to the Cuckoo legion.
"Commander, look!"
"I see it!"
Atop the battlements, Mathews' face was a mask of rigid fury. Disbelief burned in his eyes.
The walls were choked with the dead. Alayn had been driven into a corner, parrying the combined strikes of several knights. The Troll Bollus was entangled in heavy iron chains, roaring in a futile struggle.
They had been so close.
One more push and he could have committed his reserves, chasing the Carian rout all the way to the Royal City itself. With the manor taken, he could have pillaged the treasures of Caria to recruit a fresh army. Even the Academy would have eventually fallen to him.
Even if he couldn't take the city, he would have razed this manor to the bedrock, pulling the very foundations of the walls from the earth. Caria would have been trapped, unable to ever exert influence again.
But they had failed. He couldn't fathom how a strike force of his finest knights had been repelled by a group of "useless eaters." He only knew that while those remnants were tactically insignificant, their symbolic arrival changed everything.
The Carians were counter-attacking. They threw themselves at the Troll, hacking away the chains. The Cuckoo guards recoiled in panic as Bollus began to shake off his bonds.
After a night of slaughter, both sides were running on fumes. Victory now belonged to whoever possessed the most courage—and the Carians had found theirs.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heavy footsteps echoed. Massive Trolls appeared in the torchlight; one was even crawling like a vengeful spirit on a severed leg. Mathews' gaze locked onto the blood-drenched youth leading the charge. He gripped his greatsword.
"Who is this man!?"
He couldn't see a face, nor gauge the man's power, but the charisma was that of a high commander. As he hesitated, a knight beside him spoke urgently.
"Commander! Decide! Now!"
A brilliant flash erupted on the wall. Alayn manifested a ten-meter Carian Greatsword, sweeping it in a massive horizontal arc. The Cuckoo knights were sent flying. One halberdier, too slow to dodge, was cleaved clean in two—man and weapon alike.
Puchi.
the magical blade dissipated. Alayn slammed his boot onto the head of a screaming survivor, his handsome face twisted into a snarl. "I told you... you wouldn't take this wall!"
Mathews didn't bother with a retort. He glanced back at his camp. It remained silent. Only a few hundred reserves stood there, whispering amongst themselves. His expression soured.
Those damned sorcerers!
He cast one last look at the Carian Knight and leapt from the battlements, his roar carrying across the field.
"RETREAT!"
A true veteran knows when to cut his losses. The Cuckoo legion was experienced in the art of the tactical withdrawal. Seeing their commander leap from the wall, the others followed suit.
"Fall back! Move!"
They dropped from the walls like stones. Fortunately, the denizens of the Lands Between were physically resilient; a six-meter drop was a minor inconvenience. Those inside the manor scrambled back through the breaches, wishing their mothers had given them two more legs for the flight.
"Do not pursue! Hold the line and fortify!" Alayn shouted from above. But the Carians, fueled by the adrenaline of the turnaround, couldn't be stopped. they chased the retreating mercenaries into the night, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.
Only after they had covered a hundred paces did a rhythmic whistling fill the air. Trebuchets and ballistae from the Cuckoo camp fired a coordinated volley, pinning dozens of Carians to the earth. It was a cold splash of reality.
The Cuckoos were retreating, not routing. This was a professional military force; they wouldn't let themselves be chased into their own camp.
Caught between the urge to kill and the reality of the bolts, the Troll Knight Bollus stepped to the front. He swung his door-sized blade in great arcs, providing cover for the soldiers to pull back into the manor.
Alayn felt the strength leave his body. He slid down the wet, slick stone of the wall and sat on the ground, his chest heaving. After a few seconds, he forced himself up. His gaze met that of a swordsman within the manor grounds.
Both were drenched in blood. Both were at the end of their strength. The swordsman looked so tangible, so real, that Alayn completely forgot he had been cursing this "coward" only days before.
Whatever had happened in between, Don Wright had earned his respect in blood. Alayn performed a slow, solemn knight's salute. The swordsman returned a weary smile.
After a moment of silent acknowledgement, the thick scent of iron in the air seemed to galvanize the knight. He and Don raised their blades simultaneously.
"Victory! For Caria!!"
"VICTORY! FOR CARIA!!!"
The cheers rose in waves, seemingly shaking the Erdtree and calling forth the sun.
The first rays of dawn spilled across the land, illuminating the twisted corpses and the houses wreathed in black smoke. Broken swords and shattered shields reflected the morning light. The survivors looked around in a daze, only then realizing—
—the night had been so very long.