The sun rose as it always did, though the flames of war had long since shrouded the Lands Between. Countless towns and villages had been reduced to ash; in the grand scheme, a clash of a thousand men in a corner of Liurnia barely caused a ripple.
The sunlight crept forward, stretching past the battered manor and finally coming to rest upon the high outer walls of the Carian Manor. A petite girl rested her hand upon the stone battlements, near a breach left by a magical blast. Her ghostly blue eyes gazed southward, filled with an expression of quiet disbelief.
"They... they held it?"
The Carian banner still fluttered at the highest point. After a night of chaotic slaughter, the manor had not fallen.
"It seems the Cuckoos have broken their spears against our stones. By all rights, this should not have happened. We must wait for Alayn to send his report." A cold voice rang out as Blaidd strode along the battlements. His armor was mangled, bearing the marks of a hard-fought struggle.
A grey-green hand sat upon his chest, its ten fingers twitching incessantly like a dog wagging its tail. The jagged stump where the hand had been severed was gruesome and unsettling.
The Half-Wolf frowned, tore the hand from his plate armor, and tossed it over the wall. Below lay a sight that would make anyone's skin crawl.
Hands of all sizes—Fingercreepers—were scuttling about like giant spiders. Some burrowed into the soil, while others clung to the walls, waiting for prey to wander near.
Mistress and Shadow were long accustomed to the sight. Ranni turned back, asking softly, "Have they withdrawn?"
"They have. They took every corpse with them. But Alecto and her Black Knives will not simply give up." Because the girl was so small, she barely reached the Wolf's chest; perhaps out of respect for his lady's dignity, Blaidd knelt on one knee.
"Highness, dost thou grieve for last night's losses? If I may be so bold... thou hast done thy best, even dispatching Adula. If we had followed Master Iji's plan..."
Ranni raised a hand to cut him off. She knew the War Counselor's plan well.
The automated defense sorceries—the Carian Retaliation sigils—were complete. Using the manor as bait, they could have lured the greedy Cuckoos in, even ceding the outer walls. The mercenaries would have hit a wall at the inner keep, and as they retreated, a rain of magical arrows would have descended. The fields outside would have been paved with Cuckoo corpses.
"Following Iji's counsel would indeed have ended the battle decisively. But it was not the best outcome."
Blaidd hesitated, then nodded heavily. Had that happened, Caria, the Cuckoo Legion, and the Academy would have all lost their offensive capabilities. Liurnia would have become a stagnant pond, waiting for an outsider to break the balance.
"Safe, perhaps. But far too passive."
Ranni said nothing more. A gentle southern wind caught her blue hair. She gazed silently toward the horizon, and none could tell what the demigod was thinking. Was it pity for her subordinates? Hatred for her enemies? Or was her gaze already fixed beyond the Lands Between, toward the vast, cold starry sky?
The Half-Wolf stood quietly beside her, eyes narrowed, wishing the time would pass as slowly as possible. Unfortunately, a sudden gust of wind blew from above as a wyvern descended on beating wings.
Thump.
The wall trembled. The Glintstone Dragon's scales were chipped, and strands of lake-weed clung to its snout.
"Thou hast worked hard, Adula." Ranni reached out. The dragon lowered its massive head, gently nudging her hand and letting out a soft, low trill, its ferocity replaced by domestic calm.
The tiny hand against the massive snout was a study in contrasts, yet it held a strange, quiet tenderness.
"Is that so? Thou and Smarag still found no victor, yet thou didst carve him well with thy blade? Well done, Adula."
Ranni seemed to understand the dragon's tongue, nodding as she listened to the recount of the night's battle. When Adula mentioned the Cuckoo infiltration, Ranni's brow furrowed. It had been a vicious move; with Caria focused on the front, a strike from the rear should have collapsed their formation instantly.
"Fortunately, Alayn is a seasoned commander. He surely kept a reserve."
The Glintstone Dragon shook its head and spoke the truth. Ranni froze, her eyes widening. Shock was written plainly across her delicate features.
"Highness, what is it?" Blaidd asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
Ranni patted Adula's snout, signaling the dragon to rest. She turned back as the dragon's wings kicked up a gale, a peculiar smile on her face.
"The Cuckoo assault was too fierce. Alayn committed his reserves to the battle early. The unit guarding the rear was a mere five-man squad."
"That is impossible!" The Wolf shook his head. "The infiltration force was significant, led by several Cuckoo Knights. Even if Bollus himself had guarded the rear, he might not have held."
"And that is why this is a miracle. They not only held, but rallied the retreating men to launch a counter-charge, eventually terrifying the Cuckoos into flight." Ranni joined her fingertips, a soft smile playing on her lips. "And the warrior who performed this deed is someone thou knowest."
"Who?" Blaidd leaned forward. He could imagine how desperate and dire the situation must have been.
The Lunar Princess looked south again toward the manor still belching black smoke. She spoke a name softly into the wind:
"Don Wright."
Don had no idea that his performance had already reached the eyes of his "boss." He had survived too many desperate struggles for his heart to leap with joy. Fame and merit were secondary; what kept a man alive wasn't a reputation, but tangible power.
The snowball is growing. This body now possesses the strength of a lower-tier knight. However, the last few 'kills' were far less effective. Have I hit a bottleneck?
He walked through the slick, muddy manor grounds, lost in thought. Soldiers hurried past him; while the wounded were allowed to rest, most were already laboring to repair the fortifications. Don, however, chose to slack off, replaying the blood and fire of the night in his mind.
If a standard Cuckoo soldier initially provided "1 point" of strength, as his physical stats rose, the gain had diminished to 0.8, 0.5, and then 0.3. He clenched his fist. His intuition was correct.
Scaling difficulty? There really are no shortcuts. I was hoping I could just farm trash mobs to reach the top.
Quantity could not replace quality. Becoming a "Sword Saint of the Starting Area" was out of the question. But he didn't mind. If reaching the peak only required slaughtering rabble, the journey would be far too tedious.
Unknowingly, Don wandered back to the road where he had launched his cavalry charge. He paused, his gaze shifting to the side. Propped against a broken wall was a body—the laconic halberdier from his squad.
The silent man was gone. A spear was buried in his chest, his vacant eyes staring at the dirt. He had died in this quiet corner without a word.
Of the squad that had fought beside him last night, only Karin and Arno had survived. Don walked over slowly, leaned down, and silently closed the man's eyes.
"Comfort the fallen with victory. A warrior's soul shall be immortal."
A low voice came from behind. Don turned to see Alayn. The blonde knight removed his cloak and draped it over the body, his eyes burning with intensity as he looked at Don.
"Do not grieve. Victory was brought by your hand. This soldier has no regrets."
Over five hundred Cuckoos had been slain or wounded in a single night, and their elite strike force had been annihilated. It was a massive triumph.
"You overpraise me, Lord Alayn," Don replied with his usual calm. A heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder.
"Excessive modesty is merely a form of arrogance. When you win, you should laugh. When you drive back the enemy, you should drink. Come, laugh with me." The knight let out a boisterous roar of laughter, cursing between breaths: "Those damned Cuckoos are fertilizer now! I told them they wouldn't take this manor, but they insisted on smashing their heads against our walls!"
Don managed to squeeze out a small smile, which only made Alayn's laughter falter in awkwardness. The knight rubbed his nose. "You're a strange one. Sometimes I feel like you've crawled out of a slaughterhouse, or survived some ultimate despair."
I have, Don thought, his expression twitching. Seeing the knight's hyper-active imagination at work, he changed the subject.
"Does Lord Alayn have new orders?"
"As a matter of fact... hey, don't look so tense. It's a good thing." Alayn patted Don's shoulder again. His gaze no longer held the condescension of a superior, but the respect of an equal. Despite the gap in their raw power, Don't's valor had won him over.
Alayn personally led a warhorse over, looking toward the distant Carian Manor with a touch of envy.
"Go. Her Highness Ranni wishes to decorate you herself!"