Meanwhile in the west side of the trenches,
Clara didn't stop moving.
She dragged wounded soldiers one by one toward the rear of the trench line, boots slipping in mud and blood as gunfire cracked overhead. Every second mattered. Every hesitation cost something she couldn't afford.
"Stay with me," she said firmly, pressing cloth against a soldier's side. "Don't close your eyes."
The soldier nodded weakly.
Sienna covered her.
From a half-collapsed firing position, Sienna worked her rifle with ruthless efficiency—breathing steady, posture tight. Each shot was measured. Each pull of the trigger dropped another charging figure in the distance.
She didn't count kills.
She counted seconds bought.
Clara finished tying off a bandage and reached for the next wounded—
A shadow shifted behind her.
Too close.
An orc burst from the smoke, rifle raised, finger tightening—
The sound that followed wasn't a gunshot.
It was steel singing.
A katana hilt slid free with a sharp, unmistakable hiss.
Flames ignited along the blade in a blinding flash.
The orc never finished pulling the trigger.
Cassian Draven passed through it in one violent motion—blade carving clean arcs through the air, fire trailing behind like judgment. The strike landed in a blink, and the enemy collapsed in pieces that burned where they fell, heat warping the air.
Cassian didn't even look back.
"I hate guns," he said flatly, wiping the blade as flames crawled back along the steel. "Too slow. Too distant."
Clara stared for half a second.
Then nodded. "Good timing."
Sienna fired again—another body dropping before it reached the trench.
To the west, Ronan braced himself and hurled a grenade with practiced force.
It landed among a cluster of charging orcs—
BOOM.
The explosion tore through the formation, bodies flung aside as dirt and fire erupted skyward. The ground shook hard enough to rattle teeth.
Ronan didn't wait.
An orc lunged from the smoke, blade raised high—
The earth responded.
A wall of stone surged upward from beneath Ronan's feet, solid and sudden. The blade slammed into it uselessly. Ronan stepped forward and shoved both hands out.
The wall moved.
Not slowly.
It crashed forward with crushing force, slamming the orc against the trench wall in a thunderous impact that left nothing standing where it had been.
Ronan exhaled once. Steady. Grounded.
"Next," he muttered.
Gunfire continued to roar around them. Magic flared in flashes of fire and light. Sienna's rifle barked again and again, keeping the distance thin. Clara hauled another wounded soldier back, jaw tight but hands steady.
Cassian stood at the edge of the trench, flames licking along his blade as he stared into the smoke, waiting for the next thing foolish enough to charge him.
This wasn't chaos for them anymore.
It was work.
And somewhere in the valley, the war was beginning to understand that this squad would not break easily.
The central trenches were collapsing.
Coalition soldiers flooded backward in broken waves, boots slipping over bodies and shattered gear as Jakura orcs poured in behind them. The enemy didn't chase—they hunted. Blades rose and fell in tight spaces. Gunfire ripped through fleeing backs. Screams cut short mid-breath.
It wasn't a retreat anymore.
It was survival.
An orc raised its weapon—
CRACK.
Its head snapped back, body dropping instantly.
Aira didn't lower her rifle.
More orcs surged forward, snarling, convinced they'd found an opening.
Aira fired again, then stayed where she was.
Too still.
An orc lunged at her, blade swinging—
—and passed straight through her.
Her form scattered like mist.
The orc staggered, confused.
BANG.
A shot tore through its head from the side.
Aira stood several steps away, rifle smoking.
Another illusion flickered where she had been.
"Come on," she muttered. "Just a little closer."
The ground beneath the charging orcs suddenly froze solid.
Nina's magic spread outward in a jagged wave, locking feet in place, sending several attackers crashing hard as momentum betrayed them. Ice crept up boots and legs, binding movement, turning speed into liability.
Marina shouted orders, hauling wounded soldiers toward the rear, hands slick with blood, breath ragged but steady.
"This way—move—don't stop!"
Then the air changed.
A sharp crack split the chaos.
Electricity screamed to life.
A thin, straight blade flashed into view—so bright it carved a line through the darkness.
Ellior moved.
He didn't charge.
He passed through.
Lightning wrapped his form in a blinding surge as he cut forward, blade drawing precise, effortless arcs. Each step was fluid. Each strike landed before the enemy realized he was there.
Orcs fell as he went—clean cuts, bodies locking mid-motion before collapsing. Electricity leapt from wound to wound, chaining through them in violent bursts, dropping attackers in rapid succession.
Ellior didn't slow.
He pivoted, blade humming, lightning snapping as he moved again—another line, another cluster falling as if the storm itself had chosen them.
One orc fired wildly.
The bullet screamed toward him.
Ellior's blade snapped up—
The round split cleanly in two.
So did the orc.
Ellior surged forward, lightning flaring brighter as he carved a path through the trench, his movement so fast it left afterimages of crackling light in its wake. Each pass ended the same way—brief contact, then silence.
"Fall back!" he shouted without turning. "NOW!"
Aira didn't argue.
Nina disengaged her ice, retreating with Marina as wounded soldiers were dragged free. Electricity continued to thunder behind them as Ellior pressed forward alone, blade blazing, intercepting the horde with relentless precision.
Where he stood, the Jakura advance stopped.
Not because they were afraid.
Because they couldn't reach him.
Ellior planted his feet, lightning roaring around him, eyes locked ahead.
"Come on," he said quietly.
And the storm answered.
The eastern trenches were still holding.
Barely.
Gunfire echoed without pause, muzzle flashes turning the smoke into a flickering nightmare. Dirt showered into the trench with every nearby impact, and the air carried the smell of smoke, burning earth, and spent cartridges.
"Hold the line!" someone shouted.
Another explosion answered.
Garrick Bloodaxe stood near a shattered section of the trench, his pistol bucking repeatedly in his hand.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each shot drove another charging Jakura backward, but the wave behind them never seemed to end.
The slide locked back.
Empty.
"Tch."
Without hesitation, Garrick holstered the pistol and ripped one of his twin axes free.
An orc vaulted over the trench.
"Come here!"
The axe swept in a single, powerful arc.
The attacker dropped before it could recover its footing.
Another rushed him.
Then another.
Garrick met them head-on, every swing driven by raw strength, forcing the attackers back through sheer ferocity.
"You picked the wrong trench!" he roared.
Several meters away…
Vera Falkner lay prone behind a firing position.
Her breathing never changed.
Her rifle rested perfectly against her shoulder.
A Jakura rifleman emerged from behind a burnt tree.
Crack.
He fell instantly.
Another appeared farther away, trying to line up a shot.
Crack.
Gone.
A third tried to relocate after firing.
Crack.
He never reached cover.
Vera cycled the bolt with calm, practiced precision.
"Firearm first…" she murmured.
Another shot.
"…everything else later."
Around her, allied soldiers began noticing.
"Sniper!"
"She's covering us!"
"Keep moving!"
Without saying another word, Vera found her next target.
Further down the trench…
Reynard Gallant planted his heavy shield into the earth.
Bullets struck its surface in rapid succession.
Ping! Ping! Clang!
"Move!" Reynard shouted.
"Behind me!"
Three wounded soldiers scrambled behind the shield as rounds continued striking its face.
Theo crouched directly behind him, using the protection as a firing position.
His rifle barked again and again.
Then—
Click.
Empty.
A Jakura orc appeared above the trench, raising its rifle.
Theo didn't reload.
Instead—
He gripped the rifle by the stock and hurled it with all his strength.
The bayonet fixed to its muzzle transformed it into a spear.
It flew straight and true.
The attacker disappeared from the edge of the trench as the rifle struck home.
Theo didn't wait to admire the throw.
He yanked out his pistol.
"They just don't quit, do they?!" he growled before opening fire again.
Reynard grinned despite the chaos.
"Less talking."
"I'm trying!"
Elsewhere…
Victor Dreadmoor was almost impossible to follow.
He never stayed in one place.
One moment he was behind a collapsed wall.
The next…
Already somewhere else.
His twin pistols fired in controlled rhythm.
Bang.
A rifleman fell.
Victor moved.
Bang. Bang.
Two more attackers dropped before they could react.
He ducked beneath a wild swing, slid across the muddy trench floor, rose behind another Jakura soldier—
Bang.
Silence.
No wasted movement.
No wasted ammunition.
No battle cries.
Just relentless efficiency.
To many of the attackers, it was as if death itself had begun stalking the trenches.
Despite their efforts…
The battlefield showed no sign of calming.
More Jakura poured from the darkness.
More gunfire answered.
The eastern flank still stood—
But every defender knew the same truth.
Holding the line…
…was becoming harder with every passing minute.
The battle raged without pause.
Gilbert and Kael stumbled through what remained of the trench network, weaving around collapsed earthworks and abandoned equipment. Every few seconds, another artillery shell slammed somewhere nearby, sending fountains of dirt and smoke into the air.
The frontline no longer had a shape.
Only fragments.
Gilbert moved like a ghost.
His eyes were open, but they weren't truly seeing. Finn's desperate cries still echoed inside his head, drowning out everything else.
"Gilbert!"
Kael grabbed his shoulder, nearly dragging him along.
"Come on! Stay with me!"
Gilbert barely reacted.
Another shell exploded several dozen meters away.
The shockwave rolled through the trench, shaking loose dirt from the walls.
"We're almost there!" Kael shouted, though he wasn't sure Gilbert could even hear him.
Then—
A familiar figure appeared through the smoke.
"KAEL!"
Ezra.
He had spotted them from the central trench.
Without hesitation, Ezra sprinted toward them, vaulting over broken timber and shattered sandbags.
"There they are!" he shouted back toward the others.
Kael's face lit with relief.
"EZRA!"
He grabbed Gilbert's arm and broke into a desperate run.
Only a few more meters…
Just a little farther…
Then—
A piercing whistle.
Ezra looked up.
For the briefest instant…
Everything stopped.
A shell struck.
The explosion swallowed the space where Ezra had been standing, erupting into a wall of fire, earth, and smoke. The blast was so violent that Kael and Gilbert were hurled backward, thrown off their feet as if struck by an invisible giant.
The world disappeared into thunder.
Gilbert slammed into the ground.
Kael crashed beside him.
Neither of them heard themselves hit.
Neither heard anything at all.
Only a high, relentless ringing.
Mud and dust rained from above, covering them until the battlefield vanished behind a curtain of falling earth.
Gilbert blinked.
Nothing made sense.
Shapes moved through the haze.
Voices…
Someone was yelling.
He could see a mouth moving—
—but there was no sound.
A figure burst through the smoke.
Lightning crackled faintly around him.
Ellior.
His expression changed the moment he saw the two of them lying there.
He dropped beside Kael first, quickly checking that he was conscious before grabbing Gilbert under one arm.
Ellior shouted something urgently.
Gilbert couldn't hear a single word.
The ringing refused to stop.
Another explosion shook the ground.
Ellior didn't hesitate.
With strength born of desperation, he hauled both of them toward the central trench as more artillery continued to crash around the valley.
Behind them…
The place where Ezra had run to meet them was gone beneath smoke, shattered earth, and silence.