Commander Haral had fought in eleven Night Auctions.
He knew the rhythm of them. The first hours were always the cheapest, bodies thrown at the mercenary line to test fortifications and bleed the defenders. Then the summoners came in waves, each tier calculated to drain the defensive barriers until they cracked. By the fourth hour, the line would buckle somewhere. It always buckled somewhere. And once it did, the Night Fall Order would pour through the gap and the real killing would begin.
Eleven auctions. Same rhythm every time.
Tonight was no different. His forward units had pushed hard through the first three hours, eating through the mercenary rabble on the eastern approach. Reports came back steady and predictable. The casualties were acceptable, defensive summons were thinning. The barrier class on the Night Guard side was flagging. Five of their shield bearers had already collapsed.
