Mist Valley – Barricade Defensive Line. Midday – Under Bombardment.
WHOOOSH... CRACK!
A massive boulder slammed into the cliff face just meters above the primary barricade. The impact sent a violent tremor through the earth, raining jagged debris down upon the Sudrath forces. A mercenary fell, let out a gut-wrenching groan as he clutched a shoulder crushed by a falling shard of stone.
"Medic! Get him behind the rocks, now!" Sir Riven bellowed, his voice raspy from the dust clogging his throat. He wiped a mixture of sweat and grime from his forehead with a rough hand.
The situation had turned grim in an instant. The euphoria of their earlier victory had evaporated, replaced by billowing dust clouds and rising panic. At the southern end of the valley, three enemy Trebuchets stood like wooden titans. Positioned four hundred meters away, they were safely out of reach for Sudrath's archers, yet perfectly placed to lob death with mechanical regularity.
WHOOOSH...
A second stone cut through the air. This time, the aim was true.
CRASH!
The timber barricade they had labored to build was pulverized. Sharp wooden splinters hissed through the air like shrapnel.
"Fall back! Find cover in the cliff crevices!" Duke Lucian ordered. He leapt from his horse, refusing to remain an easy target for the enemy artillery.
Sir Rianor scrambled through the dirt, gasping for air as he reached his father and brother behind a massive boulder. His face was smeared with soot, his glasses knocked askew.
"We can't hold this position much longer, Father," Rianor panted, trying to steady his breathing. "That's long-range artillery. They'll peel back our defenses layer by layer, then send in the cavalry to trample whatever's left. We're sitting ducks if we stay here."
"Should we charge?" Riven suggested, his knuckles white as he gripped the haft of his axe.
"That's suicide," Rianor countered immediately. "There are three thousand lives between us and those machines. We need an aerial strike... or something they won't see coming."
Suddenly, a shadow landed soundlessly beside them. Lady Rhea.
She was no longer clad in stiff, heavy plate. Rhea was wrapped in charcoal-black tactical leathers that seemed to drink the surrounding light. A dark veil covered her face, leaving only a pair of sharp eyes that glinted with a lethal chill. At her waist hung a rapier, a dagger, and two small pouches containing the last of Rianor's gunpowder.
"I'll handle it," Rhea said flatly.
"By yourself?" Riven stared at his sister with ill-concealed worry. "That's a suicide mission, Rhea. You'd have to get past thousands of men down there."
"I'm not taking the main road," Rhea pointed toward the sheer, vertical cliff wall rising fifty meters beside them. "I'll scale the blind side, then drop in right behind their command tents."
Rianor looked up at the cliff. It was slick, steep, and damp with mountain mist. "Physically, that's impossible, Rhea. Even for a professional athlete."
Rhea met Rianor's gaze with a haunting stillness. "Sir Rianor, you handle the strategy. Sir Riven, you handle the defense. Let me do what I do best: stay invisible."
Without waiting for approval, Rhea darted toward the stone wall. She lunged, her fingers finding a nearly invisible crack, and began to ascend with the effortless grace of a spider. The muscle memory of Lady Rhea—the sword dancer—merged perfectly with the modern rock-climbing techniques she had mastered in her previous life. In a matter of breaths, she was twenty meters up, disappearing into the swirling mist.
Duke Lucian watched his daughter's retreating form. "Riven," Lucian commanded curtly. "Distract them. Make as much noise as possible at the front so they don't have a reason to look back."
Riven let out a feral grin, slamming his fist against his breastplate. THUD!
"UNDERSTOOD! ALL SQUADS! SHIELD FORMATION! TEN PACES FORWARD! JEER AT THOSE PIGS!"
Valerius Rear Guard – Artillery Zone.
The Valerius artillery commander laughed with sadistic glee as he watched the Sudrath barricades splinter. "Keep firing! Don't give them room to breathe! Duke Varkas wants Lucian's head as a centerpiece for dinner tonight!"
The soldiers were busy hoisting another boulder into the sling. They were so preoccupied they failed to notice death lurking directly above their heads. Perched on the branch of an ancient pine tree overhanging the artillery position, Lady Rhea watched with measured breaths. Her sharp eyes analyzed the layout.
Three machines. Twenty nearby guards. Three large barrels of machine grease.
Rhea pulled a gunpowder pouch from her belt, igniting the fuse with a small flint-striker. Sssssst...
"A little souvenir from home," Rhea whispered.
She dropped the pouch directly into the cluster of grease barrels beside the center Trebuchet.
A guard turned, sniffing the air. "What's that sme—"
BOOM!
The oil barrels erupted. Tongues of fire lashed out hungrily, licking the dry wooden frames of the siege engines. Panic shattered the air instantly.
"FIRE! SABOTAGE!"
In the heart of the chaos, Rhea dropped. She was no longer human; she was a gust of death draped in shadow.
Zwing!
Her rapier hissed through the air, piercing the throat of the first operator before he could even let out a gasp. Rhea rolled through the dirt, dodging a spear thrust, and with one fluid motion, severed the tension ropes of the second Trebuchet.
SNAP!
The massive throwing arm broke free, swinging wildly out of control and slamming into its own support pillars, bringing the entire structure crashing down onto the soldiers below.
"THERE! AN INTRUDER!"
Five elite soldiers immediately hemmed Rhea in. She stood tall amidst the growing inferno, her eyes reflecting the crimson glow of the flames. She drew the dagger in her left hand. Dual Wielding.
"Who wants to go first?" Rhea challenged, her voice calm yet bone-chilling.
A soldier lunged. Rhea parried his greatsword with her rapier, redirecting his momentum to the side before driving her dagger into the gap beneath his armpit. Efficient. Brutal.
However, the numbers were beginning to weigh. "Take her alive!"
A heavy weighted net was hurled at her. Rhea leapt back, but her foot snagged on a corpse. She fell hard. A Valerius soldier towered over her, sword raised to split her skull.
CLANG!
An arrow hissed from an impossible distance, striking the soldier's blade with enough force to send it flying from his grip. Rhea looked toward the far cliff ridge. A glint of light from a small mirror caught her eye. A signal.
Sir Roland.
No, it wasn't Roland who had fired the shot—he was the Spotter, directing Garrick's finest marksman. Rhea didn't waste the moment. She scrambled up, tossed her final pouch into the third Trebuchet, and kicked a fallen torch into the trail of black powder.
BLAST!
All three siege engines were now nothing more than skeletons of charred wood consumed by fire. Mission accomplished. Rhea sprinted toward the cliff face, fired a grappling hook into an overhanging branch, and ascended, leaving the frustrated shouts of the enemy far below.
Back at the Sudrath Barricade.
Cheers erupted as the Sudrath forces saw the thick black smoke billowing from the enemy's rear. The bombardment ceased instantly.
"She did it! That crazy sister of mine actually did it!" Riven roared, hoisting his axe high.
Duke Lucian let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Their artillery is crippled. Now, the field is level."
But Rianor didn't join the celebration. He was still peering through his spyglass at the enemy lines. The Valerius forces had lost their siege engines, but they showed no sign of retreating. Instead, their formation began to shift.
They parted, creating a path for a figure emerging from the center. A knight atop a massive warhorse, clad in blood-red plate armor. His frame was even larger than Riven's, and he wielded a warhammer of absurd proportions.
"That's..." Garrick whispered, his face turning an ashen gray. "That's General Kael. The Human Tank."
Kael didn't shout. He simply raised his massive hammer, pointing it directly at Duke Lucian. A challenge to a duel between generals. Behind him, the heavy cavalry began to form up for a charge. Without an intact barricade, that cavalry could trample the Sudrath forces in a single sweep.
"Rianor," Lucian called out. His voice was unnervingly calm. Too calm.
"Yes, Father?"
Lucian dismounted, unfastened his heavy fur cloak, and tightened the straps of his gauntlets. Creak.
"Your strategy has brought us this far. You've shattered their morale, and you've broken their machines." Lucian looked at his three children gathered around him. "However, to stop a monster like that... and to hold a cavalry charge without a wall..."
Lucian's eyes suddenly ignited. It wasn't the warm light of a father, but the cold, sapphire radiance of an Awakened Aura Master.
"It takes a much bigger monster."
Duke Lucian Sudrath stepped forward alone, leaving the protection of the cliffs for the open field. The wind began to swirl violently around him. Pebbles on the ground shivered and rose into the air.
A dense, indigo aura—the signature color of House Sudrath—shrouded Lucian's body like a roaring flame in the dark.
"Watch closely, children," Lucian murmured as he marched forward. "This is the reason House Sudrath was once feared by the entire continent."