The gains from killing the beasts dwindled slowly over time.
Worthy was still nothing more than a child, so after a while, his body was heightened to its peak. It took a few dozen kills, but after a while, he realized that he'd achieved the prime condition for a twelve-year-old child. He theorized he could push himself further if he actually exercised. In fact, he didn't doubt for a moment that exercising would be key to refining and honing more strength from his rewards. His legs were already beginning to receive further definition and gained more strength the more he ran and cleaved through the beasts with unmatched stamina. His stamina was unmatched because it was effectively endless.
Each time he killed a beast, the energy returned to him. Each time the energy returned to him, he'd use it to cut down more abominations and replenish it.
Until now, he'd been relying solely on his speed to get the better of his enemies. He was thin, but he was fast. Likewise, they were mindless and relatively slow in comparison—though there were more than a few outliers.
He wasn't so thin anymore, after killing dozens of the abominations during the defensive effort, he'd certainly become a lot faster.
Worthy gained his fair share of pounds across the battle's duration, undergoing a subtle transformation. His body was lifted to a healthy weight. And as he leapt and swung and weapon, slaying more enemies, he also grew taller than he was before.
Soon, once he attained a physique and capabilities that should have been considered average for a child his age, that is when he noticed his limits were evolving. Even though his rewards were dwindling from the kill, they had not ceased outright. In fact, the boy suspected that he would never stop reaping rewards from killing his enemies, although they were destined to reach a point where they were too small to care about.
The divine ichor of the deceased god flowing through the bodies of all the monsters would be fitted into his nutritional needs. He would keep getting stronger, overcoming the restrictions of his body, in due time.
After more time passed and the violence only grew in proportion once more Climbers from within the wall joined the frey in defending the hovering city, and the child had time to take in the magnificence of the great wall once again. It was slowly moving toward them, but it had hardly been moving quickly enough to blindside them.
That was changing, as more time passed.
No one noticed it at first. They were too busy battling for their lives, protecting the floating city. After some time passed, the first Climber noticed it was getting faster, and his companions called him paranoid. After the second and third, the group realized the first man wasn't being paranoid, he was more perceptive than them.
The more time passed, the more the city picked up speed. What began as a sluggish process of inching forward was slowly but surely turning into a tremendous stride. Accelerating forward, Middle Town—the Accursed Port—was becoming more swift by the minute.
Eventually, it would be too fast for them to stay ahead of, and it'd pass over their heads, or run them down outright.
The time before that happened was still far away, but it was something they knew they'd need to prepare for. Retreating was going to need to be a unified effort, as once the city reached its full speed, there'd be few that could keep up with it. Entering through the gate was not difficult, but it'd need to be organized. Everyone turning around and sprinting through the opening, or being carried through the opening, would leave a debilitating vacancy in the structure of the defensive line.
Knights could hold that line for a while, but the fleeing party would have to be swift.
Until they could communicate across the line how that retreat would go, everyone prioritized fighting.
From the wall, a thunderous voice carried a message. It was led by a voice that was pleasantly familiar to the child.
"Bifurcate the horde!" War Reaver, in his armor which had several openings in it that were blotted by a crimson substance, presumably hardened blood, had recovered from being transported.
Worthy didn't know what had happened, but the battle within the bone mountain must've exhausted him. His suit was still steaming; it looked like the man was on fire beneath his divine armor, and it was a miracle he was even standing, smoke coming through the slits of his visor as he breathed.
Receptive to the command, the Knights each acted in unison and raised their weapons into the air. Above them, whilst fighting off a swarm of avian beasts with the others that could take to the skies, the Knight Captain did the same. Moments later, each of their weapons were shining with a mystical radiance.
Everyone who was ahead of them in the swarm suddenly took steps back, now positioned behind the knights and their glowing blades.
Then, all of them swung their weapons, and rather than energy coming out in the way he'd seen so many times, the earth lifted. Sharp spikes rose, and beneath those spikes a wall rose, the fleshy ground blistering and boiling as an impossible heat passed by it and shaped the world to the bidding of the overwhelming unit.
The monsters that weren't impaled tumbled to the sides of the wall, onto their charging brethren. All throughout the battlefield, this same process was repeated. Long walls of blistered flesh rose and divided the approaching hordes.
The Knight Captain's attack carried the most shocking result of all, carrying the most might of all.
With one swing of his weapon, he created a dozen different walls of hot, boiling flesh and divided the flood from its origin. Walls connecting from the center of the horde all the way to their respective mountains of origin bifurcated the approach of the beasts, and forced them to work through the newly risen network. Lest they desire to be trapped on the blistering spikes, which melted the bodies of everything that climbed onto them, they had no choice.
That quickly, directed by the mighty voice of a living legend, whom the Knights likely met at some point in their childhood, or had heard tales of, they acted unconsciously and created pathways. Through these paths, the monsters savagely advanced, only to be met with a wall of Climbers that tore them asunder.
And just like that, the defensive line was made.
They would advance no further than the bifurcations made, holding that newly made line which helped decrease the number of enemies they were meeting by a significant margin. There, Worthy stood among the defenders and swung his weapon, quenching his need for nutrients well past what was once thought possible. If he were directly eating, he'd have no doubt vomited.
Thus, the Climbers—the Army of Hope—fought just a bit longer…
Until eventually, the voice of War Reaver echoed over their heads: "First line, begin your retreat!"
And to ensure they knew what the first line was, the Knights began to take steps back, which consequentially resulted in all the Climbers who were fighting with them moving too. Those who were far enough to see the wall of men approaching were the first to turn and make their way toward the gate, where guards beckoned and aided in the organization of the retreat.
Their retreat was underway, because the city was now entering a speed that was dangerous for them to be in front of.