The Red Crows descended in a widening swarm.
Merchants began shouting.
"Push through them!"
"We can outrun them with speed!"
Ron snapped.
"Quiet!"
His voice cut through the panic.
"You think Red Crows let prey escape? They hunt until nothing but bones remain. If you see a swarm like this and think it's a joke, you've already chosen death."
Some merchants looked offended.
Ron didn't care.
"Inside the caravans. Now."
This battle would depend on ranged fighters.
A Viper approached me while I already had an arrow nocked.
"Ron wants you at the front."
I moved immediately.
Ron spoke quickly as we gathered.
"Vipers take the rear. Their poison darts are short-range. You're better positioned here."
The Viper nodded and vanished.
Ron pointed.
"You, Niles, and Paul — primary archers."
Then his eyes shifted to Maria and the hooded man.
"You're a mage, aren't you?"
The hooded man removed it with a soft sigh.
"My name is Khaun. Wind mage."
"Good," Ron said. "Support from above. Lift or scatter any that dive."
The swarm was close now.
Over a hundred.
Darkening the sky.
Maria began chanting first.
Khaun followed, staff glowing faintly.
I drew my bowstring back slowly.
Breathing steady.
Vision narrowed.
One crow.
Red feathers.
Yellow beak.
I released.
The arrow pierced clean through its eye.
It dropped with a shrill screech.
Before it hit the ground, Niles and Paul were already firing.
Niles matched my precision — calm, controlled.
Paul, however, used a rapid-fire crossbow. Ten bolts preloaded in rotation. He sprayed into the swarm, sacrificing accuracy for pressure.
The scattered impacts agitated them.
The swarm shrieked.
And then they rushed.
Not circling.
Not testing.
Rushing.
Rany stepped forward instead of retreating.
"That's it," he muttered. "Charge into the storm."
Even now, he refused to yield ground.
I didn't know whether to admire him or question his sanity.
Maria finished her spell.
A massive fireball formed behind us.
Instead of aiming directly at the swarm, she launched it upward.
For a moment, I didn't understand.
Then it exploded midair.
The single fireball fragmented into dozens of smaller blazing spheres that rained down across the flock.
Screeches filled the air.
Burning feathers.
Falling bodies.
The smell of charred flesh spread quickly.
Khaun stepped forward.
He planted his staff firmly into the ground and twisted it.
A magic circle flared beneath him.
Wind gathered.
Compressed.
He lifted the staff in a curved motion.
A crescent-shaped wind blade surged forward — wide, sharp, and controlled.
Unlike typical wind blasts, this wasn't chaotic.
It was shaped.
Refined.
Like a sword made of air.
It tore through the swarm, slicing wings and bodies cleanly in half.
Dead crows fell like rain.
Within moments, more than half the swarm was gone.
Normally, that would break them.
Normally, they would scatter.
But they didn't.
Even burning, even crippled—
They kept coming.
Some with wings aflame crashed into the ground and crawled toward us.
That was wrong.
Red Crows were scavengers.
Not suicidal hunters.
Something wasn't right.