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CHAPTER 217
295 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
The Sistermen, poised to launch a two-pronged attack on Moondrift, had made a quiet landing on the beach, trying to minimize any noise. Only a small hill separated them from their intended target. They moved stealthily, unaware that vigilant ravens were silently observing their movements. As they assembled for their assault, Lord Borrel prepared to strike from the north, while Lord Torrent readied his forces to attack from the south. Meanwhile, Lords Sunderland and Longthorpe remained aboard their ships, each with 1500 men, ready to attack from the port once the fighting began.
Approaching the wooden walls of Moondrift, the Sistermen were nearly 70 meters away when the tranquil silence of the night was abruptly shattered by screams and agonizing moans. A relentless barrage of arrows descended upon the unsuspecting invaders, catching them off guard. Until that moment, they had believed themselves to be the ambushers, but now they found themselves caught in a storm of arrows mid-charge.
The darkness was continuously pierced by a relentless onslaught of arrows, descending like vengeful spirits upon the Sistermen. Pandemonium erupted among the invaders as the shrieks of the wounded mixed with the clamor of surprise and fear. Men fell to the ground, clutching at arrow-pierced limbs, their cries echoing through the night air. The element of surprise had been cruelly wrested away from them, and they found themselves trapped in the very ambush they had intended to spring on Moondrift.
Lord Borrel realized that retreat was no longer a viable option. To do so would mean abandoning too many of their men for no gain, and the heavy price they'd paid in the initial arrow barrage had made it abundantly clear there were around a hundred archers at most. Borrel still believed in the power of sheer numbers. His decision was swift; they would press onward and engage the defenders directly, hoping to overwhelm them through sheer force.
Orders rang out through the ranks as the Sistermen prepared to push through the darkness and into the wooden walls and gate. The same situation was happening to Lord Torrent, and he had come to a similar realization.
Aermir watched from a strategic vantage point, the rookery tower at the town's highest point, as his plan unfolded before him. While more extensive use of archers during the initial charge could have inflicted heavier casualties, he had astutely chosen to hold back, opting for a more calculated approach. His aim was not just to repel the Sistermen but to make them bleed as much as possible before they realized the futility of their assault.
By luring them deeper into the town, Aermir had set the stage for a protracted and costly engagement. If the Sistermen chose to retreat after getting in, they would have to do so in the face of fierce resistance, and such a withdrawal would undoubtedly result in even more losses. Aermir's vision extended beyond the immediate battle; he was already contemplating the eventual capture of the Three Sisters and the long-term ramifications of this war. With a sense of grim satisfaction, he watched as the Sistermen continued their advance onto the walls as his archers retreated into the town, pulling them in.
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As the battle intensified and the forces of Lord Sunderland and Longthrope prepared to disembark at the port, Aermir took action. He erected a human-sized monolith and conducted a series of intricate rituals, channeling his Druidic powers to bestow a potent buff upon his 200 knights. Since he was in the middle of 200 men, it was almost impossible for someone to see him. In the past Rebellion, he could only enhance the abilities of a limited number of individuals, usually ranging from 20 to 30, but with this advanced ritual, he managed to empower all 200 of his warriors simultaneously.
Now, his men possessed strength comparable to that of the Mountain himself, each one a formidable force to be reckoned with. As a level 6 druid, Aermir commanded a pool of 600 mana at his disposal, and employing these four rituals consumed half of his mana. However, the extraordinary results were unquestionably worth the expenditure, as his soldiers had been transformed into an unstoppable legion of killing machines, ready to face any challenge that awaited them in the upcoming hour.
Aermir's knights now boasted incredible attributes, ranging between 16 and 19 in strength, and 15 to 18 in speed, far surpassing the capabilities of an average knight. They exhibited three times the stamina of their peers and enjoyed the added protection of the formidable Quersumby (oakshield). Aermir had expended not only 300 mana but also sacrificed 40 sheep to perform these rituals, and the results were nothing short of astonishing.
With their enhancements complete, Aermir fortified himself further by invoking the protective Rhovagon grēze (bark armor), turning his skin into a darker color. The knights took their positions, prepared to confront the Sistermen. As Aermir, he couldn't wield his magic, so this moment presented the ideal opportunity to use one of his newfound level 6 spells.
"Transformatio (transformation)"
The spell Aermir cast was a double-edged sword. While it granted him unparalleled strength and speed, it came at the cost of his ability to cast any other spells. As he chanted the incantation, his body swelled slightly, and he felt the connection to his mana abruptly severed. Even the familiar sight spell, which usually required no incantation, was beyond his reach. However, he retained the capability to communicate with his familiars and sense their presence. This revelation confirmed what Aermir had long suspected: his bond with his familiars transcended mere magic.
With his physical attributes now elevated to extraordinary levels, Aermir's strength soared to 35, and his speed surged to 25. He could feel an overwhelming surge of power coursing through his body, making him an unstoppable force. Now Aermir had strength close to a fully grown black bear, and his speed was faster than Berus. He discarded his shield and took something new from Sith's saddle. It was a bigger halberd than the one he had before and its name was Moonreaver.
The halberd boasts a formidable presence, with a shaft that stands taller than a grown man, carved from the heartwood of an ancient Ironwood tree. This wood is known for its exceptional strength and resilience, polished to reveal its rich, intricate grain patterns and imbued with a durability enchantment, which made it harder than its namesake.
At the top of the shaft, two crescent-shaped blades extend, each crafted from the renowned Valyrian steel of Nightfall. The steel blades possess a distinctive ripple pattern, the hallmark of the finest Valyrian craftsmanship, expertly honed to a razor edge that glints with a faint bluish hue when struck by light.
As it was reforged from a Valyrian blade, it was incredibly sharp and never dull, capable of slicing through armor and flesh with ease. After swinging the halberd a bit and getting used to his now immense power. He got on top of Sith and charged into the approaching Sistermen.
The battlefield became a nightmarish tableau as Aermir and his 200 knights descended upon the enemy with relentless fury. It was as though an unstoppable flood had been unleashed, sweeping away everything in its path. They charged through the opposing force of 3000 men as if they were nothing more than ripe wheat ready for harvest.
Aermir, endowed with his colossal strength, seemed like the embodiment of death itself. With every swing of his weapon, he cleaved through multiple foes, cutting them down as easily as one would pluck weeds from a garden. Plate armor provided no protection against the unstoppable force that was Aermir. His halberd, Moonreaver, sliced through the armors as if they were mere butter, leaving a trail of gore and devastation in its wake.
As Aermir's halberd swung, it unleashed a torrent of blood, flesh, and bone upon his enemies, painting the battlefield in a gruesome tapestry of death. The sheer carnage was beyond description, and within just five minutes, a thousand of their adversaries lay lifeless in the crimson-soaked earth. Sistermen couldn’t believe what they were seeing, they lost 1000 men in the blink of an eye. All Sistermen could think was this must be a dream, a nightmare.