“Headcount!” Reiss barked as the group of striders packed tightly behind one of the karsts. “How many do we have left?”
Corrin was first, “Our mage is unconscious, but we still have three.”
“Two here, two down!” someone shouted.
“Four, we’re injured but we can still fight.”
“It’s… it’s just me.”
Each strider in turn called out how many they had left, and Corrin leaned back against the saddle as he caught his breath. Above him, the sun had gotten above the karsts, and they’d been fighting for hours. But still, they’d made headway. As the colossus had been dragged north by the rest of the army, their area had grown calmer. There was a good mile between them and the thick of the battle, where explosions, roars and spells could still be heard. It was still visible across the flat surface of the sea, but far enough that they’d lost contact.
It was a tradeoff—they were safe from the worst of the fighting, but they’d gotten cut-off, isolated from the rest of the forces. The acid attack had been devastating, and it was all they’d been able to do to secure the foothold they had.
The twelve striders left had gathered into a circle around the war-strider—a larger strider fitted with ballistae and enchantments which housed the mage core, as well as the injured.
“What’s the plan Reiss?” Corrin asked, wiping the blood from his sword as he rested.
The wind channeler grimaced. “We need to regroup with the main body of the army, we’ll take a few minutes to recover and then—”
“Do we though?” A different voice called out, tense. “If things have calmed down here, can’t we just wait it out? Once they slay it we can send a flare up for rescue, if the horde disperses we can just leave ourselves!”
“You’re right, it’s safe here!”
“I can’t put my team in any more danger… this was a disaster…”
Several others began to murmur their assent.
“Now hang on—”
“Yeah! Why should we have to put our lives on the line any more?”
Corrin winced. This wasn’t good—well, it wasn’t bad necessarily, but he wasn’t ready to give up the fight just yet. Still, he had no right to force them, no real reason.
“Look there.”
It was Wyn. His voice was soft, but he hadn’t been speaking much, and when he did, the argument grew quiet. His eyes were distant, as though he hadn’t been listening at all, and he was pointing through the field of stone spires. “There’s a strider that’s been separated. They’re alone.”
Corrin squinted. He saw them after a moment, a single strider, fighting a desperate battle hundreds of yards away. It was a surprise Wyn had even seen them—Corrin’s eyesight was usually better.
“And?” One of the voices asked, confused.
But Wyn wasn’t talking to them.
He turned to Ven and Corrin, his voice firm. “Let’s go.”
Ven recoiled. “Towards them? Alone? That’s suicide.” He shook his head. “The sentiment is well, checo, but we cannot render them any help.”
“They’ll die if we don’t.” Wyn met the captain’s eyes. “Do you plan to watch it with that blessing of yours? Or do you intend to turn your head and pretend it won’t happen?”
Ven looked down, his face dark.
Wyn raised his voice. “And the rest of you? Are we planning to hunker down, stay safe, and let others die on our behalf?”
“I’m not going to charge in just to save some lost strider!” Someone argued back. “We can’t save—”
“We can.”
“And what? You would ask us to trade our own lives for theirs? You intend for us all to die in their place!”
“You’re wrong,” Wyn growled. He spun around to face the rest of the group, his eyes burning—literally. “I intend for all of us to live! Each one of you within my reach, each person within my grasp. No one dies while I stand. Not one.” He pointed his sword, lit with spirit fire at the lonely strider. “They are within my reach. I’m going to save them, and send them back here. Now Ven, are you going to take me? Or am I going to have to find my own damn strider to get there myself?”
The captain hesitated, and then tapped Siensa’s shell. She lurched forward, moving out from behind the karst. He smiled faintly. “They say lady luck prefers bold men, and I’ve missed her as of late.”
Corrin put a hand on Wyn’s shoulder. “You know I’m supposed to be the stupid one right?”
Wyn’s eyes widened a bit, meeting Corrin’s own and lingering for a moment. Then he looked down, chuckling. “You owe me one or two.”
Corrin laughed, and he saw one of the other adventurers flinch at the sound as they passed. “Well I can’t argue with that.”
Just before they passed the karst, he heard grass rustle behind them. The sentinels were on the move. As they pulled up behind, Reiss looked over. “Guess there’s no point protecting a mage core that’s out of the fight.”
Corrin grinned, and the striders sped up.
The attacks began before they arrived, with all sorts of creatures attacking from the grass. Corrin’s sword quenched its thirst as more and more monsters fell to his blade, but they just kept coming.
A razor beak dove towards him.
Dodge and strike, one motion.
It’s bisected body fell past him. A grass drake lunged from the sea. He’d seen it coming.
Too slow.
Despite the fatigue, his movements were growing sharper. He rammed his sword into the drake’s throat, killing it instantly. Its claws fell limp against his armor just before piercing it. He didn’t even have to mantle. It was the twentieth drake he’d killed that day.
He wasn’t counting though. He was already throwing its body off the saddle and moving again.
They raced across the sea, approaching the beleaguered adventurers as they fought off a swarm of monsters Corrin hadn’t seen before—giant floating fish with scales of gold. As they got closer though, he realized that they weren’t regular fish, but instead had single giant eyes in the front of their face, and bulbous bodies with a quintet of tentacles beneath them. The ends of the tentacles crackled with electricity, arcing blue between the tips.
Reiss’s bow sent arrow after arrow whistling into the fish, each shot a downed monster, and by the time they arrived most of the horde had thinned. Wyn charged forward, leaping the gap. His wooden sword burst into flame—and cut one of them out of the air. The fish caught immediately, body burning in an instant as the lavender flames consumed it.
Corrin leapt across the gap next, landing beside Wyn on the saddle. Something had seemed… off about the attack, but he ignored the thought as he focused on a more important detail.
“Spirit flame? But I thought—”
“Later,” Wyn interrupted. He turned to the three remaining who’d collapsed as soon as the fighting had ended. One of them had lost an arm. “Damn it! Corrin, get me water!”
The battlefield stilled, save for the ragged breaths of the injured adventurer. Corrin handed him a waterskin, fingers slick with sweat and blood.
Wyn worked quickly, pressing strips of cloth against the stump of the adventurer’s severed arm, his eyes focused. A bat-like creature came down from one of the nearby karsts, but it fell before getting close, and Wyn didn’t blink. The wounded adventurer—barely older than them—groaned but didn’t scream as pressure was applied. Corrin handed him a rag to bite down on as Wyn pulled the bandages tight.
Reiss joined them, keeping his bow half-drawn, eyes scanning the karsts for more threats. “We don’t have long,” he warned.
Corrin nodded, crouching beside Wyn. “How bad?”
Wyn’s jaw tightened. “He’s alive for now. Lost too much blood. We need to get him back to the core.”
The other two rescued striders stirred. One, a woman with a split helmet and a shattered pauldron, pushed herself up with a groan. “We’re going to die aren’t we?” she whispered. Her eyes flicked to one of the fallen bodies across the saddle.
Wyn was the first to respond. “No. We’re not.”
Her breath caught, but his voice held conviction. As though he had the power to make it true. It was the kind of lie that they’d only believe if Tor himself had said it—perhaps not even then. But the woman nodded, swallowing as she wiped blood and tears from her face.
Ven was the first to break the silence. “We’re getting out of here. On your feet, both of you. Is your captain alive?”
The woman clenched her jaw and shook her head, hauling herself up. The other survivor—a wiry mage clutching his wrist—stood a moment later, moving sluggishly.
“Then you’ll join us,” Wyn ordered. “There’s a group a few hundred yards east of here where you’ll be safe until the battle ends.”
Reiss tapped Wyn on the shoulder, and he had a strange smile. “Well, that might not be quite true.”
“What do you—” Wyn’s eyes widened as he looked back east.
Behind them, following the way they’d come, fighting monsters that had already infested the grass, were the rest of the adventurers. They surrounded the warstrider, which held itself higher off the sea, mages raining spells onto anything that moved.
“Damn it!” One of the adventurers called over to them. “We can’t let the two strongest teams abandon us like that! So I guess we don’t have a choice but to follow you.”
“There’s another strider north of here!” Another called. “I assume we’re getting them next?”
Wyn stood slowly, his mouth opening and closing in silence. Finally he spoke, raising his sword into the air. It caught once again, burning with an intense purple that drew in the eyes. “If you’re going to follow me, then I have just one rule for you to follow! Whatever happens, do not die!”
A chuckle came in reply. “Well I wasn’t exactly planning on it but—”
“Not. One. More.” Wyn shouted. “We’ll leave this battlefield with this entire group intact! I won’t accept anything less!”
An adventurer stuck his fist out towards Wyn and gave a nod. “Not one more.”
Another stepped forward after. “Not one more.”
More voices joined in. And if they meant it or not, it was impossible to say, but soon the whole group had made the promise. And if Corrin knew Wyn, he intended to keep it.
I’ll have to keep an eye on him, he thought. This is a dangerous game he’s playing.
But he kept it to himself.
Reiss stepped up. “Alright you bastards! You heard the man! We’re going to be running a tight formation, Captains don’t cross! I want all mages on that warstrider, even if that means leaving your team, outward spells only! Call your own rotations, and kill anything that moves! Now form up, we’re getting this man onto the warstrider and then we’re heading north!”
A cry went up, and amidst the adventurers, something began to shift.
***
An hour later, the twelve striders had grown to twenty strong. It was impossible, miraculous even.
Not a single person had died.
Injured? Yes. Rendered unable to fight? In droves. But not one had fallen, and the numbers had only expanded. And with that miraculous number had come something powerful—belief.
The striders moved like a tide across the battlefield, searching for more survivors as they pressed north, the warstrider towering in the formation’s center like the keep of a roaming castle. They had gained a relentless momentum, crushing through horde after horde.
Corrin felt it too, a growing rhythm, the confidence that came with success. The adventurers had not forgotten defeat, but each strider saved seemed to banish it further from their minds. Of course, belief alone wasn’t enough, but having fought and survived so long, the other key component had revealed itself.
Coordination. With each battle, the formation grew more organized. Different teams had started calling out to each other, covering gaps in the line, shielding the wounded without needing orders. In fact, the idea of teams had disappeared. They were one group now, and members moved freely around the tight formation, shoring up weaknesses and mixing teams for the most effectiveness. Even further than that, death had culled the weakest from them earlier—each adventurer that remained was strong, and had gained experience fighting the monsters in the horde.
And their strider led at the front, Wyn’s sword still ablaze, a symbol of the impossible promise he’d made.
The air had grown loud, the main battle was just ahead, the colossus raging against the rest of the forces. It was turned to them—they were coming from the side, almost behind it.
Ven looked back at Corrin. “You see this?” He gestured toward their formation. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
Corrin wiped sweat from his brow, grinning. “Maybe not. But it is.”
Ven exhaled sharply, as if laughing, but there was no humor in it. “That damn fool,” he muttered, eyes flicking to Wyn, who was covered in wounds, leaning on his steel blade for balance. Spirit fire was bright behind his eyes. “He’s going to kill himself keeping that promise.”
Corrin didn’t disagree, Wyn was pushing himself past his limits, assisting across the formation without rotating out, but there was no stopping him now.
Ven’s eyes narrowed, he held up his fist, a signal to Reiss behind them.
“We’ve got more stragglers ahead! Forward advance, prepare to engage!”
Ven tapped a rapid beat and Siensa sped up, spurring ahead without hesitation.
The rest followed.
Within a few minutes, they were approaching the stranded strider, only a few hundred yards from the colossus, hidden in the shadow of one of the karsts. But the strider was being overwhelmed.
A giant spider-like, stood, half atop the saddle and half atop a woven net of silk in the grass. Its fangs were already dripping red with blood, and it swung down towards the one person left standing on the strider below.
A woman, clad in tattered armor, held her ground. Her blade was chipped, and her stance wavered, but she met the strike with force, keeping it back from her comrades. Even as its barbed leg bit into her shoulder, she pushed back with her blade, struggling under the weight of the blow. The spider bent in to finish the job with its fangs.
“Take it down!” Wyn roared, his voice cutting through the noise.
Arrows whistled, spells burned the air, and Corrin leapt to the strider, rolling under its front legs. He thrust his blade up into its armor, forcing it past the exoskeleton. Ichor gushed out onto him, and he rolled out of the way again, avoiding the rest of the vile sludge.
The spider staggered, wavering back and forth. It let out a last screech, and then collapsed. The next second, its body was given to the lavender flames.
The woman looked at the two of them, chest heaving, before finally sheathing her sword. Her eyes flicked to the warstrider above. “Do you have room for one more?”
Wyn nodded. “Get your injured to the—”
An explosion shook the sky, and Corrin wobbled on his feet as the colossus fell against the nearest karst, crashing through the pillar of stone. And then the fight was on them.
“Barriers!” Reiss screamed as rocks hurtled towards them—the mages were prepared. Those out of rotation had been drawing, adding and expanding on the scripts that ringed the enormous warstrider saddle. The debris clashed against a translucent barrier with a sound like ringing bells, and the spell held. A brief cheer went up, but it was choked a moment later by a realization—the colossus was right next to them. Its armor was cracked, its body gushed with enough blood to form rivers, but none of that mattered, because it was still alive.
Its head was only a hundred feet away, larger than the entire formation put together. Their whole group could fit within the deep sockets on its head. And within one of those holes, there was movement. For a moment, Corrin didn’t comprehend what it was. Glowing gold, yet cracked with red, like fire trying to break through the earth, one of those eyes was staring straight at them.
Corrin felt a chill.
“Fall back!”
They ran. The tight formation splintered as panic slammed into them like a breaking wave. Ven screamed. Corrin turned, his breath hitching. The eye consumed his vision, massive, ancient, unfeeling.
His stomach clenched. The mana around him twisted, pulling, draining—like it was falling into a sinkhole. A high-pitched hum filled his ears, too loud, too sharp. His mantle peeled away from the force, like flesh torn from bone. Only his own aura—more inherently his—remained, raw and exposed.
The mana around him bent, like it was pouring into a sinkhole, just being this close was painful, and the excess mana was stripped from his mantle by force. Nothing remained other than his own aura—which was more inherently his.
Damn it! Corrin grit his teeth, forcing his body to freeze. Slowly, he turned back around to face it.
The colossus rolled over, shaking the sea as it got to its feet. Its claw raised up, blocking the sun, and it swung down with enough force to level a hill. Corrin watched.
They were dead.
There was a blur of movement, and a tiny figure appeared in the air just next to the claw. Corrin felt the mana bend once again as golden light streamed into his hands. A hammer formed, constructed of stone, the size of a house, and the figure swung. It slammed into the side of the colossus’s arm with a sound like thunder, and the arm was knocked aside.
It still swung down, but the claw missed by a hundred feet, flattening the grass to the side of the formation as it bit into the dirt below.
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Laughter boomed out from the man in the sky—Tor.
“Thanks for the opening! I thought you all were dead!”
Corrin grinned, but only for a moment, then he screamed. “Watch out!”
The beast’s second claw slammed into the spirit knight from behind, driving him through the air and into one of the nearby karsts. Instead of exploding under the force though, the karst somehow held. With a gasp, Corrin saw golden veins seeping throughout the stone, causing it to glow with a thick earthen mana.
“Stone as Steel.” Tor’s voice was quiet, but Corrin heard it creep out from beneath the claw. The golden glow intensified, and the claw was thrown back.
Laughter, more laughter. It boomed out across the battlefield, breaking the tension as the spirit knight exploded off the karst. As he did, a chunk of the stone peeled off from the surface, reforming his hammer once more.
“You chose the wrong battlefield!” He bellowed at the colossus, and even from a hundred feet below, Corrin swore he could see the man grinning. “I owe you for that!”
His hammer slammed down onto the colossus’s head, cracking its armor even further. The colossus howled, its stomach expanding as it shot acid towards the spirit knight.
Tor thrust out his hand. An enormous shield flashed into existence, expanding in an instant. The hammer shrank, its power flowing into the barrier. It spread wide—wide enough to shield not just him, but the entire retreating group.
Corrin stared as the black sludge splashed against the shield, much of it bouncing back and landing on the colossus where it sizzled and steamed. As the monster roared, a ballista bolt took it in the side, piercing through its shell and deep into flesh. A moment later, it exploded, sending colossus gore raining down onto the sea below.
A flock of razorbeaks dove towards Tor as he began to fall through the air, but the spirit knight just continued to laugh.
In a single motion, he angled the shield he’d used for the acid towards the horde, and released it from his hand. He twisted in the air and kicked off the shield with both feet. Golden light flashed as he and the shield shot off in opposite directions. Tor crashed into a karst behind him, somehow landing on his feet as he stood on the vertical surface without issue.
The shield was launched through the air towards the flock, colliding in midair with an inexorable momentum. There was hardly time for the beasts to let out an abrupt squawk as they were crushed against its surface.
“Holy shit.” Corrin stared at the sight vacantly. He’d known the spirit knight had been holding back in their fight, but to such an extent? His mana reserves must be endless. But even beyond raw power, his skill was on a different level, weaving techniques together seamlessly, each move flowing into the next.
Corrin’s breathing grew quick, and his grip tightened on his sword as aura began to leak from his lips.
He wasn’t the only one either, the rest of the adventurers were staring too. They all considered themselves skilled fighters—many were the strongest in their towns, or gold ranked by veldian standards. But this—this was something else entirely. They watched, enraptured, as the tiny spirit knight battled the colossus directly.
But they were still on a battlefield, and watching was a mistake.
“Below!” A voice cried out desperately from the strider. They’d only been distracted for a few moments, but it was enough. The bombardment and defense had let up, and monsters swarmed up from the grass, sensing the opening.
Some smaller ones tried to rise up from within the formation, but they were swiftly trampled by the relentless march of the striders, but others leapt and attacked from the outside, and the mages were unprepared. More of the eyeball fish, spiders, grass drakes—all manner of monsters leapt onto and around the striders, and once they were in the fray, it was difficult for the mages to target them.
Corrin took a step towards the nearest monster, but froze. The strongest monsters gathered where the mana was thickest. And while the swarm was countless, each individual was weak. But he could feel the mana in the air—so close to the colossus, it was like a blanket, heavier even than the lower floor of The Founder’s Tomb.
A premonition struck him, and he twisted back towards the formation, a shout of warning already forming on his lips.
Too late.
One of the rear striders jolted violently, nearly tipping as something massive and dark burst from the grass beneath it. No, not one thing. Many.
The first he saw fully was huge, almost half the size of a strider, covered in mottled brown and yellow chitin that formed a sharp and spiked exoskeleton. Its head was squat and triangular, its mandibles curved like scimitars. It didn’t screech, but instead an appendage on its back began to clatter against its armor, like a high-pitched wardrum, or a boney laughter. The monster bit down onto one of the fallen adventurers immediately, piercing armor like paper.
They screamed.
It all happened in a single moment—three more of the giant insects crawled out from the sea, surrounding the formation which was already crumbling. It swarmed around them, death, breathing down their necks. Perhaps they could have rallied, but it was too sudden, one person would go, and it would fall apart.
It came from the sky. So simple, the hordes of razorbeaks were omnipresent on the battlefield, only held at bay by the mages scorching their hordes. But it only took one to slip through, as everyone was focused on the new threats below.
One of the raptors dove in from above, its serrated bill glinting in the sunlight. Ayden was experienced, he sensed it coming. But the battle had pushed everyone to their limits, and he was tired. The spearman who grated on Corrin every day, the one he wanted to defeat before leaving, twisted a bit slower than he otherwise would have.
The beak drove into his shoulder, sticking two feet out the other side as it carried him from the edge of the strider and into the air above the sea. In an instant, it was far beyond the reach of anyone on the striders.
His cry of pain trailed off as it rose into the air, and each person in the formation saw.
Ayden jabbed his spear into the eye of the razorbeak, aura flashing to kill it almost immediately. But it didn’t matter.
The beak tore its way back through his shoulder, pulling free as the two bodies split in the air.
And then he began to plummet.
***
The sky and sea blurred as Ayden tumbled helplessly through the air. He couldn’t tell up from down, nor could he stop the fall. He knew though. It had been instinct, stabbing the razorbeak—it had its damn beak through his shoulder. But it had been a mistake.
Anger swelled in his chest, but broke a moment later. What was the point?
Memories bubbled into his mind as his vision went black from the spin.
Hah. I’m passing out.
First was a simple memory. Back before he and Emryn had joined up with Reiss. Escort a caravan to a town on the Northern Plateau. He’d never seen such short grass before. Even in Swardhaven it grew thick and tall. It was hot—summer, and they were sitting on the edge of a river bank, the cold water running over their feet. It was a terrible mission, but the sun felt so good with the river to keep him cool.
Even in his memory, he couldn’t remember what they were talking about. Emryn’s lips moved silently as she said something with a smirk. Maybe he’d said something back, because she laughed, and her smile was warmer than even the sun.
Another memory rushed past—this one further back, they were only twelve or so. He’d forgotten it entirely.
She was talking with her friends as he happened to walk by. He didn’t care, so he stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking.
“So what kind of boys do you like?” Her friend asked.
Ayden saw a very interesting rock on the ground and bent down to pick it up.
“Hmm…” Emryn took a moment to think about the answer. “I like strong ones! Like the adventurers! The stronger the better! He should be able to fight off at least two thunderhooves—no, three!”
“Why three?” Her friend asked.
But Ayden never heard the answer, he was already running off to practice more.
More memories.
Happy ones—his coming of age celebration, his older sister’s wedding, The Grass Sentinels reaching gold rank.
Sad ones—his grandfather’s funeral, the first time he watched an adventurer die.
Funny ones, angry ones, embarrassing ones.
His life.
He came to, the sky and ground still a blur as he fell.
Can’t even die in peace huh?
The sea raced up to meet him. He closed his eyes, and saw her.
***
Corrin stretched out a useless hand. The mages atop the warstrider watched. Reiss desperately wove a technique. Melanie began to chant, the introverted mage’s voice raw from overuse. Emryn screamed.
But the grass sea was a territory upon which man could not intrude. It was the demesne of beasts and spirits.
Footsteps.
Someone blurred past Corrin, having reacted faster than anyone else. Wyn reached the edge of the saddle.
And he trespassed.
Wyn leapt out above the sea. It was a jump beyond anything Corrin could do—a leap of a magnitude he thought only Tor could replicate.
A bright purple light appeared next to him, and a small pack of lift spirits drifted around his head. He’d dropped his sword, and as he approached the peak of his jump, he threw his hands out to the side, reaching for something intangible.
In a moment of condensed time, strands of purple fire burst from his body, stretching out into the air like ethereal phoenix wings. One went to the purple spirit beside him, others to the ones on his crown, and the rest reached into the grass, dozens of strands stretching out across the whole formation.
Spirit fire—manifested.
***
Wyn saw Ayden falling through the air, tumbling uncontrollably as he gained speed. But that was all—he saw. His body moved on its own, his mind catching up a moment later.
Wyn! Eia cried out desperately. They weren’t ready, they hadn’t tested it.
But he was already leaping. The saddle disappeared beneath him as he crossed the threshold, jumping higher than he’d ever done before.
Six silvery lift spirits circled his crown. He’d done the math, he’d poured over Nereus’s notes. It should be enough for him—but he had a passenger.
Eia had been working hard, creating bonds with dozens of lift spirits throughout the course of battle. But they had yet to join the crown—more stubbornly attached to their bonds than water spirits. She’d been trying to convince them, but it was slow going.
She was out of time. He had to be persuasive, he needed to offer more.
Every day, he’d endured searing pain as mana flooded his body. Every day the spirit fire would increase in intensity until he passed out. Every damn day he would feel it right at the end, see and feel the bond stretching between him and Eia.
It had been two weeks.
Wyn thrust his arms out to the side. He could feel them, weights in his mind. They were more than that, they were spiritual connections. Bonds.
You want spirit fire? He grit his teeth. Take it!
He urged the flame to rage, he burned it hotter, and it surged up through his body. As spirit fire burned brighter, as bright as it could, he could almost—yes!
Wyn grasped the bonds in his mind, flooding them with as much spirit fire as he could, feeding it to the ravenous spirits, gluttons for the flames. They responded eagerly, basking in his blessing as it empowered them. But he had one condition.
To me.
The air around him lit purple, but he couldn’t see what was happening behind him. He felt it though, his body lightening even further.
Spirit fire wasn’t just good for bonds either—his aim was spot on. Ayden fell just in front of him, and he reached out with one arm and grabbed the spearman, who grunted as they began to crash through the grass. As soon as Wyn made contact, the blessing affected him as well, and they both became a fraction of their combined weight.
He wasn’t done.
They fell through the grass, his momentum was too great to stop on a single blade, but as they slowed, he found his footing on a drooping blade and pushed off. Ayden yelled several profanities, but he was light as a feather under Wyn’s arm, and they began to ascend.
He had to be careful, if he pushed with too much force, the grass would bend. But with short strides, he began to run back through the grass, reaching the top in a moment as they burst back into the sun. The formation was in chaos, he’d seen the giant insect creatures attack before he’d been distracted.
He had upwards momentum now, and as he approached the striders, he pushed off harder, sending them into the air above the beast.
Ayden had held to his spear with a deathgrip, even in the face of death, and Wyn was grateful for it. The spearman recognized the opportunity, twisting in Wyn’s grasp. There was no denying it, Ayden was a truly skilled warrior, he wouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. As they fell, Wyn released the power from his bonds. They didn’t descend any faster, but now they had weight.
With a guttural cry, Ayden pulled his spear back and drove it into the creature’s armor, aiming for a gap between two plates. The shell cracked under the pressure as they both slammed into its back, and the spear pierced through its back and all the way to its head, where it exploded out the other side.
Its body collapsed underneath them with a sickening crunch, dead before it even hit the ground. The adventurers stared at the two dead men, uncomprehending. Wyn thrust his fist into the air. He’d made a promise.
“NOT. ONE. MORE!”
A heartbeat. Silence.
And then, the adventurers roared.
***
Corrin’s eyes shone as he watched the events unfold. Wyn, Ayden, spirit fire. And as the formation suddenly gained a new life, Corrin let out a cry of his own, shouting in pure elation.
“That’s my best fucking friend!”
Corrin didn’t have any tricks to surpass that one, but he wasn’t about to be left in the dust either. He laughed maniacally as he threw his sword into the sea. There was a perfectly good wooden one hanging from his belt—unused.
His aura thrashed with uncaged excitement as it raced up the blade, grasping towards the top. It only made it about three-quarters of the way, smashing his record, but not good enough.
He looked around the battle, eyes finally fixating on the nearby giant insect that had crawled its way up onto one of the saddles. He grinned.
“You’re mine.”
Corrin exploded across the gap, ash surging in his channels as he brought the blade against its exoskeleton.
The wooden sword bounced off.
Of course.
The rest of the adventurers tried to butt in. Corrin tilted his head, humor forgotten for a moment as he met their eyes.
“Get lost.”
They stiffened, rushing away towards one of the other fights without an argument. Corrin smiled and threw himself back into the fight.
The bone clackers on the creature’s back set a frantic pace, and his sword joined them as it hit against armor over and over.
The monster lunged, mandibles closing like a vice.
So slow.
Corrin ducked beneath its attack, fist flashing with power as he prepared to drive it up into the monster’s underside, finishing the job with an ash-mana strike—his fist stopped.
“Stupid instincts.” He chided himself, letting the monster pass over him without interruption.
How to make mana cling to the blade… It was an interesting problem, he was certain there was a trick to it, but what?
He dodged one striking leg, leapt over another, inspecting the blade as he twisted over the beast and landed behind it.
Maybe… one side?
Blood sprayed out from the creature’s shell in every direction.
Not an injury. He thought as it flew through the air. That seemed intentional. Toxin? Too widespread for my mantle.
He spun around, letting the blood splatter against his cloak as he unclasped it. The clattering sound grew louder, and he rushed back in, losing himself to a whirlwind of strikes and dodges. He ducked under one leg, spun away from its jaws. Knocked another leg aside with his blade, dancing on the edge of life and death.
It just felt… so good.
Inspiration.
“Ah.” He smiled as he flipped through the air. Ash mana lit his sword once more.
He twisted. Swung.
And the monster lost a leg.
Corrin landed on the saddle, white hair hanging down over his eyes. He glanced over towards the severed leg of the giant insect, laying uselessly on the saddle. He glanced down towards his own wooden sword.
Less mana was always easier to control, he knew that, but even the minimum amount coating a sword was too much. But of course, the flat of a blade didn’t cut, so why bother?
A thin line of ash mana, as much as he could manage, shooting up the edge of the blade. And only the edge. It used so much less mana, he was able to condense it, all the mana that would have coated an entire blade packed into just a cutting surface.
“You see…” he mumbled to the insect. He dashed in. “It’s all about efficiency.”
Another limb flew.
“I don’t need the whole blade! Isn’t that such a waste?”
The clattering grew louder as the creature struck desperately at him, throwing itself off balance.
“I was just trying to brute force it! But channeling’s like a muscle. That takes time!” He cut a deep gash into its side, sword passing through its armor like butter.
“No no, much better to cheat. Or does this count as a technique?” The monster collapsed in front of him, legs twitching as it tried to move. “Oh well. It’s not like you can understand any of this. I’ll figure it out later.”
He thrust the blade between its eyes. And then he turned to the rest of the formation. Mana was leaking out the top of the blade at a rate faster than he could replenish. He was on a timer until he ran out of mana, but that was fine.
Corrin smiled. “For now, I’m just going to have some fun.”
***
“Not one more.”
“Not one more!”
“NOT ONE MORE!”
The formation had reached a fever pitch as the last of the giant insects fell. Wyn’s body was aching even through the flames, but like the rest of the adventurers, he was tingling with energy. They’d regained control of the area, thanks in large part to Corrin.
Reiss was atop the warstrider, his bow held aloft as he looked towards the colossus that writhed a few hundred yards away. His voice somehow rose above the chanting of the gathered warriors. “Towards the Colossus! Let’s send that bastard to hell!”
The cheering grew louder. They felt it thrumming in their bones, that ideal that men could only strive towards in the best or worst of times. Glory.
Ahead, masses moved through the grass, aiming to intercept them, and Ven shouted a word of alarm. Wyn leaned over the saddle, pressing his hands to Siensa’s shell, lift spirits glowed brighter above his head, and the strider sped up.
They raced forward, ahead of the adventurers who cheered them on from behind. And as they reached the mass of monsters, Wyn leapt once more into the grass.
Veldstriders were restrictive. For all their size, they limited the amount of space you had to maneuver, Wyn wanted more.
He dropped into the sea, falling into the endless layers that existed beneath the canopy, and as the sunlight scattered and the world grew dark, one of his swords blazed to life, burning away the shadows.
Some of the horde burnt, but not all. Eia had told him that some of the beasts had the same sort of impurity as the monsters in The Founder’s Tomb. He took it to mean there was a dungeon nearby, and with the presence of the colossus, it was flooding. So for that purpose, he had two blades.
Eia spun around him in wide arcs, and the pieces fell into place.
Left side, fire!
Wyn lashed out with his wooden blade, incinerating a weaker monster lunging from his left.
Right side, steel!
Steel flashed, separating a grass drake from its head.
Above! Below! Right! Behind! Left! Eia’s commands came rapid fire, serving as advanced warnings, but they weren’t entirely necessary by now, the sea was teeming with life. And he was there to cull it.
He darted through the grass, quicker than the wind, spirit fire helping him adapt to the odd style of movement. Despite his reduced weight, he retained each ounce of strength, letting him move his body faster than he’d thought possible. His lightened swords flashed through the air faster than his own eyes could follow in the flickering lights.
And monsters and spirit beasts both fell by the dozens.
Finally, he broke the surface of the sea, getting his bearings. He was only a few meters from the strider, which had slowed now that he wasn’t reducing its weight. And atop the strider… Corrin was fighting.
Something had changed in Wyn’s friend. They’d been training together for eight years, and known each other for ten. Wyn was confident in saying there wasn’t a single person in the world that knew him better.
But right now, he seemed like an entirely different person.
Corrin was moving faster than he’d ever seen, his body blurring around the saddle as each slash of his own blade sundered beast after beast. The sword, which seemed to be warping the air around its edge, tore through flesh and bone with ease. And beyond that, his movements were inspired. That was to say, they weren’t always perfectly efficient, but there was an art to how Corrin twisted and spun through the horde.
Finally, spellfire rained down from the formation, and arrows streaked through the air. It had been up and down, but in the wake of their last victory, it almost seemed like his spirit fire had spread to the rest of the adventurers. They fought without abandon, roaring like lions as they cut a path through the hordes, charging straight for the colossus.
As though it saw them coming, its stomach expanded once more, and an ocean of black sludge, now tinted red with blood, spewed out from its mouth.
“Mages!” Reiss roared.
They were ready this time though, and the sludge fell onto a single, unified shield, a ring of scripts lighting up around the warstrider’s saddle explicitly for that purpose.
With a volcanic cough, more sludge oozed from the beast's mouth, but it fell harmlessly into the grass below. In retaliation, the mages began to chant as one, and the air grew hot, almost burning Wyn’s skin. Intense, bright flames began to swirl above the strider as the ballistae loosed volley after volley into its armor, and the mages raised their hands into the sky.
As the spell finished, an enormous ball of fire shot from the strider as though from a catapult. It streaked across the sky, towards the colossus’s head right as another beam of light struck it from the main force.
The fireball grew closer, swirling with magical power, directly on target.
Then, the colossus shifted.
And it sailed right over its head.
The colossus’s bloated body tumbled from the karst it had clung to, causing the fireball to miss. A cry of frustration went up amongst the formation, but it changed to one of confusion as the colossus toppled down, crashing through the grass below. It hit the earth like a dying god, sending a shockwave out that rippled over the army.
Atop a vast patch of flattened and burned grass, the Colossus howled painfully, black sludge spewing weakly from its mouth as it struggled to rise. Its claw struck out wildly, shearing through one of the karsts. The stone pillar slowly toppled, thousands of tons of stone collapsing on top of the cursed beast, silencing its cries. The Colossus twitched twice beneath the rubble, sending dirt and stone flying out in waves.
And then, it fell still.