Chapter 77

Bianca

Day 66 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 55

When Sophie returned to Thornhill yesterday, she brought good and bad news. The good news was that she acquired plenty of arrows, bolts, and new crossbows, all to be reworked and modified by our blacksmiths. The bad news was that, in a few days, our village would be under attack.

Panic erupted in the village when this news was shared. We all knew an attack was coming, but now we had a date. In just three days, invaders would come to our gates and do us harm.

To ease the growing sense of hopelessness, I gathered the villagers at the base of the hill, where our two secret weapons—the Warwolf and the Last Argument of Kings—stood ready.

Slate was filling the counterweight boxes with stones while Ethan and Anika inspected the axle and greased the channel that guided the swing arm.

I ensured there were no bystanders near the trebuchets' potential impact zones. Elsewhere, Crag was hauling ammunition—large boulders—stacked neatly between the two siege weapons.

Rain drizzled steadily as villagers, sheltered under makeshift banana leaves or muskrat cloaks, gathered to witness the first launch. Anika and Molvin adjusted the release mechanism and double-checked the counterweight's balance. Slate hoisted the massive counterweight box into position, turning the treadwheel, pulling the throwing arm down, and locking it in place with a release pin.

Crag, the more limited golem, carefully positioned a rough, wine barrel-sized boulder into the sling, ensuring it sat securely on the guide chute at the trebuchet's base.

Trebuchets are formidable weapons, capable of inflicting serious harm, so I kept a close watch on the crowd to ensure no one wandered too near.

Our target for the trebuchets was the Death Pit—a broad trench lined with sharpened spears. Before the siege, we had planned to cover it with thin planks and conceal it under a layer of dirt. I signaled to Anika with a nod. She and Molvin stepped back to the trigger mechanism, securing the trebuchet's arm in place. The mechanism was simple but effective—a sturdy wooden catch that held firm under tension. Anika pulled the release lever, and the catch disengaged.

The damp wood creaked as the counterweight dropped, unleashing its stored energy with a deep, resonant groan. The Warwolf's arm shot upward. The boulder soared into the sky, scattering a fine mist of rainwater before plummeting toward the Death Pit.

Swish!

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the boulder struck dead center in the pit we’d built roughly 100 yards north of the North Gate. I exhaled deeply, relieved it had avoided any landmarks and worked flawlessly. Anika grinned, holding up a newly earned skill card.

Siegecraft - 1

We ran another test, this time with the Last Argument of Kings (LAK) under Anika’s control. The boulder landed just to the right of the pit, creating an enormous crater. Cheers erupted from the crowd. The villagers grew excited, imagining the havoc these siege weapons would wreak on the invaders. On the day of the battle, Crag and Slate would be responsible for loading and preparing the trebuchets, while Anika would oversee operations.

After the launches, the villagers returned to work. Half of them hauled barrels of supplies to our war headquarters near the gates, a tented area near Shelter 3. Buckets of arrows and bolts were stacked in trenches along the wall. Sharpened spears and caltrops were positioned before the North drawbridge in case the invaders crossed the moat. A triage station was prepped inside Shelter 3 with stretchers, bandages, and splints, alongside bins stocked with elixirs and herbs.

The other half practiced at the archery ranges we’d set up—simple planks placed against the chalk walls with painted targets. My heart ached as I watched Marek’s boys learn to use crossbows under Sasha’s guidance.

They shouldn’t be doing this, but Marek insisted they participate.

Speaking of Marek, he and Alex were sparring with wooden weapons. Alex wielded a wooden stick while Marek used a wooden club, the two going at it in full armor. Beside them, Bart sparred with Jesus, both using wooden clubs, while Astrid faced off against Cade.

All the dungeon regulars, including Jesus, Marek, Sophie, and me, were in the dungeon earlier that morning. We made it to the start of floor 4, where I reached a waypoint and hit Level 4 in Path of the Marksman. I even scored a new bronze chest plate from that cute cat Jester.

Those crocodiles and that huge frog still made my knees shake, but the old dungeon crew handled them with no problem. I mean… I helped a little too.

At dinner that night, a stillness hung in the air. It was nearing summer, so the day was still bright, but the mood was dark. People shook their heads in disbelief, some quietly sobbing. How could I ask these people to fight? A few months ago, they’d never seen combat. The only war they knew was in far-off countries on their phone screens.

To think of it… neither had I. Killing monsters in the dungeon was one thing; being in an actual war was something else entirely.

My heart jumped as a horn sounded in the distance. One of our guards had spotted something. We all rushed to the North Gate defenses to man our posts. Astrid was the first to react, mounting her horse, Olive, and galloping toward the gate with a crossbow strapped to her back.

From the northeast forest, across the fields of wheat, a familiar rider appeared on a black elk, with a stranger riding behind him. When he reached the moat, he waited for us to lower the bridge. Once across, he dismounted and carefully guided his elk through the caltrops and spears.

“Rye!” I shouted with glee.

A slight smile crossed his face as I approached and hugged him.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Leo,” Orion explained of the new collared human in a linen tunic. “I found him.”

When Cass came over, the two brothers exchanged a knowing nod before Orion said something in a foreign tongue to the new arrival, who looked awestruck by the sight of our village gates. Soon, the other former slaves gathered around, conversing with Leo and one another in hushed, reverent tones.

A barrage of questions from the villagers followed, but Orion ignored them, inspecting our defenses instead. He nodded in approval.

“Alright, settle down, everyone,” he said. “Yes, Sophie is right. They’ll be arriving tomorrow. They’re about a day and a half away.”

“Why didn’t you send your bird?” I asked.

“JD is scouting right now and delivering a message to James,” Orion replied, slightly out of breath. “Anyway, I need to be off. I just came to collect supplies. I’m heading back out immediately after a quick nap. I won’t be here for the beginning of the siege.”

“What? Already? But—” I began, only for the villagers to erupt in questions.

“You’re leaving again?” someone cried.

“How do we know you aren’t leading them to us?”

“Stay here and fight, you coward!”

Orion's arrival, combined with the steady stream of bad news, ignited a flurry of accusations. He rubbed his temples and looked like he was doing some breathing exercises to keep himself from erupting, and it was then I noticed just how worn down he looked. Heavy bags shadowed his eyes, and his face was gaunt beneath his stubble. His shirt and pants were tattered, streaked with dried blood, and slashed to ribbons. A large puncture marred his leather spaulder, exposing a bloodied bandage underneath. Tiny black scabs dotted his neck and collar.

“Sophie has bought a company from the North. I’m going to rendezvous with them and strike from behind,” Orion explained. “We’ll take care of the mages and archers at the rear.”

As more people clamored for answers, Orion struggled to explain while making his way toward the warehouse to restock. Seeing him overwhelmed, I intervened.

“Alright, everyone, let Orion do his thing. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, so get some rest. I’ll be rotating people on and off for guard duty,” I ordered.

When the crowd dispersed, Orion headed to the warehouse and gathered his supplies. Before he left to get some sleep before setting out, Orion met with Sophie and the security council to exchange a few last words.

“They’ll be expecting you. The White Fang Legion,” Sophie said, her mischievous smile somehow intact despite the incoming threat.

“How many men?” Orion asked.

“Twenty-five riders. Last I checked.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, excuseee me. I’d like to see you do better with only a few days,” Sophie huffed, crossing her arms.

“I don’t like the idea of twenty-five random mercenaries knowing our location,” Orion said with a frown.

“They signed a confidentiality contract, so no worries. It’s not like we have any other choice anyway. Keep this place a secret or die,” Sophie replied.

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“Orion… can you explain how this magic EMP works?” Cade asked, scratching the back of his head.

“I buried it in the forest,” Orion said. “It’ll nullify magic in the area for a short time. Any of your magic spells will not work during the time it is activated. It'll disable the mages from casting their spells.”

“Interesting…” Sophie murmured, tapping her chin as she eyed Orion suspiciously. “Such a device would turn this world upside down...”

“It’s probably super rare and it only has one more use,” Orion explained quickly, before moving on. “Anyway, I won’t activate it until the mages are positioned where they can’t escape. Most likely, they’ll move into range to target our front gate.”

Orion gestured toward the giant map on the table, crafted from figurines and basic paint, pointing at strategic points.

“After that, they’ll march to the open gates with their men. Once they’re close enough, we’ll activate the EMP. Make sure people stay away from the gates, or they’ll get hurt. But once the EMP is activated, the mages will be useless. That’s when you launch a counterattack, forcing them into the chokepoint at the gates,” Orion explained.

“I don’t like the idea of letting them destroy our gate. Molvin and I spent days building that thing,” I said, shaking my head.

“It’s a worthy sacrifice. If we just lower the bridge for them, they’ll know it’s a trap and send a scouting party before committing,” Orion replied with a sigh. “I don’t like it either, but we can’t let any of them escape back to their empire. I’ll hit them from behind with the White Fang Legion and take out anyone trying to flee while you handle the main army with arrows.”

“How strong are they?” Alex asked, a flicker of excitement in his voice.

“From what James told me, some of the Eldrin captains—that’s the warriors with the pointy ears—have reached level 8 in the dungeon. The regular foot soldiers are animal humanoids, like those pirates, mostly recruits and classless. A high-level Holder with combat abilities shouldn’t have much trouble with them,” Orion said. “Also, when the EMP activates, none of your magic abilities will work, and all the human slaves will be freed. They might help us or stand down, so avoid killing them if you can.”

“Be real with us, Orion,” Sasha said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you think we can win?”

“In a normal fight? Probably not. But with the EMP? They’re strong because of their magic. Without it, if we work together, we can win.” Orion clenched his fist and slammed it onto the map. “More importantly, I want to win without losing a single person.”

Standing in the center of the mess hall, Orion stretched his hand out. Without thinking, I placed mine on top of his. One by one, the others followed, stacking their hands in a growing pile. For a moment, no one said a word, but we all felt it—a shared sense of purpose.

“No losses,” Orion said firmly.

“No losses!” we echoed with determination. Pressing our hands down together, we broke apart.

When the sun rose, Orion was already gone. The previous night, he had warned me that he planned to take Cass with him to help with the artifact. Most of us gathered at the North Gate for breakfast—simple wheat porridge with eggs—while making final preparations. As we ate, people talked about Orion taking Cass out on his elk and feared the worst. Rumors swirled that Orion was taking Cass because he was ready to flee Thornhill if things went south.

A tiny part and the worst part of me believed it. Why Cass? Sure, he was a great shot with his sling, but Orion wouldn’t risk his brother unless he had a Plan B—escaping for Kronfeldt if the village fell.

He would never do that…

When someone said my deepest insecurities out loud, I couldn’t hold back.

“Anyone who spreads that nonsense, I’ll kick their butts and dock their coppers! Orion will not abandon us!” I shouted. Still, the rumors persisted.

After the meal, we rounded up the elk from Astrid's pens. Every elk was being used. Sophie rode Dancer, equipped with a longbow and quarterstaff, calm as ever. Anika, on Dasher, was inspecting the trebuchets on the southeast cliff, Slate and Crag at her side. Astrid, mounted on Olive, stood ready. Meanwhile, I was on Comet, the fastest elk, prepared to ride between Anika’s siege weapons and the front gate to relay orders.

A horn sounded from the walls. Aiden, one of our scouts, blew it first, and others along the chalk wall echoed the call.

They were coming.

Next to our raised gates stood a wall, towering three meters above the ground and two meters thick, with ladders at its base leading to the walkway on top. Constructed from perfectly cut chalk blocks quarried by Crag, the wall extended toward the river, continuing as far as the impassable rapids that fed into the ocean. Running parallel to the river, it blocked access from both the waterway and the northern lands. Atop the wall, a one-meter-high parapet with grooves and archer slits provided cover for defenders, bringing the total height of the fortifications to roughly four meters. For a small village like ours, it was an immense undertaking. Crag and Slate had worked tirelessly, 24/7, for seventeen demanding days. I’d woken up in the middle of the night more than once, riding out just to check if they were still at it.

From the parapet, I scanned the incoming horde descending from the north. They were marching with ladders and makeshift bridges, using them as shields. I gulped but forced myself to steady.

My stomach churned, and I vomited out the wheat porridge and my morning tea over the ledge of the walls, praying no one saw my moment of weakness.

I needed to find the strength to do this. I had to be strong.

Climbing down the wall, I found the villagers gathered, waiting for my final orders. Wiping the remaining vomit from my mouth and hoping the villagers didn’t notice my shaking knees, I stood before them to deliver my speech.

Make it good, Bianca. They are relying on a strong leader to guide them through this.

“Alright, everyone… they’re here,” I said, voice trembling.

Knees wobbled, and muffled sobs escaped from women clutching crossbows, their knuckles white with fear. Alex and the rest of the dungeon crew stood grim and still, nodding in silent determination, urging me to find my resolve. But the sight that tore at me the most was the children—oh god, the children. Their wide, innocent eyes searched for answers none of us could give. All they wanted to know was why their parents were armored, holding weapons with tears in their eyes, hugging them tightly, and bidding them farewell as Kathy, their elderly teacher, took them away, assuring them their parents would be fine.

And then there were the former slaves. Wulfric and Leo stood with their bows gripped so tightly it seemed the wood might splinter. Beside them, Urf waited, face steeled against the men who once claimed to own him.

The defenders of Thornhill wore whatever leather and bronze armor they could find, some fitting poorly, as if they were a damned raiding party themselves.

We barely have anything. Why must you keep making us defend what little we have? I should have done more.

“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again.” My voice wavered at first, but soon found its strength and edge. “We are a small village. We don’t have the numbers they do. If we are going to survive in this world, we have to make the most of the people we have. If we lack in quantity, we will make up for it in quality.”

My voice found its color with each word. The Holders nodded, urging me to do what I needed to do.

“Every seed we plant must yield ten times the harvest they can reap. Every weapon we forge must strike with the power of a hundred of theirs. Every arrow we loose must fly faster, and truer. And every one of our fighters—every single one—must be worth a hundred of theirs.”

I paused, letting the weight of the words sink in, feeling something stir deep inside me.

“Our tiny village is a speck in this wide world. We may be small in geography and population, but we are not small in quality. I’ve seen the strength and resilience of this village after our last invasion. Everyone here pulled together to make something worth defending. They’ll always have the numbers, but we’ll always have the people. They can field a thousand soldiers...”

Reaching a place I didn’t even know existed—maybe it was the Founder class, or maybe just a primal instinct to fight for freedom—I screamed in outrage.

“And you know what?! I wouldn’t trade a thousand of their soldiers for a single one of our villagers. NOT A SINGLE ONE! Their blood will water our fields! Their bones will feed our soil! We’ll make these idiots regret ever stepping foot on our land!”

The villagers erupted like a storm, fists pumping into the air, their roar shaking the very ground.

“Grateful for the company!” a voice bellowed above the din.

“No losses!” shouted another, defiant and raw.

A chant broke out, swelling in waves as if the entire village had become one voice:

“Thornhill! Thornhill! THORNHILL!”

People scrambled to the ladders, their faces set with grim determination and fierce pride as we prepared to face the enemy. Shoulder to shoulder, we lined the walls. Father Gallagher led the faithful in prayer, while Gabriel lifted our spirits with a song—a familiar melody that stirred courage in many hearts.

As we waited behind the chalk walls, I ordered everyone to clear from the gates. But curiosity got the better of many, and they peered out through the arrow slits, eyes fixed on the approaching horde.

They came with ladders, bridges, swords, and crossbows, marching southward toward our drawn gate. As they reached our harvested wheat fields and watermill, my gut twisted when they set fire to the mill. I'll make them pay for that!

A necessary sacrifice. We can rebuild it. Stronger and better.

They advanced like ants on the horizon—countless, insignificant, yet brimming with menace. In the back lines, a mage raised his arms, summoning a massive ball of fire. It pulsed and grew, a miniature sun that radiated searing heat before being hurled toward us.

The fiery orb streaked through the sky, leaving a smoky trail before slamming into our wooden gate with a deafening roar. Days of work are destroyed in a matter of seconds by Void Magic. The wood shrieked as it shattered, splintering into countless charred fragments. Ash and smoke filled the air, leaving the gate a ruin of smoldering embers.

Screams erupted, but I cut through the panic with a sharp, commanding, “QUIET!” The fear died immediately, replaced by the tense silence of soldiers bracing for battle.

We had expected this. The gate was always going to fall—it was part of the plan. No need to panic. Not yet.

The enemy roared as they surged forward, a tide of uncoordinated hunger and violence. Beast men with their grotesque forms, gnolls snarling, frogmen with slimy limbs, ratmen and boars skittering in packs. Leading them rode humanlike men in crimson uniforms astride white horses with long, pointed ears.

Like a flood of leather and iron that poured down, they carried wooden bridges to span the moat. I watched intently, waiting for the spark of hope I knew was coming. Then, they crossed into the range of our arrows and bolts.

Everything was falling into place.

“FIRE AT WILL!” I bellowed, my voice cutting through the chaos.

In perfect unison, we moved. Those in cover sprang into action, and our ranged weapons—bows, crossbows, and Molotovs—lined the parapets and peaked out the arrowslits.

We unleashed a storm. Arrows and bolts whistled through the air, a dark cloud of death raining down on the enemy. The twang of bowstrings and the crack of clay bottles shattering filled the air. But louder than all of it was the song.

Gabriel, our bard, led us with his voice, strong and unwavering. The song, from a popular musical about oppression, stirred something deep within every human on the wall and served as a reminder of why we fought.

♫ Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men? ♫

The defenders added their voices to the song, turning it into a symphony of death and defiance.