“Well that’s not good.” George muttered from where he stood atop the wall. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, though the ground was slick with mud. Also thankfully, the sun was out of his eyes as it crept towards the horizon. In a final act of thanks, George scratched Nimbus behind the ear, fighting down the worry he’d felt earlier and the anxiety of the coming battle.
The Raccan Commando barked something and gestured to each side. The army split, and began to encircle the walls.
“Oh, no, that’s explicitly bad.” George corrected himself. “Oi, John! They’re-”
“Trying to flank us, I know. It should be fine so long as they can’t get over the walls.”
George let out an exasperated sigh. “One of them fought me in the branchways. I don’t think a wooden wall is gonna hold them off for long.”
“In the what?” Sarah muttered to Miriam, who despite her squinting eyes and thin sheen of sweat, was still out with the rest of them at the north gate.
“In the trees,” John answered her, “And that’s a good point George. Legion! Fall back to the longhouse and keep your ears open! We’ll run quick response. Oi, Mitchell!”
The man in full plate stood impassively in front of the gate, eyes locked on the opposing Commando. A slight tilt of the head showed John that he was listening. “We’re going to head back, holler if and where you need us.” The helmet nodded, and turned back towards the enemy. John took his two Tiros and his Optio and left for the centre of town. The choice was made for more than one reason - the population of the village was taking shelter in the Clan house, so he felt obligated to protect them.
George frowned. Less troops, more space to cover. The situation looked bleak.
With a sigh, Mitchell stepped forwards. “Might as well try it…” He mumbled, before clearing his throat.
“Hold, Raccan Representative! We request Parley, under the protection of the System!” A blue spark shot out from the top of his helmet and streaked towards a small, untrapped part of the field halfway between him and the enemy army. To the gathered surprise of the defenders, another streak shot out from the Commando’s head and met Mitchell’s, though this one was a sickly yellow instead of the Page’s clear blue.
Where the sparks met, a divided dome of force sprouted into place. It was impressive, and George heard a gasp from Miriam before her eyes glazed over and he could faintly see her lips talking through something at great speed, though no words came out.
The dome covered about 3 metres, and was divided hemispherically. On their side, a pale blue, almost glass-like energy hung in the air, reaching around and terminating in a flat, shimmering wall. On the other side, the sickly yellow cloud spread out to surround the other side of the dome.
“Shit.” Mitchell said clearly. “Kyla! Congrats, you just got the job of my honour guard, if you’ll take it?”
She grimaced. “Is that what Inner members do, is just whatever you say?”
“It’s a favour.” Mitchell answered. “If this gets me experience for my secondary class, I want you to get some for your own secondary class. Plus, you’re good in a scrap. I’d take John, but he’s on standby for any flanking. George is mostly a ranged combatant, Miriam as well, and despite Sarah’s mildly disturbing anti-healing, it still requires her to get up close to people and she has no armour or defensive skills. Mostly, though, if it goes wrong, you’re the highest level combat class.”
She didn’t like it, but admitted that the reasoning was sound. With a new wooden shield in her hand - made for her by some of these ‘Support Corps’ fellows, she did feel a bit more safe heading towards potential combat. “Alright, Mitchey. I’ll follow for now.”
He let out a sigh of relief, and Kyla started with surprise. Had he actually thought I wouldn’t follow? I was just griping, not actually disagreeing. Either way, he started walking forwards towards the dome, and Kyla followed a step behind.
They approached the edge of the barrier, which had steadily grown more opaque as they approached, until they stood before the blue half. Tentatively, Mitchell reached out a hand and pressed against the barrier, then staggered when his hand shifted right through. “I think this is our stop. First time for me. Let’s go.” With that, he pressed through and vanished into the dome. Kyla made to follow, but the barrier kept her out. It felt cool and smooth, like a rounded pane of glass
Glazing around the side of the dome, she came face to face with a large Raccan Brute, who sniffed at her dismissively. Despite her heart hammering in her chest, she snorted. Seems like the guards weren’t to be privy to the meeting.
----------------------------------------
Mitchell was astonished. The ground inside the dome was dry and covered with healthy grass. A faint scent of baked bread wafted across his nose, and the air was just warm enough to be comfortable in his armour. A small wooden chair sat in the centre of his half of the dome, the furniture oriented towards a flat pane of force that divided the dome in two. Sitting in an odd, nested stool, was the Raccan Commando, who was glaring at him with two bright, intelligent eyes. Between the two was an odd table, his own half being a burnished wood topped desk, while the other half appeared as a moss-covered rock.
Mitchell removed his helmet, hooking it onto his belt, and took a seat in the wooden stool, which creaked under his weight. He stared back at the Raccan for a moment. “I don’t suppose you know English?”
The Raccan chittered. “Foolish cub, playing at war. I speak Raccese, but the System will translate our threats and barbs so we might get back to the fight with haste.”
Mitchell blinked. He somehow hadn’t expected to actually be speaking with the Commando. “Kind of the System to do so.” He delayed as he gathered his thoughts.
“If you knew anything about the System, you would never call it kind.” The Commando responded with venom.
“Sorry. I’m going through my thoughts and thinking about the best way to speak to you, and the only thing I could come up with is honesty. Is there no way to avoid this fight?”
The Raccan blinked in surprise. “Why would we avoid a fight? There are rewards and levels for all of my people, waiting right there in your compound. It is nothing personal. It is the way of the System to pit people against each other. Either your history or mine shall die today.”
Mitchell sighed, surprised at the turn of the conversation but still feeling like nothing would come of this meeting. Other than the valuable - or completely biased - opinions of this creature. “Would you allow us to evacuate our non-combatants?”
“What do you mean? The system could not translate that word.”
“Uh, civilians? Those who cannot fight?”
The Raccan blinked in what the Page assumed to be confusion. “Why keep them in your nest if they cannot aid in protecting it?”
“It is what humans do. All are useful. All are valuable. All are innocent until proven guilty. It is our way. What do you do, with the old and infirm? The… cubs, right? What about the sick?”
“They are excised, to make us all stronger.”
Mitchells stomach roiled. “Okay, I can get the old, and even the sick, even if I can’t quite agree with the scope of your 'excisions'. But your cubs?”
“Made into rations. We can create more litters, but a soldier that falls to hunger now is worse than losing five soldiers in the future. Only those which hold the spark are preserved.”
Mitchell stood, some part of his mind having a visceral reaction and overlapping everything else. “You eat your young?”
The Commando stood as well snarling. “Do not judge me, hairless ape! Our society has only survived centuries of the System by adopting this way, and I will not be condescended to by some kit fresh into their tutorial! The only way out for you is surrender. Your warriors will be killed, your citizens enslaved or eaten, and your land burned and salted. Only then will the System open the way forward to us.”
“You got forced into this?” Mitchell desperately looked for a way to redeem this creature in his mind.
“Did you not hear me, you fool? There are levels and riches for us in your compound. Even without the interference or structure of your tutorial, we would raze you to the ground if it gave me so much as one level I could use to keep my people safe. We were not forced. We marched proudly into the Gate, resolute to bring back some victory. You may have killed half of us, but we will eat all of you.”
The words physically disgusted him, and without a word he stood and stormed from the dome.
Kyla blinked as he exited and then gave a little whoop. Then she saw Mitchell’s face, just a second before he put his helmet back on, and stamped slightly down on her reverie.
Something had gone wrong, but she’d gotten four whole levels from standing around outside a dome, so she couldn’t complain too much. “Didn’t go well?”
Mitchell growled in frustration. “They came by choice, and they plan to eat our corpses after the battle, or us during it? His threat was unclear. What is it about the System that turns people into such… such…”
“Vermin? Snakes? Unapologetic assholes?”
Mitchell let out yet another sigh, this one clearly disappointed. “All of the above. I think our village might be a rarity by sheer virtue of us trying to lift up as many as possible rather than make ourselves strong enough to conquer them. I just wish I knew why.”
Kyla shrugged. “It’s not too hard. Killing gives levels. Levels give power. Power means you can do things you couldn’t do before, and stop others from doing things to you.”
“It’s that simple, is it?” Mitchell challenged, before something in him deflated. “I suppose it just might be. They literally said they were here for levels and loot.” A jolt hit his shoulder.
“Oi, boss man. Moping doesn’t sit well on those pauldrons of yours. Perk up before we get back to the line or you’ll infect the rest of them with your suck.” Kyla chided.
Mitchell held back a snort. “The infectious suck, bane of mankind and ender of worlds.” Despite his sarcasm, he set his shoulders and carried himself tall as they walked back to the wall. “At least I got a couple levels out of it.”
“Anything good?”
“You could say so.”
You have gained the secondary class skill: Aura of Rule
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George watched the strangeness from the treeline. Some saw Mitchell’s attempt to use diplomatic means as admirable. Some saw it as foolish. George saw it as an excellent distraction, and it had lasted long enough for him to sneak out through the south and loop back around until he was nearby where he’d been not a pair of hours ago, facing off against the Raccan Brute.
The branches were scuffed and scratched, some snapped clean off and some hanging by the barest thread of plant fibre. He wouldn’t be able to move as much as he wished, but from here he had an excellent vantage point. Drawing back his bow, he took a breath and held it, centering his sights on the furthest Shaman’s head.
The slingers could get him in the trees. The Brutes - once augmented - could get him in the trees. The shamans could try, but their spells were slow. The Commando… well, he didn’t know yet, but he imagined that one was a straight melee fighter, though more in the lines of a soldier than a berserker like the Brutes.
His best bet was to remove the shamans and their support magic from the field, so that was what he did. An arrow streaked silently out of the trees, digging into the soft flesh at the base of his target's neck and burying itself up to the fletching with a wet thump. The other two reacted quickly, casting orbs of sickly green light at the tree he’d been in, but he was far away from that spot now, lining up his shot at the second Shaman. The fading light only helped to conceal him in the shadows, and his next shot came in from the Shaman’s left, sinking into its gut.
Forgot to account for the change in distance. Stupid.
He quickly sent a follow-up shot, which found its mark in the Shaman’s upper torso before any could cover him, and the tribal caster dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Two down, one to go.
The Commando finally realised what was happening and barked out a harsh series of hisses and growls, and the army reacted - those that were attempting to flank charged the wall from where they had gotten to, four Brutes surrounded the remaining Shaman, and the rest of the army charged towards the gate.
George grimaced. He didn’t want to deal with four Brutes. Then he saw Nimbus, eyes locked on the small group and fur raised, and he realised that as much as he didn’t want to, Nimbus did.
He observed for a moment, thinking back on how they’d acted in the last wave, and a spark of inspiration lit itself in his mind. “Alright buddy, I think I have a plan but it’ll be dangerous. You in?”
Nimbus looked up at him and nodded.
George stamped down the uneasy feeling at the clear sign that his cat could understand him and pressed on. He could deal with it after.
Instead, he explained his plan.
----------------------------------------
Things got frantic almost immediately, John noted from the Clan House.
Mitchell held the gate, and the majority of the northern wall. He’d planted himself in the only space that could be easily walked through, and between his shield and Kyla’s spear, both slinger and Brute fell. Ezekiel stood atop the wall next to the gate, loosing arrow after arrow into the horde of slingers and ducking return shots as much as possible. Unlike the previous wave the slingers lacked the pinpoint accuracy that had made them so dangerous, though being careless was still ill-advised.
Miriam was wincing, her eyes blue with the tell-tale sign of looking at a system screen, muttering ‘come on, come on, hurry up, please just hurry’.
Sarah stood on the scaffold, eyes piercing the dark and watching each stroke of a sword, sling of a stone, and waiting, her gnarled staff in her hands and robe still coated with blood from the knees down.
George had taken off into the woods again to John's dismay, but he learned quickly that the Ranger had taken out two of the three Shamans before the fight had even started in earnest. Even if that was his only contribution, if he could just keep the third one busy they should be free of the augmented Brutes and able to hold the army outside the walls.
All of this flitted through John’s mind, even as his eye caught movement to the south. A fur-covered head peeked above the wall, and 10 metres to its left another Raccan flopped to the ground. It would have likely broken something on hard-packed dirt, but the ground was mud, and softened its fall. It still took time to gather its senses and come to its… feet? Paws?
“Tiros. Two invaders. Repel them.”
Both Gunther and Aleks looked back at the Centurion with hard eyes. “Sir!” They shouted back, and took off at a jog for the south wall, even as a third Skirmisher poked its beady eyes over the wall.
“Optio, I need you to go tell Mitchell that they’re coming over the south wall. West is still covered by the river, but if they start coming over the…” John blinked. “Scratch that, tell Mitchell that they’re coming over the south and east walls.. Legion is deployed and unable to assist with the gate. Then get back here and use your best judgement to help who you think needs it more. I’m off to go greet our new guests.”
Without waiting for a response, John began to jog towards the east wall where a Brute and a pair of slingers had made it over and were gathering themselves even as they looked at the few scattered buildings.
John laughed to himself.
Like we’d build up a village before we had it protected? No easy loot here, you dirty animals.
“Prepare to bleed for scraps, if not death!” He shouted out as he barreled towards the small group.
----------------------------------------
With two hands on his shield, Mitchell could almost feel his bones quake at the repeated, hammering impacts. Brutes slammed down on him from the front, claws scrabbling at the edge of his shield. After the first couple of times he’d had it dragged low and taken a strike to his armour, he’d sheathed his sword and started grabbing back.
A Brute’s elongated claws stretched over the lip of his shield and his free right hand reached out and seized the limb, yanking it up and over his shield. He turned with the momentum, his back hammered by blows as if hail the size of golf balls were slamming him, then he completed his throw, leaving the Brute behind him and resetting his position. A Skirmisher had slipped by while he made his throw, but it made it not more than two steps before an arrow pierced its neck and it fell bonelessly to the ground, unmoving and eyes wide with pain and fear.
Blood dripped from the few attacks that had managed to find weak points in his armour, but Mitchell stood ready and repelled the unending crush. Kyla did her duty, and within a second of the Brute being sent to the ground it had a new breathing hole courtesy of her spear.
“Patriarch!” The voice of Optio Jack called out from behind the line. “The Master of-”
“Not in a fight!” Mitch called back. “What does John need?”
Jack paused for a brief moment. “Nothing, sir! He says that the legion is deployed, and that the enemy climbs the walls, but he will hold them off.”
“He said what?” Mitchell roared, pausing in his conversation to grab another Brute who was attempting to wrest his shield away. This one he punched right in the snout, and it fell back from the crush of bodies, whimpering. “How are they getting over? George killed the Shamans!”
“I don’t know sir, but I have to go reinforce the Centurion!”
Mitchell growled. They didn’t have the manpower to protect the wall from every side, not against this density of opponents. They would be defeated in detail. They needed the enemies to funnel through the northern gate so they could limit the number of fighters they faced at once. Without that, they were surrounded and outnumbered.
What could they do? The ground was too wet, or he’d say they could light the wall on fire to prevent climbers - even though that was like shooting your foot to reduce the swelling. He wouldn’t be able to stop them from climbing, which meant the walls were lost. His heart sank as he realised he would be getting no experience from this battle.
“Sarah, Kyla, with me! Everyone else, fall back! Back to the clan house! Protect our people!”
Mitchell was not aware, but he had inadvertently activated his new Aura of Rule skill, and within seconds those around him were hustling to follow the new plan, Jack sprinting over the mud like it was a dry-packed trail and he’d just warmed up after a good night's rest. Miriam felt the piercing quality of her headache fade for just a moment, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Sarah felt a surge of Strength through her bones, and leaped from the scaffolding without a second thought, her legs bending and tucking her shoulder in to roll through her momentum, ultimately ending up with less mud on her robes than she’d thought she’d get from the jump.
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Mitchell did not see any of this. Stretching his neck over the mass of Raccans pressing against him, he vaguely saw George in the rear, the third Shaman dead at his feet, the bodies of Brutes strewn about. He’d done incredibly well. The only issue was the Commando, which had engaged him in melee, and whose blows were fast enough to whistle through the air, and strong enough to send mud flying from its impacts. The sword dug more than a foot into the ground as the Ranger rolled aside, and the Commando yanked it from the mud without resistance, the creature's Strength more than enough to free it.
George wasn’t able to fit in any attacks. The second he pulled an arrow into his hand, the Commando almost disappeared into a lunge which George desperately dodged. Mitchell knew that George was dodging via spending Stamina. Stamina would run out, and George would be unable to dodge.
“Well fuck.” Mitchell muttered to himself. “Kyla, now! Cover me. Sarah, give me the adrenaline. George isn’t dying on my watch.”
With the tap of a staff, Mitchells bodily hormones were overridden, and he charged forwards.
----------------------------------------
Miriam stumbled into the Clan House, dimly aware of the group of cowering, hiding people. She fought the urge to scoff or judge them - it was the same thing she’d have done when she’d first gotten here, first become a part of the System. She didn’t envy them, though. Before, she’d found it easy to let someone else take responsibility too. To assign her work and excel at the assignment while letting the big picture fade away.
For today, for this battle, it rankled her to no end that everyone considered her down and out. Sure, she had drained her MP and was dealing with the recovery. Sure, it hurt her brain beyond the point of concentrating if she tried to manifest an array. But nobody had even tried to solve that problem, they’d just written her off.
That made her upset. She didn’t spend hours upon hours studying the inner workings of reality it-fucking-self to get benched when the clutch came around. Kyla was a lady with a pointy stick and she was out there. John was wearing a skirt, and he was out there. Sarah had no armour or defence to speak of, and Mitchell had called for them, not her.
She stormed her way through the crowd of kneeling, huddled figures, the faint clanging of combat streaming in through the open door causing them to flinch. She cut her way around the longpit, to the head of the room, and walked around the back of their chairs to the floating crystal that signified the core of the settlement. The blue glow in the darkness of the longhouse still made her headache act up, but she was committed to her decision and brought up the Shop menu. Spending the entirety of her personal money as well as a decent chunk of Mitchell’s, she made a single purchase, and stormed her way back out of the Clan house.
She would show them. She would show them why she was the reason they’d even survived the last wave. Not a single soul would get close to this house, on her word and her life.
----------------------------------------
George was not panicking. No, even though his opponent was faster, stronger, and more experienced than him, George was definitely not panicking. Nimbus was calm as well.
George calmly yelped as he slipped through the mud out of the way of the sword. He serenely scrambled back to his feet, twisting to catch a glimpse of which direction the attack was coming from-
It was too close to dodge, he thought, before something hit the back of his head and forced it down, the sword sweeping centimetres over his bowed head. Nimbus yowled as he landed in the mud, having just sprung off of George's head and assisting in the dodge.
The Commando was not unharmed. Shallow scratches covered its face and arms, but nowhere vital. It took a moment to size up him and Nimbus, then charged forwards again.
Then it was hit by a truck. Or rather, hit by a charging Mitchell, with all of his Strength and the weight of plate armour, which was pretty much the equivalent of being hit by a small truck. The commando tumbled, and without waiting or saying anything, Mitchell grabbed George’s arm in a pincer grip and started dragging him back to the gate. “They breached the walls. We’re falling back to the house.”
George shook his head. “No way, man. This guy must be a command type mob, I bet if we kill him they’ll revert to their old tactics. It’d be a hard fight, but we can take them when they’re dumbed down.”
Mitchell continued to drag him along, despite his resistance. “It’s too late. They’re inside the walls. 10, maybe. 20, maybe. 30? 40? All rushing us at once? We need to group up.”
George slipped his arm free as he started running alongside Mitchell, Nimbus keeping easy pace at his side. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that? You know I was gonna come back after that fight.”
“If you came back.” Mitchell answered. “I’d rather that ‘if’ be a ‘when’.”
George grumbled, but the Page was correct - if that fight had lasted another minute, he’d have gone through all his stamina. An arrow whistled overhead and sounded behind them with a clanging sound that was all too close for comfort. With a quick glance over his shoulder, George saw the Commando was hot on their heels, sword poised to strike as soon as it caught up. “It still might be an ‘if’, Mitch!” He called out, realising with dismay that though Mitchell was able to break out, a portion of the Raccan forces had turned to block his return and consequently his own.
Then a black streak shot forward, and George didn’t have the time to shout out for Nimbus when they crashed into the enemy line.
Rather, Mitchell raised his shield and bodily pushed through, sending skirmishers airborne and Brutes staggering, but slowing with each step. As the Raccan’s poured around his sides, George lashed out with his rapier, the needle of steel not able to stop them but easily able to penetrate their hides and strike at vital areas. Between the legs of the scrambling foe, Nimbus darted back and forth, ripping his claws across ankles and sending them stumbling rather than dropping weapons atop the pair.
The crush pressed in around them and George had to drop his sword, the mob of bodies too close for him to do much of anything. He drew his dagger and plunged it down into the skull of a Brute that was trying to tackle him, but the blade skittered off its skull and flayed a portion of its hide. It was enough for the Brute to let go, and with the sudden loss of resistance he pitched forwards into the roaring melee, knowing that to fall was to die - then a hand grabbed him around the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the ground and he panicked, swiping with his dagger before a strike to the wrist disarmed him.
He blinked at the cloudy sky, and realised he wasn’t in the melee. The second thing he realised was that Kyla stood by his feet, shield held high and Spear broken on the ground beside her. The third thing he noticed was Nimbus, still in the fight, but not ranging far from the defensive line.
Then it all came crashing in, and he realised that they’d made it through. A hand pushed the hilt of a weapon into his hand, and he blinked up at Sarah from down in the mud. In her white robes, spattered with blood and wearing a severe expression on her face, George couldn’t help but stare at the tip of her staff as she pressed it against his legs. “No time for rest, Ranger!” She shouted over the clanging of steel and the roars of anger and pain.
George felt an idle itching sensation fade away, and looked down to see his pants in tatters and legs streaked with blood. However, even as he watched, a long cut knit itself together. The staff moved to his chest, then under his chin, lifting his gaze. “George, I’m being nice, but if you don’t get your ass up and help, I’m gonna un-heal you.”
George scrambled to his feet even as his stomach churned at the thought. Her threat was unspecific, but that somehow made it even worse. He sheathed his dagger, drew his bow, and with a couple short leaps had climbed up atop the nearest house and begun firing arrows.
Sarah nodded and turned back to the narrow, bloody gap where a pair of humans and a cat were fighting for their lives. “All here, Mitch!”
“Alright, get ready to fall back! We’ll take the rear and cover, now go! Get to the Clan House!”
“We’ll take the rear?!” Kyla squawked in the face of the overwhelming numbers, and George sighed in relief as Nimbus took off towards the house.
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“Eastern Alley!”
“Mine! Shit, that’s a miss, can- Nice throw, Centurion!”
John pulled his last javelin from the small quiver he had strapped to his back and scanned his eyes around the clearing between the Clan House and the Gazebo. There were a few Raccans he could see, mostly Skirmishers. They were breaking down the doors to the houses and emerging soon afterwards with frustration in their body language. He laughed at the thought that the village was so poor, there was nothing for the raiders to pillage.
At least the next ones to attack would find an abundance of furs.
His Tiros were holding the doorway and throwing Javelins at any Raccans they saw, while John himself acted as their front line and Jack acted as the backup. As a pair of Skirmishers rounded the side of a house, John started towards them to intercept. A third approached from the opposite side of what John was beginning to call the Town’s Square, and without a word Jack hopped off the porch of the longhouse and made for the second threat.
Which was fine until now, but then a Brute approached from the south, and John cursed, abandoning his intercept and whistling to gather everyone back. “Legion, form a line!”
Jack echoed his curse and began running back to the porch, and they arrived almost simultaneously. The Raccans gathered up in the square - while John had a javelin left, his Legion was all out and he needed a good target. The enemy totalled only 10 Raccans, but two of those were Brutes, and other Raccans slowly wandered in to reinforce them.
John watched from behind his shield as the injured but still mobile form of the Raccan Commando emerged from the west, dripping wet and with a snarl on its face. It joined the rest of the Raccans in the centre, and soon there were 20. A surge of Raccans came streaming into the square from the North, and John’s heart sank even as he felt like he was going to be sick.
If the Raccans got here first, that means their retreat failed. Their friends - his wife - were supposed to be here. They were supposed to retreat so they could all fight together. As more Raccans joined the group, John’s heart faltered.
Almost at that exact moment, the Raccans charged. “Legion, hold the line at all costs! They want to rape our women, kill our men, and eat the children! I say over my DEAD BODY!”
His three soldiers let out a half-hearted yell.
John grit his teeth. The Raccans were almost upon him. With one last burst of determination, he chucked his Javelin into the mass of Raccans, unable to miss. A Skirmisher went down with the 3 foot length of wood speared through its torso, then they were in melee.
A Brute came right for his shield so he bashed it out to stun the creature and moved to thrust his gladius, but another Raccan stepped in and swung with its claws, forcing him to abandon the strike to reposition his shield. To either side, the same scene played over and over - his troops were trained enough to work in a line, but there were just too many Raccans to risk overextending. They were in danger of being surrounded, the porch their only defensive structure and even then it was nothing but a few planks of wood laid over the muddy ground.
John knew this position was untenable, as even as he defended he received five wounds in twice as many seconds, and the Raccans hadn’t taken a single loss. “Legion, backstep! Form two ranks in the doorway!”
The order should have been easy, in John's mind at least. Yet, among all of their training and formations, they’d never done any backsteps. Dismay flooded John’s mind as the formation fell apart.
Jack took a single backstep immediately, which left Gunther’s left flank open. The Raccan’s pressed into the gap, and Gunther was dragged down and out of the formation with a scream that curdled into bloody whimpers before going quiet. John slashed out with his gladius, taking a strike to his forearm but warding off the skirmisher that was attempting to flank Aleks, allowing the remaining Tiro to back up.
Unfortunately, three was a much more dire situation than four.
Step by step, they were pushed backwards towards the house, and soon John found himself with his feet planted in the doorway, the frame to either side restricting his strikes even as it prevented him from being overwhelmed. With only the one way in, John was able to halt the advance by sheer virtue of refusing to give another inch. To his back, Jack lashed out with his gladius over and over again, punishing any Raccans that pushed too recklessly. Aleks sobbed, even as he braced against Jack’s back and helped him push back against the might of the Brutes.
“We will hold!” John demanded, his tone offering no discussion. His Legion did not answer. A scream cut through the din and was quickly muffled, but John had a quick and important reminder that not 10 steps behind him, the civilians huddled in fear. A part of him disregarded that, as he was worried about his own life, but that part of him quickly faded and was replaced by red-hot rage.
“LEGION!” John bellowed out, even as a trio of strikes hammered against and started chipping away at his shield. “We stand as the bastion before the terrors of the world, the wall that keeps civilization safe! For our fathers, our brothers, for our sons, we will fulfill our duty! For our mother and sisters and daughters, we will stand strong! For all of us here, and for the light inside your soul, stand! Stand here, stand now, and let these vermin know! Not one more step back!”
“Not one more step!”
A faint, golden shimmer reached out from John’s chest and delicately brushed against the three warriors, and exhaustion faded away. His shield repelled a strike with no more damage, and Jack’s return strike flashed out with almost uncanny speed and precision, his weapon sinking into a Brutes throat and tearing it out as the Optio withdrew. Aleks choked back a sob and began pushing with his own weapon against the hoard, for something important had changed.
John’s arm felt light, the shock of strikes feeble, and his legs powerful. He knew, that as long as that effect from the golden light lasted, so too would he. But with how many of them there were, would he hold long enough? Was anyone even coming to help?
Were any of his friends even still alive?
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Miriam forced herself to ignore the shouts and clanging of combat coming from down the stairs, poring over her notebook in frantic studying. She worried for a brief moment that she would be too late, then immediately determined the best way to prevent that was to work fast and without distraction, and so her mind focussed into a pattern of arrays, mana costs, and the hypothetical spells she knew she could cast if she could just get it all right.
Not for the first time did she feel a measure of jealousy for Sarah. She was able to make new spells, apparently, but she at least got some to start with. Miriam was working from scratch, every single time.
In her mind's eye, she pulled up the monstrous array formation that had cast the Lightning Totem spell. At a second glance, and with the extra INT she now had, it was clear to see that it was sloppy, inelegant, and all around dangerous. She shaved half of the arrays out of it, then scrapped the rest as she realised it would be easier to start from scratch..
She started with the standard for a projectile spell like her Mana Dart, the targeting array. She added two more onto the back to designate single target, then repeating. Then she scrapped the repeating array and replaced it with one she’d found in her book, the Relay array. That would be more like what she was going for, though she did need to add a recursive loop if she wanted it to relay multiple times - which she did, but the mana cost would inflate too much to make it usable.
With three arrays on targeting, she added the fourth buffer array, which was essentially empty except for determining where the spell would come from. With the easy part done, Miriam dove in. A series of 30 arrays gradually faded away until she was left with a theoretical spell 15 arrays deep, with no recursion or other additives. With a quick tweak to the buffer array to ensure she didn’t end up with any recoil or backsplash, she began to form the actual spell, only for the arrays to fall apart.
Fighting down her panic, she dove back into what she’d made, resisting the urge to just start from scratch. No, she didn’t have time for that, so she had to fix the spell she was trying to make.
The first four were good, she knew that much. The next set of five was for creating a tunnel of charged particles, as she recalled vaguely from her science classes, while the next nine were all about guidance and generation.
She dove through them all with a fine-toothed comb, eyes flicking back and forth in the dim candlelight of her bedroom even as more screams of fear and panic echoed up from below.
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“That’s all of them!” Kyla managed to call out, despite her bleeding and limp left arm. Without the ability to wield a shield, she’d dropped it and was running her improvised spear one-handed. She'd grabbed one of the javelins from the supply barrels near the walls, and was using it to great effect.
Mitchell nodded, too tired to respond. When the Raccans had broken through, they’d streamed around their defensive line, cutting them off from the route back to the Clan House even as half their forces pushed forwards. With no other option, they’d ducked into the nearest house and held the door. With plate armour and a shield, Mitchell was immovable, and Kyla’s skill with her spear truly shone as she made pinpoint strikes into the Raccans even around his bulky form.
Sarah had kept up as well as she could but was low on mana,. Without her, though, they’d all be dead. Ezekiel wasn’t able to help much, but luckily George had hopped up on top of the roof and was raining arrows down on their attackers, further diluting the force they could put into a push.
Unlike the situation at the Clan House, every person here had a combat class and multiple levels in said class, and the Raccans fell in droves until there was a single skirmisher looking around confused. Then there was a single skirmisher falling to the ground with a javelin through its neck, and the immediate sounds of combat faded, though they could still hear fighting in the direction of the Town Square.
“Sarah, you good?” Mitchell checked in.
“Yea, I’m- Damnit George!” The Healer cursed as George hopped off the roof and sprinted for the fight.
“No, he’s got the right idea, we need to relieve them.” The Page answered as he took off at a thundering jog. With a shared look of resignation, Sarah and Kyla followed.
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John could hold on no longer. The golden glow faded, and within seconds of that, Aleks was dragged out into the crush and silenced. Jack was the only thing holding him up, and he could feel the shaking of his muscles - his Optio wouldn’t last much longer, and once he was alone, he would be torn apart. The group of civilians pushed closer and closer to the stairs, trying to get away from the fighting, and more than once he’d had to hold alone as the others of the Legion chased down and killed stragglers that had managed to push through.
The bodies in the doorway were just about the only reason he hadn’t been overwhelmed. His attackers were just as likely to trip over their fallen troops as they were to push through successfully, and that allowed him to keep pace, but just barely.
Jack whimpered at his side, and John fought all the harder for it. He knew, as he saw the Commando starting to push forwards towards them, that he wouldn’t be able to stop them. As his hope faded and his arm wavered, something odd happened.
An arrow sprouted from a skirmisher that was trying to take a bite out of his shoulder, the shaft punching through its skull and the arrowhead protruding from just below its left eye. Then another arrow sank into the crush, and the pressure against him weakened as the Commando made a barking command. A third of the forces turned to guard their rear.. But from what?
His answer came in the form of a titan in shining steel crashing into the back of the Raccan ranks, howling bloody murder. It was hard to see in the fading light, but he caught the faintest glimpse of blood-soaked red robes and the theory he’d been afraid to confront fell apart before his eyes.
A stinging sensation formed, and as a tear rolled down his grimy cheek, John cheered with all of his might, seeing Sarah’s clearly living form dashing from person to person out in the square.
The Commando snarled, and made to push its way back to the reinforcing party, when a crack split the sky in twain.
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“Split the charges from central to dorsal, invert to ventral, loop back in to central tunnel… Sphere, Charge, Contain, Alter, Project, Loop back to Targeting, Repeat 3…” Miriam continued muttering the home-made names she’d created for each of the arrays as she stacked one on top of the other. As all 15 hovered in place, she collapsed them into one flat, impossibly complicated spell diagram, and took aim.
From her balcony window of the Clan House, she could see the entire battle. In fact, she felt like she was the only one who’d seen all of how things had progressed.
First, the Commando had allowed the Raccans to gain enough grasp of strategy to scale the walls, which was bad on its own. Then they had split their forces to try and react, and from there it had just been reaction after reaction.
Miriam would prefer to be the actor, not the actee. That was why she had left the front line and gone to the System store and bought herself something they’d decided as a group to wait for, but if there was no town left, they’d never be able to buy them.
It turns out, Mana potions tasted like blueberry.
While she was in her room, the battle progressed. She heard the dying screams of the two Tiros, she heard John’s roars of pain and rage. She heard his defiant speech, she heard the yelps and whimpers from the non-combatants. She heard everything that they had built come into danger, and it took all she had to shut it out and focus on fixing her Lightning Totem spell into something more useable.
And if she had succeeded, they would be saved. If she had failed, she and all of her friends could die here.
That was why she gave Mitchell a faint smile, even though she knew he wouldn’t be paying attention as he had his own fight to complete. He may have had the Willpower, but for a long time they’d borrowed the better parts of each other, and she knew that if he could do it then she could too.
She released her mana and felt a wave of light-headedness flow through her. She watched in almost slow motion as her mana crept through the first few arrays until it hit some sort of break point, then a spark shot back and forth three times and streaked out faster than her eyes could track.
The miniscule, almost dainty looking spark sunk into the chest of a Brute, and the creature had just enough time to look up before the bridge between it and the array connected and a beam of lightning as thick as a pencil jagged across the sky and into his chest, turning the Brute into as much raining meat and blood.
The spark jumped from the remains of the Brute into a Skirmisher, and though the bolt was weaker, it still flung the Skirmisher 15 feet in the air. If it wasn’t killed, it was when it landed on its head with a hollow snap.
One more spark shot out, the weakest yet, and as luck would have it sunk into the Commando. A final bolt shot down from where the Skirmisher arced through the air and slammed into the Commando’s chest, and while it knocked him back a few paces and left an angry, charred patch of fur, the leader still stood.
Miriam was surprised when she didn’t feel the expected light-headedness, and with a glance at her status, realised why: Her new Mana Efficiency skill. In fact, that lightning bolt had taken up just over a third of her total. With a manic grin, she began to reform the array.
Over the next two minutes, she fired off four more bolts. She could have gone faster, but she made sure her mana didn’t drop below the cost of the spell - she worked with the assumption that a minute or two without spells was better than passing out again.
With magic from above, arrows from the alleys, an anvil in John and Jack and the hammer of Mitchell and Kyla, soon the only creature left standing was the Commando. He was injured, but still slashed out with his swords when anyone got close. John staggered from the front entrance of the longhouse, while Jack remained at the door.
Sarah, Mitchell, George, and Ezekiel in various states of injury and damaged clothing joined them, and even Miriam took the time to walk down the stairs, fighting through her mixed elation and horror at the unmoving bodies of the Tiros she had to walk by to get to the square. She kept her face placid and unchanging, as much as she was wanting to cry and tear her hair out.
In fact, she kept walking in her daze, straight through the circle of her friends, straight up to the staggering and flailing Raccan, and barely felt as its sword slid into her thigh. Even as she fell to a knee she shoved her staff forwards until it pushed against the Commando’s chest and generated the required arrays in record time. She didn’t hear Sarah’s admonishment, nor Mitchell’s gasping protest.
She growled as she released her less powerful but equally as deadly Lightning Bolt spell - as opposed to the Lightning Chain she was casting before. With all of the mana sent into one target, the Raccan Commando flashed from within for a split second before exploding into a burst of super-heated blood and small chunks of meat.
“Get fucked, vermin.”
And silence fell over Old Mill Town, before the beginnings of a ragged cheer pierced the twilight. Then a notification appeared for the group, and they all but collapsed from exhaustion.
Congratulations!
You have proved yourselves and Old Mill Town worthy of your continued existence. Rest, recuperate, grow, and fortify, as your town is now eligible for upgrading. Your town has been granted a one week Safe Haven status.
Congratulations!
You are the first Town to succeed in proving yourselves! All currently unlocked buildings can be built at 1/10th of their costs, and the next Town level will cost ¼ of the required materials.