The morning sun had barely risen when Henry stepped out from his tent. Last night's exhaustion had kept him from checking his status screen, but now, as he toggled through the interface, he was struck by the swift progress of his Polymorph skill. Since arriving in Ursa, he spent almost all of his waking moment as a Bearman dressed in his daemon. Moreover, no longer felt any pain from polymorphing. At the bottom of the screen, a new ability caught his eye—[Summon Guardian], a spell that increased his battle prowess, but at a steep cost to his willpower.
This was why he invested his skill points wisely, boosting his willpower up to 35 and enhancing his mastery of the new spell to level 10, knowing the immense drain it would likely pose on his reserves. Finally, he added six points to intelligence to enhance his MP, when he finished, he watched as his MP increased by 220%. He also increased his VIT by four points, to raise his HP.
When he finished, he stepped out his tent and surveyed the druids repairing the battered walls. Despite their efforts, the walls bore the scars of relentless assaults—much like a bandage haphazardly applied to a gaping wound. according to his estimate, the capital walls would be breached in two days. Henry couldn't help but feel a heavy sense of foreboding.
Walking to the infirmary, it dawned on him just how quickly he'd adapted to the grim realities of war. On his way, watched soldiers preparing for the days assault. When he arrived at the makeshift hospital, he saw Heather and Koda tending to the wounded. Heather’s alchemy skill was invaluable help to injured. He watched as she moved swiftly, applying poultices and bandages with a calm efficiency that belied the chaos around her. Together, Heather and Koda formed an effective team; Koda would triage the injured at the wall, then transport them to the infirmary where Heather could heal them.
“Keep still,” Heather instructed a wounded Bearkin warrior twice her size, her voice steady. “This will help with the pain.”
Henry approached her, watching as she worked. “How are we on supplies?” he asked.
Heather glanced up; her eyes weary but determined. “We’re running low on herbs and bandages, but we’ll manage. The soldiers need food more than anything. When will the supplies from Woodhaerst arrive?”
“I suspect, any day now?”
“Where you able to include my alchemical supplies?”
“Alfred, said they were included on the wagon’s manifest.”
“Good,” Heather smiled wiping the sweat from her brow. “We’ll be able to save more lives.”
Henry nodded, reassured by Heather’s resilience despite the grim circumstances. “I'll make sure the supply train from Woodhaerst is expedited," he promised. As he spoke, he couldn't help but survey the somber scene around him. The infirmary, a flurry of activity, was a stark contrast to the eerie calm that seemed to hang over the battlements outside.
Moving through the crowded space, he noted the efficiency with which Koda orchestrated the flow of wounded warriors from the front lines to Heather’s care. It was a well-oiled machine, born of necessity and hardened by the relentless reality of war.
Stepping outside, Henry caught the scent of smoke and iron on the wind—a reminder that the forge was still operational, repairing armor and weapons damaged in the fray. He made his way there next, knowing that every sharpened blade and reinforced breastplate could turn the tide in the battles to come.
At the forge, blacksmiths hammered away, their faces set in grim determination. Sparks flew as metal struck metal, each strike a defiant clang against the looming threat. Henry picked up a hammer and joined in, letting the rhythm of the work clear his mind and focus his resolve.
As the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows over the encampment, a runner approached, breathless with news. "Scouts report the enemy is massing—looks like they're planning another assault.”
Henry's grip tightened on the hammer. “I’m almost done here,” he said, his voice low. He turned to the nearest blacksmith. “I’ll be back to night."
The blacksmith nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with a soot-stained forearm. “Young Lord Bearington, we got this time. Your needed on the wall.”
Returning to the infirmary, Henry found Heather and Koda still at work, undeterred by the looming threat. He relayed the scout's report to them, watching their expressions turn steely with the weight of the information.
Heather paused, rubbing her soiled hands on her apron as she processed the news. “We'll need more beds and bandages,” she said to the other healers. Then turning to Henry she added, “I love you, be careful.”
Henry nodded, “I love you too. I’ll send you a message as soon as the supplies arrive.” Turning away, he marched to the officer’s tent for morning briefing.
Inside the tent, the air was tense with the weight of impending conflict. Maps were spread across a large table, and officers from various units huddled around them, their faces marked by the seriousness of their task. John stood at the head of the table, pointing to various positions on the map with a weathered finger.
Stolen novel; please report.
“I expect the battle to begin at noon,” John began, his voice grave, “Make sure your soldiers are well rested and fed. Like yesterday, we expect their assault to until dusk, with another skirmish at night. Our scouts have reported increased activity in their camps, including the construction of heavy siege ladders and battering rams.”
“General Bearington, if this continues, we can’t last. Our soldiers are running out of food and medical supplies. According to the druids, we’ll be lucky if the front wall and gatehouse are breached in two days. What’s the plan for when the walls are breached?”
“A frontal assault!” John said brashly.
“That’s madness! If they breach, they’ll flood into the capital. What are we supposed to do, plug the hole with our dead kin?” yelled a captain.
“They outnumber us 2 to 1. You’re asking us to die!” shouted another.
“As a Bearman you have a duty to protect your king and kingdom,” John corrected.
“If it’s a frontal assault, then surely the king and patriarchs must participate if we have any chance of winning,” reasoned a third commander.
“Stop talking, unless you want to be court martialed for insubordination. Our job is to defend the capital! What the patriarchs and king do is their business,” John shouted, glaring at each commander.
Yet Henry ignored the arguments and continued absorbing the map, noting the strategic points that John highlighted previously. The conversation shifted to defensive strategies and the allocation of their limited resources.
“Alright, meeting adjourned. Everyone get to your assigned positions. When the enemy sounds the alarm prepare for war!” John ordered.
Henry acknowledged the order with a firm salute.
“Wait—” John called to everyone before they left. “This may be one of the toughest two days we've faced yet,” he stated, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his officers. “But remember, we're not just fighting for our survival—we're fighting for our homes, our families, and our future. Stay sharp, support each other, and keep your courage. We'll weather this storm together.”
The officers dispersed, each moving to carry out their assigned tasks with a sense of urgent purpose. Henry lingered for a moment, collecting his thoughts and mentally preparing for the challenge ahead.
Stepping out of the command tent, Henry made his way to the wall. The sun was now high in the sky, casting stark shadows that seemed to underline the tension that gripped the fortress. As he walked, he went over the plans in his mind, each step punctuated by the resolve to protect his people and turn the tide of the war.
Reaching the battlement, Henry was greeted by the sight of soldiers busily strengthening the fortifications. Large wooden beams and stones were being hoisted into place, and the air was filled with the sounds of construction and shouted orders.
He quickly took charge, directing the efforts and offering help where needed. His presence boosted the morale of the troops, his hands-on leadership inspiring them to double their efforts. Amidst the flurry of activity, Henry couldn't help but feel a deep connection to his warriors—they were all bound by a common cause, each determined to defend their kingdom against the approaching threat.
As the minutes tick by, preparations continued at a frenetic pace. Henry knew that the coming hours would test them all, but he also knew that they were ready. The Bearkin were resilient, and with their combined strength, they would stand firm against whatever the enemy threw at them.
As noon approached, the sky turned a fiery yellowish red, a stark reminder of the battle that awaited them. Henry took a moment to look out over the battlements, his thoughts resolute. With a deep breath, he steeled himself for the battle ahead, ready to lead his warriors into battle, ready to defend their home at all costs.
“Stay vigilant,” Henry advised, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Here they come.”
Henry felt a low rumble begin to emanate from the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. The Feline Army was on the move.
Suddenly, the air crackled with energy. The Bearkin turned their eyes skyward to see dark clouds swirling above them, unnatural and menacing. The windstorm swept forward, causing the clouds to rotate rapidly. Within the clouds, a funnel began to form rotating gale force winds, causing the ground beneath their feet to tremble.
“Druids,” Henry shouted, his jaw tightening. “They’re using air magic.”
The first gust of wind struck the walls, sending shards of stone flying. The Bearkin scrambled to take cover as the magical onslaught began. The druids of the Feline Army had unleashed their full power, and the Ursa defenses were hanging on for dear life.
“Hold on to something!” Henry shouted; his voice barely audibles over the descending tornado. “Druids, we cannot let that tornado breach the walls!”
Henry watched in horror as the tornado, became two tornados and barreled straight for the wall. The wind swept stone and soldiers alike into the cyclones, tearing through the battlements, creating chaos and panic among the defenders. The walls shook with each impact, and sections of the stone crumbled, threatening to collapse entirely.
“Cast [Stone Wall] we need to weaken it!” Henry yelled to all who could hear his voice urgent. “If we don’t that thing will tear the wall apart!”
The druids, holding on to dear life cast [Stone Wall] entrapping the cyclone in a box. With grim faces, they channeled their mana. Now it was a race against time to see which druids would run out of mana first. Sweat beads draped the druid’s brow as they did their best to outlast their foes. Many dropped to two knees barely able to hold on any longer.
“It’s working! Keep it up,” John shouted.
The soldiers who clung on for dear life were happy when their feet touched ground again.
“Archers, aim for enemy druids!” John commanded.
Soon the sky darkened with arrows as both sides sought to turn the other’s druids into pincushions.
“Nephew, keep their attention a little longer,” John called out as he quickly gathered a group of warriors. “We’re going outside to ambush them hard and fast. Our target is the druids. Without their magic, the Feline Army will be vulnerable.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that? I’m almost out of mana!” Henry shouted.
“Figure it out, you’re a Bearington after all!” John commanded, before ducking out of sight.
As the group moved out, Henry led his past his druids MP recovery potions Heather made. From his position on the wall, he could make out John’s party as they reached the edge of the forest, where the enemy druids were believed to be hiding. Henry signaled for his group to hold on as long as possible.