A bolt of lightning split the air, followed by thunder that resonated throughout the horizon. Rain came next which fell like bricks from a besieged castle. Gentle though the downpour was, its constancy would dampen the battlefield, providing ample opportunities for slippage on both sides if one wasn't careful.

It was now when the enemy played their trump card.

Rolling out of the woods all over the front, like titans, came war-machines.

Primarily made of wood, one could see metallic parts glinting between flashes of thunder, like talons on an eagle. ‘What were those?’ Zan asked himself.

Returning to battle, he tried his failing best to not become overwhelmed. The older man next to him, who had mentioned the supposed battle tactics of the Expanse earlier, spoke again. He said, “Those are troop carriers! If you get close, you will see a mounted cannon on front. It has a pathetic range, but don’t get right in front of it! It will blow you to pieces!”

Good information to know, Zan thought. Rationally.

The rational side of him was not the one who gave the old man a reasoned response. Unfortunately.

Panicked, Zan instead screamed, “And how are we supposed to fight that?!”

The man shrugged. He simply said, “Fire?”

Fire.

Fire…?

That’s not a half-bad idea, actually! Zan realized.

‘But how?’ he muttered. He knew how to start a fire. But in this rain? Building a fire was not… wait! Thunder roared. Seconds later, lightning crackled. It was as though the gods answered his hurried prayers — a tree near the town line burst into flame after being struck by a blast of ultra-fine electricity.

He grimaced and bolted to and behind the tree at his back: "There's my fire source. Blessed be to me the tree is not among the enemy!"

Skidding to a jumping halt just before he crashed into the tree -- the newly formed mud on the ground making such a slide easy -- he brandished his roughed-up sword and smacked his blade into the roaring flame of the smoldering tree. Pain racked Zan's whole arm at once as fire lapped away at his skin. Luckily, he did not keep his blade in for long.

Withdrawing his enflamed blade from the grievously wounded tree, he saw how his blade now shined with dancing fire.

This will light ‘em up! Shrieking with adrenaline-bound glee as he braced himself, ready to use his new weapon, he stood his ground -- his body a fortress against the invading horde. The wicked automotrons might have forced the defensive line back a few paces, but it was he who would ensure their defensive line — cannon-on-wheels or no!

To test his new weapon, Zan stepped to the automotrons next on his killing docket. Whilst in a strong stride, he allowed the golems to encircle him; acting upon instinct once the golems sufficiently surrounded him, he spun his blade in a whirling motion, setting fire to all four automotrons at once.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

With one group now totally annihilated, he stepped to the next cluster.

Repeating the same strategy, another group, which included another reinforced golem painted red, burned to cinders. Zan knew it was ordinary fire, so how the automotrons could burn so fast was a mystery, but one he loved. With eight automotrons now slain in rapid succession, he yelled to anyone who could hear, “Light your swords on FIIIIIIRE!” Did he sound like a madman? Yes. But what something ‘sounded’ like in war was irrelevant.

Whether the other stalwart defenders of the village heard his words, who could say. Not he, who continued his part without the luxury of knowing if the others picked up on what he was laying down… tactics wise.

Ahead, more automotrons approached.

Several succeeding automotron formations faced fates similar to the previous clusters. So quick were their destruction, Zan rescued himself from energy debt. He also waded into nearby enemy clusters, destroying them, and helping to give his fellow tonfolk some much needed breathing room.

With the battle’s tide now turned -- thanks, in part, to his mad screaming about fire -- he could now see several other fighters igniting their blades. Soon, their advance became a general counter-offensive.

One which even the enemy's armored troop carrier could not halt.

Seeing the self-propelled vehicle lumber slowly on the rough ground, Zan pushed all his stamina to his legs. Without meandering groups of automotrons assailing his part of the defensive line, he could reinvest his health into outfoxing that war-type.

Standing behind the cannon-blasting, smoke-clogging contraption, he saw a basic wooden exhaust pipe hanging under the back edge of the device. Will it work if I stick my blade up in there? Choosing to act, he stuck his still fiery blade up the rear exhaust port!

His intuition proved right. The vehicle caught itself aflame in a blink. The rapidity at which the vehicle broke down impressed him. One minute, normal, clunking around on iron-rimmed wheels. The next? Searing fire baked the sky.

Stupidly, Zan tried to retrieve his blade, but the ripping hotness lashing out at every step proved too much for Zan’s idealistic hopes.

Now I don’t have a weapon… Shet! What was I thinking?!

Glimpsing the non-stop advance of allied squads, yet lacking even a basic weapon himself, the enemy forced Zan to retreat to friendly lines. The others have adapted. They’re leading the charge now. I played my role, he said to himself.

“What’s going on, buddy? Oh, no sword…!” Jiehong said, taking a breather from the fight to check in on his friend.

“Yeah. Lost it in that grand action. Did you see?” Zan replied between panting.

In the background, the thunder and lightning worsened. Sporadic booms turned more frequent. Rain fell.

Then a bell rang from the village square, loud enough for every defender to hear.

“Everyone has gone, now, youngling!” the old man fighter shouted.

Running close to him, the old man said, much more softly, “Prepare to withdraw!”

Taking the moment of relative privacy to confide in the older man, feeling suddenly safe in his elderly presence, Zan said, “I’m so tired. But also, so wound up!”

“Keep holding on tight, lad. You’ve fought well!” The man smiled. “Hold the line for me while I check in with the village. Look! The Slipstream is coming out!”

Looking at the sky, he saw the storm rage, but now there was a mighty river of colors and vibrant hues flowing through the sky. The old man handed him his personal sword, then rushed off toward the village center, his body belaying a speed people would not expect from a senior.

Focused not on the man anymore, he gazed at the Slipstream. Plant-esque, in a photosynthesis like way, he felt the magic again flow through his veins. He felt renewed. With hope, if not exactly energy.

To his front, he saw more groups of soldiers than ever emerge from the forest and lumberyard. Many red-painted goons with a detachment of troop transport vehicles appeared on the horizon. Had the old man not given him his own weapon, Zan would've been in a poor situation.

On the tree line, the wooden foe massed for a concentrated assault. Additional enemy groups filled the horizon. It was going to be quite the battle -- if they lived!

Breathing heavily, he stuck his blade into the ground, crouched to one knee, and waited for the enemy to come.

With magic in his body once more, he would show them the might of a desperate warrior defending his homeland. And he would do so with a vengeance!