27 Tavorhel. The ninth day of the eighth month.

The sentries of Norerila stood guard above the north gate, the flag of Trelven flying high atop the tower, absorbing the first rays of morning light. Being only several days’ walking distance away from the front, the fortress town served mainly as a supply depot for Trelvenese armies. Situated far away from the provincial capital of Maerila to its south, the town rarely saw any civilian activity other than the occasional state-sponsored merchant who came to deliver various goods. After all, it was built as part of a defensive system of towns against invasions, not to host busy festivals.

Of course, they had heard of the Forester uprising around three days ago from a messenger who returned to the town from General Arael’s camp in Maerila. Apparently, it was a sizable army that rebelled after ransacking a former Trelvenese village at the front. Given how past rebellions usually worked, however, the Foresters were likely to head south towards there, not north where there was practically nothing but fortress towns and plains, and even further after that, forests.

Not that there was any sizable Forester population left there. Over the decades of war, the Guild had moved most of them to the south where it was closer to the headquarters. The northern part of Eril was as good as empty at this point, home only to some farmers and herders.

The sentry Hatar, a native of that northern region, yawned as he prepared to welcome the beginning of the new day, and with it, the end of his shift. It was time to have some well-deserved sleep in the slight comfort of the barracks. Just over twenty years of age, this was his first post, a comfortable position which his relatively wealthy family got for him through different connections in the army.

Beside him was Beiras, a man somewhere in his forties and a native of Trellien, the capital of Trelven. The man had an eyepatch over his rugged face, his body filled with scars from battles past. Compared to Hatar’s brown eyes, Beiras’ eye was a dark hue of blue, giving the man a cold, mysterious aura.

Due to most of their manpower being reassigned to the summer campaign in Prentdor, only they were manning the tower for this night.

‘Say, Beiras,’ Hatar said, trying to keep himself awake for the final stretch. ‘You fought against a rebellion before, right? What was that like?’

‘It was like fighting any battle, to be honest,’ Beiras replied. ‘Except you were fighting Trelvenese, not Rhinish bastards.’ There was little emotion in his voice as if he was just recollecting some old historical fact.

‘Wasn’t it pretty hard to, well, you know… fight our own people?’

‘When you see someone pointing their spear at you, it does not matter whether they are Trelvenese or Rhinish. They simply become the enemy.’ Beiras looked out into the distance a little absent-mindedly.

‘Well, I guess you’re right,’ Hatar shrugged.

Beiras was just like that. Lacking an active mind. Just following orders automatically and without question. Hatar had realised it was a common thing among veterans in the army. They all had dead stares, going through each day with grim, purposeless determination. When they killed the enemy, they lacked emotion. When generals were giving loud, passionate speeches on horseback or on a podium, they roared and cheered even though they had no idea what the general was saying.

They were the people that forever followed an authority without question. Not because they particularly wanted to, but it was just their job. It was simply a way of life.

‘Hatar, you’ve never actually had any battle experience beforehand, correct?’ Beiras suddenly asked.

‘Yes, why?’

Beiras narrowed his eyes. ‘Your time has come.’

There was a large crowd on the horizon encroaching upon the premises of the town. Nowhere close to an army, but still a formidable number, especially given the fact that there were only the two of them guarding the northern gate.

There was only one answer: Foresters.

‘Huh, their numbers don’t seem as big—’ Hatar noted.

‘Tell those lazy soldiers to wake the fuck up,’ Beiras interrupted. ‘The enemy is here.’

‘A-Alright.’ Hatar turned around towards the centre of the town. Despite being quite high up on the gate, it was a prime position for him to project his voice.

‘ENEMY INCOMING!’ he screamed. ‘ENEMY INCOMING!’

Sure enough, the town was almost immediately aroused from its slumber. The clinking of metal could be heard, followed soon by hurried footsteps and nervous murmurs. Despite being made of mostly old, half-fit veterans and fresh recruits, there was still much activity. In fact, there seemed to be a bit of panic as soldiers rushed to and fro, their minds all on high alert.

As Hatar turned back towards the outside, he could make out the rough figures of the Foresters marching towards them. They were extremely ragged, looking more like a crowd of beggars that had gone lost than mercenaries. Then again, with how little they were given as payment for their services, Hatar wasn’t extremely surprised at the sight.

But the numbers… They were far smaller than he’d thought. And to march out in the open like this, the Foresters were practically asking for a beating.

‘Stupid animals,’ he commented. ‘Without a general leading them, they look like lost sheep in need of a shave.’

‘This can’t even be called a rebellion,’ Beiras added. ‘Even in their poverty I’ve never seen Foresters like this. Did our superiors overreact?’

‘I’m not even sure if this can count as fighting a battle. Maybe I shouldn’t have woken the others up.’

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

‘At least with more numbers we can get this done quicker,’ Beiras said before a yawn escaped his mouth. By this time, the archers were already stationed at the gate, eager to fire their arrows after a long break. Meanwhile, other soldiers were carrying boulders up to the walls, ready to throw them down at a moment’s notice.

‘You're the deputy commander now, right?’ Hatar asked, picking up his bow that had been lying on its side on the wall.

‘Yes. Mostly out of seniority.’ Beiras did the same, waiting as the enemy approached ever closer.

‘Guess you’ll be giving out the orders for once.’

‘I’ve done that before,’ Beiras said indifferently. ‘That was when the remnants of my unit merged with another unit after a day of battle.’

‘You just never run out of stories, do you?’

‘I prefer not to talk about them.’

As Beiras raised his arm, the soldiers had their arrows nocked, pointing their bows outward at an angle. They had done this a few times before in training. Despite being professional soldiers, they had considerably less intense training than their frontline counterparts. After all, many of them were from relatively well-off families. It’d be bad if the parents found out their sons were going through gruelling training despite being stationed away from the main battlefields.

‘Say, isn’t that a mixed-blood at the front? The one with the sword,’ Hatar noticed. ‘And a woman, no less. The Foresters really are desperate to have a woman lead them into battle.’

‘You clearly haven’t seen enough Foresters,’ Beiras said, looking at the field with his arms still raised. ‘They’re mages. Male or female, it doesn’t make too much of a difference.’

Hatar sometimes wondered about the Foresters. They were a race that had innate potential in using magic, harnessing their life force to do things beyond reality. But like all great stupid beasts, they were harnessed and exploited by civilisation and used for various means. In the Forester case, that meant war.

And now, in their folly, they believed they could forcefully break free of exploitation tracing back even before the war. And with just a ragtag, worn-out crowd? Surely that young woman who was leading at the front was delusional, if not outright mentally deranged.

Whatever the motive for the rebellion, to haphazardly start one like this would need many miracles to even establish a foothold in this ancient world of civilisation.

Just like any other rebellion, they’d be swiftly put down.

‘RAAAAAA!!!’ The Foresters finally charged towards the gate. Right as they entered well within the firing range of the soldiers’ arrows.

Beiras dropped his arm. ‘FIRE!’

Dozens, hundreds of arrows were let loose, travelling in an arc before they fell upon the Foresters like rain. The Foresters had no shields. Most of them were equipped only with spears and swords. Some only had their fists. Even as some fired their energy blasts above, instantly disintegrating arrows upon impact, there was no way to stop them all.

Hatar looked on in satisfaction, but also with a bit of pity. A shame they didn’t think of any plan before charging like this.

Wait.

The woman suddenly turned around. Six wings sprouted from her back, the skin and flesh splitting apart to allow the ethereal pairs of pure white energy burst out from the spine. In the blink of an eye, the wings completely protected the Foresters like a shield. As the arrows attempted to pierce the wings, they simply disintegrated into ash, blown away by the wind into nothingness.

In that moment, Hatar realised just how wrong he was. In the face of magic, he who was without it was the one who should be pitied.

‘Shoot the mixed-blood!’ Beiras hurriedly ordered. Another wave of arrows crashed down, this time focusing on the woman, but even when they were about to hit their desired target, a simple flap of the wings sent the arrows flying in all directions, gusts of wind hitting the walls like a drum.

Before the garrison could muster another wave of arrows, many energy beams shot out of the wings, peppering the gate with their intense heat. There were soldiers inside, waiting just in case the Foresters did break in, but they had expected an easy victory. Not this.

A young Forester, looking no older than Hatar himself, leapt up and broke through the wings, the blade of his axe tinted orange from the early morning light. A swing, and the gate’s lock was cleaved. The town was open.

As some Foresters rushed in, the remaining now pointed their hands towards the archers standing on top of the gate.

Beiras screamed, ‘DEFEND THE GATE—’

An energy beam cleanly pierced his skull. Beiras crumpled to the ground. Dead.

Just like that.

And the barrage began. These were the same Foresters that fought for Trelven just weeks ago.

This can’t be—

A soldier fell in front of Hatar, his torso peppered with holes, smoke billowing from the wounds. Others dropped around him in twos and threes, some collapsing onto the cold stone floor, some falling off and snapping their necks as they hit the ground.

Hatar’s legs gave way. He sat crumpled on the floor, numb with terror. His trousers became damp with urine, his arms too weak to even hold a bow.

He heard screams. Everywhere. Above. Below. To his left. Right. Behind. In front. He cupped his ears, but they were still there.

He himself was screaming.

He had to leave. The stairs, the stairs. He crawled there, pushing away several corpses before he rolled down the steps… until he was stopped by more bodies of soldiers who tried to climb up.

He gasped, forcefully shovelling his way through until he staggered out into the central plaza of the town. A day ago it was a gathering space for the soldiers, filled with many benches and even small shops. They were already destroyed. Soldiers were running in all directions, but in the confined space of the town, there was simply nowhere to flee.

They were all basically dead by this point.

Hatar began to burrow between the dead bodies piled up by the tower. But before he could even shove his head between someone’s legs, a strong tug firmly pulled him out, dragging him by the collar across the road. It was the axe-wielding Forester, his face still very youthful but already possessing the characteristics Hatar saw in Beiras.

He was tossed to the side and tied up against a wall. The rope, he recognised, was from the town. There were several others captured as well, one already missing a finger. Soon, there were more who joined, until a whole group of around fifty or so gathered together, all of them soldiers who had tried to flee the battlefield.

Soon, the town calmed down. The defending soldiers were either tied up or dead. The Foresters were completely unscathed. Hatar saw a few Foresters carrying food from their storage silos, as well as different trinkets and valuables. There was no one to stop them.

It was not even midday yet. The battle had already finished.

The young woman entered the town and approached the prisoners, sword in hand. Her white hair shone amongst the grey, destroyed background. She was dressed shabbily and had practically no armour, only wearing a thick tunic as her form of protection. Her wings were gone now, but Hatar could see a strange octagram-like pattern on her right eye along with a facial tattoo that resembled a diamond or sword with six wings.

From his perspective, the woman seemed almost like a giant.

‘What a bunch of weak animals,’ she scoffed.

The last thing Hatar felt was the woman’s strong hands tearing his shirt before the cold blade of her sword pierced into his chest.