"Fuc*k! Don't let this beast get away!" a warrior yelled, his voice raw with urgency as his sword swung down in a blinding arc.

"Hey! What are you doing? Don't get in my way when I'm swinging the sword!" another snapped, barely dodging the wild slash as they lunged forward with their own blade.

"Roooarrrrrr!"

The beast—a towering creature resembling a bull with jagged tusks as long as a man—let loose a bone-shaking roar. The sound reverberated through the air, making the very stones of the wall tremble.

"Fu*k, it's attacking with that sound again! Everyone, cover your ears immediately!"

The warriors scrambled, some dropping their weapons to clap their hands over their ears. Others braced against the wall, their faces pale as the deafening roar intensified.

The scene was chaotic. The enormous wall, a protective barrier encircling the entire town, was the last line of defense against these monstrous creatures. Scores of warriors stood atop it, clad in thick, battered armor that gleamed faintly in the light of the setting sun. The armor bore an unmistakable medieval aesthetic, but each piece was customized, etched with symbols or runes—perhaps a testament to the fighters' skills or rank.

Below the wall, a herd of these terrifying beasts charged relentlessly. Their muscular bodies crashed into the stone with a force that seemed impossible to resist. Their tusks, sharp and curved like scimitars, left deep gouges in the stone. Dust and debris rained down with every impact.

"Hold the line!" another voice bellowed, a commander perhaps. The order rang out above the din, though its authority was dulled by the beast's relentless roar. "Archers, take aim! Wait for my signal!"

The beasts weren’t just dangerous because of their sheer strength. They were cunning, their movements almost coordinated. One bull let out another roar, creating a momentary distraction, while another charged straight for a weakened section of the wall.

The warriors on the wall could feel the tremors beneath their boots. A sense of dread crept into their hearts. The town behind them was full of civilians—families, children, the sick, and elderly. If the wall fell, there would be no hope.

'We can't let them break through,' one young fighter thought, his grip tightening on his spear.

The people on the wall were throwing everything they had at the relentless onslaught of the boar-tusk bulls. Arrows rained down in volleys, each shot aiming for vulnerable spots, though the beasts' thick hides deflected most of the projectiles like stone.

Ballista bolts, as large as spears, slammed into the creatures, occasionally managing to pierce through their bodies. Fireballs exploded in bright flashes of flame, and gusts of wind erupted from powerful area attacks, sending dust and debris swirling.

Despite the ferocity of the defenders' efforts, the bulls were relentless. Their numbers were staggering, an unending tide of hulking forms that crashed against the wall like waves against a cliff. For every beast that faltered or fell, two more surged forward to take its place.

"Keep firing!" a grizzled warrior roared, his voice hoarse from shouting orders. "Don’t let them get close to the weak spots in the wall!"

But the defenders' morale wavered. The bulls had a monstrous endurance. Even after taking multiple direct hits, they kept charging, their massive bodies shrugging off injuries that would have felled any normal creature. Blood oozed from wounds on some of the beasts, but it only seemed to fuel their frenzy.

High above, a group of elite fighters—distinguished by the intricate runes glowing faintly on their armor—were the only ones managing to deal decisive blows. With practiced precision, they unleashed powerful attacks that brought down the bulls in just a few strikes.

A woman clad in shimmering blue armor thrust her spear forward, and a blast of lightning surged down its length. It struck one of the bulls squarely in the chest, the resulting shockwave sending smaller debris flying. The beast bellowed once before collapsing, smoke rising from its charred fur.

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Nearby, a swordsman leaped into the air, his blade glowing crimson as he brought it down with a two-handed swing. The bull beneath him split in two, the ground cracking from the force of the blow.

But such displays of strength came at a price. The high-level fighters couldn’t sustain these devastating attacks indefinitely. Sweat poured from their faces, and their breathing grew labored. Each strike drained their stamina and mana reserves, forcing them to fall back for precious moments of recovery.

"Captain!" one of the younger fighters shouted, panic creeping into his voice. "Even the elites are slowing down!"

The captain gritted his teeth, glancing back toward the town behind them. Smoke from the battle curled into the sky, and the cries of terrified civilians reached his ears.

'We can’t let them through. No matter what it takes,' he thought, gripping his sword tighter. His voice rang out once more: "Hold the line! Reinforcements are coming—just hold on!"

BOOOM!!!!

A deafening explosion ripped through the chaos, the shockwave rolling over the wall like a thunderclap. The sturdy stone structure trembled violently under the force, sending cracks spiderwebbing along its surface. Warriors stationed at the edge of the wall stumbled, their balance lost as the vibrations surged beneath their feet.

"Hold on!" someone shouted, but it was too late.

Several fighters toppled over the edge, their cries of terror cut short as they plummeted into the seething mass of boar-tusk bulls below. The horde reacted instantly. Snarling and bellowing, the bulls surged toward the fallen soldiers, their tusks gleaming wickedly in the dim light.

It was over in moments. The bulls tore into the unfortunate warriors, their long tusks and powerful jaws reducing them to nothing more than blood and torn armor.

On the wall, a horrified gasp spread among the defenders who had witnessed the carnage. Some froze, paralyzed by the sight. Others gripped their weapons tighter, their faces pale but resolute.

But among the group of doomed soldiers who fell into the horde, one man’s fate was different. As he hurtled toward the ground, he twisted his body mid-air, his instincts and reflexes kicking in. His outstretched hand caught hold of a bull’s thick fur, his fingers digging into the coarse hide as he landed—astonishingly—on the beast's back.

The bull beneath him roared in fury, bucking and twisting in an attempt to throw him off, but the man held firm. His movements were sharp, calculated, like someone used to defying the odds.

"Is that—?!" a soldier on the wall started to shout, pointing toward the lone figure atop the raging bull.

He steadied himself on the bull’s massive, thrashing back, gripping tightly with his legs as he raised his spear—a weapon almost as tall as he was. Without hesitation, he drove the blade downward into the eyes of the nearest bull.

"Haaah!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The spear sank deep, and the bull let out a guttural bellow of pain, its head jerking violently. Blood sprayed as he yanked the weapon free, and the blinded creature stumbled backward, crashing into another bull.

The young warrior wasted no time. His strikes were quick and precise, targeting vulnerable spots—the eyes, the throat, the joints. Each thrust of his spear turned another bull into a flailing, frenzied menace. The blinded beasts, driven by pain and confusion, began attacking anything nearby, including their own kind.

The defenders on the wall stared, half in awe and half in disbelief.

"Who the hell is that?" one of them whispered.

The captain, his eyes locked on the lone fighter below, muttered, "Whoever he is… he just gave us a chance."

The tide seemed to shift.

On the wall, the defenders saw their opportunity.

"Keep firing!" the captain barked, his voice filled with renewed determination.

Arrows, bolts, and spells rained down again with furious intensity. Encouraged by the chaos the lone warrior had sown, the soldiers fought with renewed vigor.

But in the midst of their frenzy, a tragedy unfolded.

An arrow, fired from the wall, whistled through the air. It wasn’t aimed at the bulls. The sharp, deadly point struck the young man squarely in the back, lodging itself deep between his shoulder blades.

His body jerked forward from the force of the blow. The spear slipped from his grasp as he wavered, struggling to keep his footing atop the bull. But the pain and surprise of the attack were too much. His balance failed him, and he tumbled to the ground below.

The moment he hit the ground, the herd surged toward him.

There was no time to react, no chance to escape. The maddened bulls trampled over him, their massive hooves crushing him into the dirt.

On the wall, silence fell. The defenders froze, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief as they realized what had just happened.

"It… it can’t be," someone whispered, their voice trembling. "That was our best… our most genius prodigy…"

The young warrior who had inspired them all with his fearless assault was gone.

Then, cutting through the stunned silence, someone shouted, "Who shot that arrow?!"

The question hung in the air like a spark in a powder keg.

"Who killed him?!" another voice demanded. The outrage spread like wildfire. Soldiers turned to one another, their faces twisted with anger and confusion.

"Step forward!" one of the commanders bellowed. "Who did this?!"

But no one answered.

The archer who had loosed the fatal shot did not reveal themselves. The defenders, though filled with rage and suspicion, had no choice but to return their focus to the raging battle below. The bulls hadn’t stopped their assault, and the wall was still at risk.

Yet the loss of their brightest warrior weighed heavily on them all. And the bitter question lingered in their hearts: who was responsible for his death?