Mist Valley – Barricade Defense Line. Afternoon – Under Bombardment.
WHOOOSH... CRACK!
A massive boulder slammed into the cliff face directly above the barricade. Shards rained down on the Sudrath troops. A mercenary screamed as his shoulder was crushed by falling debris.
"Medic! Pull him back!" Sir Riven shouted, his voice hoarse and laced with dust.
The situation had turned grim.
The smoke of the momentary victory had vanished, replaced by panic. At the southern end of the valley, three enemy Trebuchets had been erected. Distance: 400 meters—out of Sudrath bow range, but well within their firing zone.
WHOOOSH...
A second boulder soared through the air. This time, a direct hit.
BAM!
The main wooden barricade shattered into splinters. Sharp wood fragments flew in every direction.
"Fall back! Take cover behind the cliff rocks!" Duke Lucian ordered. He dismounted his horse to avoid becoming a sitting duck.
Sir Rianor crawled toward his father and brother behind the cover of a massive boulder. His face was smeared with black soil.
"We can't hold this position, Dad," Rianor panted. "That's long-range artillery. They'll pick us off slowly from a distance, then send cavalry to mop up the leftovers. We are sitting ducks waiting to die."
"Do we charge?" Riven suggested, gripping his axe.
"Suicide," Rianor rejected instantly. "There are 3,000 men between us and those machines. We need an air strike... or a ghost strike."
Suddenly, a shadow landed silently beside them. Without a sound.
Lady Rhea.
She was no longer wearing heavy armor. She wore a tight, charcoal-black leather outfit, her face covered by a black cloth, revealing only sharp eyes. At her waist hung a rapier, a dagger, and two small pouches filled with leftover gunpowder.
"Let me handle it," Rhea said coldly.
"Alone?" Riven looked at his sister with concern. "That's a suicide mission, Rhea. You have to sneak past thousands of men."
"I won't take the main road," Rhea pointed to the rugged, steep cliff wall rising 50 meters high. "I'll climb the blind side, then drop down right behind their command tent."
Rianor looked at the cliff. Slippery, steep, and wet.
"Physically impossible, Rhea. Even for an athlete like you."
Rhea looked at Rianor. A calm, deadly gaze.
"Sir Rianor, you handle the strategy. Sir Riven, you handle the defense. Let me handle what I do best: Being invisible."
Rhea didn't wait for permission. She sprinted toward the cliff wall, jumped, and began climbing like a spider. Lady Rhea's muscle memory (sword dancer) combined with modern Wall Climbing techniques. In an instant, she was 20 meters up, disappearing into the cliff mist.
Duke Lucian watched his daughter's disappearing back.
"Riven," Lucian ordered. "Distract them. Make as much noise as possible at the front so they don't look behind."
Riven grinned savagely. He thumped his chest.
"YES SIR! ALL TROOPS! SHIELD FORMATION! WE ADVANCE TEN STEPS! TAUNT THEM!"
Valerius Rear Guard.
Around the Trebuchets.
The Valerius artillery commander laughed with satisfaction as he watched the Sudrath barricade crumble piece by piece.
"Keep firing! Don't let up! Duke Varkas wants Lucian's head before dinner!"
Soldiers were busy loading massive stones into the sling baskets. They were unaware that death was lurking from above.
Perched on the branch of an old pine tree overhanging the artillery position, Lady Rhea steadied her breathing. She observed the enemy patrol patterns.
Three machines. Twenty guards. Three barrels of oil for machine lubrication.
Rhea's brain analyzed the situation like a chessboard.
Target: The Counterweight ropes.
Rhea took a gunpowder pouch from her waist. She lit the short fuse with a small flint striker.
"A gift from Bandung," Rhea whispered.
She dropped the pouch right onto the stack of oil barrels beside the center Trebuchet.
Hisss...
One guard turned his head. "What's that sme—"
BOOM!
The oil barrels exploded. Fire spewed viciously, catching the dry wood of the Trebuchet.
Panic erupted.
"FIRE! SABOTAGE!"
Amidst the chaos, Rhea jumped down.
She was no longer human. She was the wind of death.
Zwing!
Her rapier pierced the neck of the first machine operator before he could even scream.
Rhea rolled, dodging a spear, then slashed the counterweight rope of the second Trebuchet.
SNAP!
The massive throwing arm released without a load, swinging wildly and smashing into its own support frame. The machine collapsed on top of the soldiers beneath it.
"OVER THERE! INTRUDER!"
Five elite soldiers surrounded Rhea.
Rhea stood calmly amidst the raging fire. Her eyes glinted, reflecting the red light.
She didn't retreat. She drew the dagger in her left hand. Dual Wielding.
"Who wants to die first?" Rhea challenged.
A soldier attacked. Rhea parried the greatsword with her rapier (deflecting the opponent's force), then stabbed her dagger into the gap of the enemy's armpit armor. Efficient. Brutal.
But there were too many enemies.
"Take her alive!"
A net was thrown. Rhea jumped back, but her foot tripped over a corpse. She fell onto her back.
A soldier swung his sword at her head.
CLANG!
An arrow flew from an impossible distance, striking the soldier's sword and knocking it from his hand.
Rhea looked up at the cliff far across the valley.
A flash of mirror light. A Signal.
Sir Roland.
No, not Roland shooting. Roland was only giving the Spotter signal. The one shooting was Garrick's best sniper, directed by Roland.
Rhea seized the moment. She scrambled up, threw her last gunpowder pouch at the third Trebuchet, and kicked a torch toward it.
BLARRR!
All three siege engines were now just burning piles of wood.
Mission accomplished.
Rhea ran toward the cliff, fired a grappling hook onto a tree branch, and zipped up, leaving the frustrated enemy troops screaming below.
Back at the Sudrath Barricade.
Cheers erupted from the Sudrath troops as they saw black smoke rising from the enemy's rear lines. The stone bombardment stopped completely.
"SHE DID IT! MY CRAZY SISTER DID IT!" Riven shouted, raising his axe.
Duke Lucian exhaled a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly. Relief.
"Artillery disabled. Now it's an even fight."
However, Sir Rianor didn't cheer. He stared at the enemy through his spyglass.
The Valerius forces had lost their artillery. But they weren't retreating. Instead, their formation changed.
They split apart. Making way.
From the center of the enemy ranks, someone emerged on a giant warhorse clad in blood-red armor.
He was bigger than Riven. Holding a Warhammer of absurd size.
It wasn't Duke Varkas. Varkas was too cowardly to be on the front lines.
"That's..." Garrick muttered, his face paling. "That's General Kael. The Human Tank."
Kael didn't shout. He simply pointed his hammer straight at Duke Lucian. A General's duel challenge.
And behind Kael, heavy cavalry began to line up.
Without the barricade (which had been destroyed), that cavalry could trample the Sudrath forces in a single charge.
"Rianor," Lucian called. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Yes, Father?"
Lucian dismounted his horse. He took off his fur cloak. He tightened the straps of his gauntlets.
"Your strategy has brought us this far. You destroyed their morale, you destroyed their machines."
Lucian looked at Rianor, then Riven, then Roland who had just come down from the cliff.
"But to stop that human tank... and hold back the cavalry without a barricade..."
Lucian's eyes began to glow. Not the warm glow of a father. But the cold light of an Awakened Aura Master.
"It requires a bigger monster."
Duke Lucian Sudrath walked forward alone, stepping out from the cliff's cover. Into the open field.
The wind swirled around his body. Pebbles on the ground began to vibrate and float.
A deep blue aura—the signature color of House Sudrath—began to envelop Lucian's body like a raging fire.
"Watch closely, my children," Lucian murmured. "This is the reason why House Sudrath was once feared by the entire continent."