The arrow struck the ground in front of my tent.
I didn't hesitate.
Instead of rushing out blindly, I grabbed every weapon within reach. Sword at my waist. Spear in hand. Bow close.
Retreat or advance—I needed options.
Without opening the tent flap, I expanded my Sensory Field.
One enemy.
Running straight toward me.
Close.
I drew an arrow and fired through the canvas.
The shaft tore through the tent wall and pierced flesh.
A heavy body collapsed outside.
Through the hole in the fabric, I saw him on his back—an arrow lodged deep in his neck.
No time to think.
Another presence rushed from behind the tent.
Closer. Faster.
I pivoted and thrust my spear backward with full force.
The spear pierced through canvas and into flesh.
Resistance.
Not like a monster.
Softer.
Warmer.
My hands froze for half a heartbeat.
This was not fur.
Not scales.
Not something born in a dungeon.
A man.
His eyes met mine through the torn fabric of the collapsing tent.
Confusion.
Pain.
Fear.
My breath caught in my throat.
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
And in that second, he tried to move.
Instinct took over.
I pushed harder.
The spear drove deeper.
A wet sound.
His body slackened.
Silence.
My lungs burned.
I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.
I staggered back as the tent gave way.
The battlefield roared around me, but it sounded distant—like I was underwater.
My hands were shaking.
Not slightly.
Violently.
I tightened my grip around the spear to hide it.
But the tremor wouldn't stop.
I had killed before.
Wolves.
Beasts.
Monsters.
This was different.
This one had eyes that looked like mine.
They wore leather armor stitched with bone fragments. Faces smeared in black ink. Crude swords and axes in their hands.
Bandits.
Dozens of them.
At least forty.
By the time the alarm horn sounded, fighting had already begun.
I rushed toward Rusty.
Two bodies lay near him, faces bruised and crushed.
Footprints on their chests.
They had tried to take him.
Rusty had answered.
A chill ran down my spine.
An arrow aimed at me.
I felt it through my Sensory Field before I saw it.
I turned.
An archer stood between trees.
I mounted Rusty in one motion.
"This is it," I muttered.
Rusty's first real charge.
The arrow flew toward my chest.
I twisted with the saddle's momentum. It grazed past me.
We surged forward.
The archer didn't panic.
That was my first mistake.
Two shield-bearers stepped out in front of him.
They had prepared.
Too late.
Rusty crashed into them with brutal force.
The shields shattered backward.
All three men fell.
I didn't slow down.
I rode past them and drove my spear down twice.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
When I finally lifted my head, the battlefield was chaos.
The Winged Sword held formation. Paul guarded Maria while she cast small bursts of magic.
The Vipers were shadows.
Appearing.
Slitting throats.
Vanishing.
Bull Charge—
They were laughing.
Two, sometimes three enemies at once.
Rany's halberd swept in wide arcs, bodies falling with every swing.
An arrow came for me again.
I sensed it and leaned aside.
The archer met my eyes.
Then ran.
I fired.
The arrow struck his leg.
He collapsed screaming.
Before I reached him, Rany stepped in front of the fallen man.
One clean swing.
The head separated from the body.
No emotion.
No pause.
The fighting thinned.
Numbers dropping.
Bandits breaking.
I rode toward Ron.
"It's an ambush," he said between clashes. "We need one alive."
"Bull Charge won't keep any alive," I replied.
"That's why I'm asking you," he said sharply. "Don't chase. If they retreat, let them go. Capture one."
I nodded.
Another horn sounded.
Retreat signal—from them.
Of the original forty or fifty, barely fifteen remained.
They fled.
I saw one injured man dragging himself away.
I shot both his legs.
He collapsed.
His comrade tried to pull him up.
I charged.
The comrade raised his weapon.
Too slow.
I struck him down and pinned the injured man to the ground.
He tried to bite his own tongue.
Bharam's warning echoed in my mind—
Some prisoners kill themselves to keep secrets.
I forced a gag into his mouth and bound him.
Ron and Sam arrived moments later and secured him.
The field fell quiet.
Smoke drifted between broken wagons.
Groans faded.
I looked down.
My armor was soaked.
My hands were red.
Rusty's mane was stained dark.
My chest rose and fell in long, uneven breaths.
Inhale.
Too sharp.
Exhale.
Too slow.
I tried to steady it.
It didn't work.
The smell hit me then.
Iron.
Hot.
Human.
My stomach twisted.
I turned away from the others.
And vomited into the dirt.
My body shook with it.
Not just nausea.
Something deeper.
My hands were still trembling when I wiped my mouth.
I pressed my palm against my chest.
It wouldn't slow down.
I had crossed something tonight.
And there was no going back.