The Walled Town of Santilla
The walled town of Santilla, Mahar Kingdom's frontier settlement, was alive with unease. Normally, its streets bustled with merchants, adventurers, and townsfolk living their daily rhythm. But today, the air was heavy—rumors of disaster spread like wildfire.
Hours earlier, multiple eyewitnesses reported a massive explosion deep within the Great Demon Forest. Guild Master Orgrun, a stout dwarf with a reputation for caution, usually dismissed such tales. But this time, the sources were credible. His instincts screamed danger.
Stampede.
A word that froze blood. Once every few centuries, hordes of monsters surged out of the forest, overwhelming border towns and slaughtering everything in their path. The last stampede had claimed hundreds of lives in Santilla alone, and thousands more in less fortunate towns.
Orgrun would not take chances. Scouts were dispatched into the forest. A letter was sent to the garrison commander. And all available adventurers were summoned to the guild hall.
Hours later, the war room was packed. Party leaders, armored and tense, stood alongside the town's garrison commander. Anxiety hung thick in the air. For most, this would be their first stampede.
Orgrun slammed his hand on the table. "Attention! Here's what we know. Reports confirm a powerful spell was cast in the forest—so strong it shook the earth for kilometers. You know what that means."
An adventurer spoke up, voice grim. "A blast like that… enough to disturb the forest. Enough to trigger a stampede."
"Exactly," Orgrun growled. "Fortunately, the kingdom has contingency plans. Preparations are already underway. But we lack numbers. That's where you come in."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"You'll keep the loot from your kills. On top of that, one gold coin bonus for every ten monsters slain. What do you say?"
The adventurers' eyes lit up. Fear mingled with greed, but opportunity outweighed hesitation.
"Aye!"
"Count us in!"
Voices rose in unison.
Orgrun nodded, satisfied. Good. Fear alone won't hold them. But gold… gold will make them fight like demons themselves.
The town of Santilla transformed overnight.
Soldiers marched along the walls, reinforcing weak points with timber and stone. Blacksmiths worked furiously, sparks flying as they repaired armor and sharpened blades. Adventurers drilled in the courtyard, testing their weapons, practicing formations, and boasting loudly to mask their nerves. Townsfolk carried supplies—sandbags, barrels of water, crates of arrows—forming human chains to fortify barricades. Even the elderly hammered nails into wooden planks, while children fetched stones for the walls. Priests and healers prepared their wards, blessing charms and mixing potions, their chants echoing through the streets.
The clang of steel, the thud of hammers, and the murmur of prayers blended into a single rhythm: Santilla's heartbeat before the storm.
Still, Orgrun knew Santilla alone might not withstand the tide. He summoned his fastest riders, pressing sealed letters into their hands.
"Ride for the capital," he commanded. "Tell them Santilla braces for a stampede. We need reinforcements—soldiers, supplies, anything they can spare. Ride hard, ride fast. The fate of this town may depend on you."
The messengers bowed, determination burning in their eyes, before galloping out through the gates. Their silhouettes vanished into the horizon, carrying Santilla's desperate plea for aid.
Orgrun watched them go, his gut heavy with dread. We prepare, we fight, we pray… but even with all this, will it be enough?
The war room's plans spread outward into action. Santilla would stand—or fall—against the tide of monsters soon to come.
On the second night, soldiers and adventurers manned Santilla's walls, weapons and staves in hand. Glory and riches awaited—perhaps even honorable death for some. Yet none faltered, for the lives of their families depended on their bravery.
Then, from the treeline, multiple figures burst forth. The scouts sent into the forest galloped toward the gate, shouting in terror:
"It's coming! It's too many!"
The dread etched on their faces spread like wildfire, morale plummeting. The ground trembled, a thunderous roar rising from the forest, growing louder with each heartbeat.
Orgrun sensed the fear gripping his men. If he did nothing, the defense would crumble before the battle began.
"Do not falter!" he bellowed. "You are staring at glory! Pride yourselves that you are part of the greatest battle our kingdom has faced. Bards will sing your tales for generations to come. Steadfast! Before you lies honor—take it, and make the gods sing your songs!"
"[Commanding Aura]!"
A surge of power radiated from Orgrun, his skill washing over the defenders. The cloud of fear lifted, replaced by steel resolve.
Support-class adventurers began casting buffs, their chants weaving courage into the ranks. Mages and sorcerers raised their staves, incantations spilling into the night air, preparing the storm of spells that would meet the tide of monsters.