The moment the Mosrow's Kina took their first steps toward the moat, a sound came from the sky.
Sweeping and overlapping through the air—
Shrrring. Shrrrrring.
The sound of thin metal strips brushing and trembling against each other.
Clear as windchimes caught in a breeze, yet threaded through with the keen friction of edges meeting edges.
A chorus of small metal shards ringing in open air.
Only then did he understand what it was—the sound of Muwa's feather-blades, their metal-bladed wings, stirring in motion.
Yakra Winged Soldiers.
The winged soldiers of the Mosrow Clan were descending in formation, bearing down toward Salma's Kina.
The sun emblem on their crimson cloaks flashed bright against the light of the moat's fire.
At the head of the formation, Nerum's left wing bore a bloodstained bandage wrapped among the feather-blades. Forced flat and pinned between the blades, the bandaged wing hung limp at its tip, unable to fully extend from its folded position. His left wingstrokes were visibly shorter and heavier than his right.
And yet he held the front of the formation.
It was Nerum.
He spread his wings before Salma's Kina and slowed his descent. He lost altitude and came to a stop just ahead of the Kina. The hem of his crimson cloak caught the heat rising from the moat and billowed upward.
"Warchief."
Nerum spoke. His words came to a clean, precise stop.
"It is good to see you again."
Light seeped through the gaps in the wooden panels at the upper section of Salma's Kina. From within came Salma's voice.
"Nerum."
Nerum's gaze moved across Salma's Kina. The body of the Kina bore the marks of impact in several places. Sections where panels had been torn away were plainly visible. A crack ran along the joint of the right arm. And yet Salma's Kina had not stopped walking. Slow—but forward, without ceasing.
The damage that remained was the mark of the fierce battle fought on the last campaign. Recovery was not yet complete, and still, Salma's Kina had been brought back to the field.
"Warchief. Why have you come out while still wounded?"
It was a question, but his voice carried reproach.
"Because there is a reason I must have my Kina on this battlefield."
Salma answered.
"Is that reason worth pushing yourself before your wounds have even healed?"
"My injuries have recovered well enough. Do not worry, Nerum."
Salma's reply was short and resolute. Nerum closed his mouth. He wore the expression of a man with nothing left to say.
Then another voice cut in from behind Salma's Kina.
"Hey~. Nerum."
It was Bejede's voice, drifting from the third Kina behind Salma's. He leaned out from the cockpit on the Kina's shoulder, waving one arm in a wide, lazy sweep. His deep, booming voice rang out across the moat.
"You know better than anyone what the Warchief's like! Khahahaha!!"
Bejede burst into laughter. His deep, unmistakable laugh cut through the noise of the battlefield and rolled outward. The Kina's arm followed his gesture, swinging left and right in a broad arc.
Nerum gave Bejede a brief glance, then turned his eyes back to Salma.
Salma spoke again.
"Nerum. The Kina will take the lead. Have the winged soldiers spread wide to the left and right of the Kina and follow behind. We sweep them out as we move along the moat."
"Understood."
Nerum answered at once.
"And."
Salma's voice came again.
"Fight well."
With those words, Salma's Kina quickened its stride. Its footsteps grew heavier. The nine Mosrow Kina following behind simultaneously lengthened their gait. Their footsteps overlapped, and the ground beneath the wall trembled as one.
Nerum turned to look behind him. The Yakra Winged Soldiers were watching him. Winged soldiers in crimson cloaks, their eyes fixed on Nerum.
He raised his left wing, pointed right—then swept it sharply to the left, splitting the gesture in two.
And he shouted.
"The Kina open the way!! We fill in behind them!! Not a single orc leaves here alive!!"
The Yakra Winged Soldiers spread their wings as one. As countless wings opened simultaneously and the metal feather-blades fanned apart, fractured reflections of light burst and scattered across every blade.
The crimson cloak of Nerum at the fore was pushed back by the force of his wingstrokes, trailing long behind him in the open air.
"Yakra!!"
The winged soldiers cried out as one. Their voices merged and rang out across the moat.
"Hunt the invaders!!"
As one, the Yakra Winged Soldiers kicked off the ground. Metal blades meshed and locked together, and the shrrring sound rose in overlapping waves.
As one, their bodies lifted into the air.
The airborne soldiers split left and right, spreading swiftly across the flanks above the advancing Kina.
*****
Footsteps drew closer to Duraha's position.
The sound of heavy armor treading through mud was closing in from multiple directions, and fast. Duraha raised his head and swept his gaze toward the sounds.
Three soldiers came running from beneath the wall on the right, and a moment later two more joined them from the same direction. From the left, four Dawi soldiers were pushing through, scattered but moving hard.
Their armor bore the marks of battle across every surface. One soldier wore a helm crushed in on one side. Another still gripped a halberd whose shaft had snapped in the middle, leaving him with only half. A soldier with a missing vambrace had wrapped the arm in cloth, and blood was already seeping through.
The lead Dawi soldier dropped to one knee and halted before Duraha.
"Warchief. I have a report. Orcs are massing at three points beneath the wall. Minotaurs are at the vanguard. We are currently engaged."
Duraha looked down at him.
"Can you hold in your current state?"
The soldier lifted his head.
"Support is coming in from the battlements above. As long as we can pin them below, we can manage for now."
Duraha looked up toward the wall for a moment. Arrows were pouring down from above.
"Good. But if you start to be pushed back, pull up immediately."
From behind, another soldier dropped to one knee.
"Warchief. At the center of the star-side wall, on the moat side, the orcs are using rubble from a collapsed barricade to build a crossing over the moat. Our soldiers are holding them off, but their numbers are great."
Another followed.
"On the moon-side, scrags are attacking the base of the wall with enormous hammers. Two cracks have opened in the foundation."
Duraha narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze across the entire wall. Sounds came from everywhere. The roar of orcs. The crash of steel. The shouts of soldiers. Not a single stretch of ground beneath the wall was quiet.
Within this one stretch alone, hundreds of sounds were already tangled together. Spread across the whole of the wall, tens of thousands of orcs and minotaurs were hammering every inch of Damu's northern fortifications.
Duraha opened his mouth.
"On the moon side, the Mosrow Kina will push in along the moat. Until the Kina have dealt with the orcs and minotaurs crossing over, pull the soldiers back from the base of the wall and leave them room to work."
Duraha pointed toward the base of the wall on the right.
"Send the halberdiers from the moon side to the sun-side sector. The cracked section falls to Warchief Korr—concentrate on sealing the moat crossing."
"Understood!"
The Dawi soldiers rose and scattered. Their footsteps crossed the mud in several directions and faded.
Duraha turned his gaze back to the battlefield. The footsteps of the Kina moving along the wall rolled through the ground beneath him.
Then a voice came down from the battlements above.
"Heey—yaaaaah!! Bejede, you dirty cheat!!"
A voice booming down from the wall. Forceful, loud, without a shred of restraint.
It was Barkh.
He had both hands planted on the parapet and was leaning his body halfway over the edge, bellowing down toward the base of the wall with his full throat.
The plate armor he wore clanked with every movement. His broad shoulders angled out over the drop.
"I should go down right now and fight!! There's no way I can do anything just hurling javelins from up here!! Those Kina down there are tearing through orcs like that—and I'm just supposed to stand here and watch?!"
Mau grabbed Barkh's armored back with both hands and pulled.
"It's dangerous, Barkh. Stop leaning out over the parapet like that."
"Let go of me, Mau."
"If I let go you'll actually fall. It's a long way down..."
"I'll jump before I fall!"
Mau tightened his grip.
"Whether you fall or jump, you end up dead either way!"
From below came a short, booming burst of laughter.
"Oh~? Is that Barkh?"
It was Bejede's voice. He had twisted the Kina's body to peer up toward the battlements. The Kina's arm rose slowly in the direction of the wall, then descended. Bejede was working the Kina's arm, waving it up toward the parapet.
"Khkakakakakaka!!!"
Bejede exploded into laughter. Even through the roar of battle it carried clearly.
"Our young Dawi of Baheekhari is doing such a splendid job guarding the wall!!"
The corners of Barkh's eyes pulled tight.
"Leave some of them to come up a ladder!! Stop sending them up one by one, one measly orc at a time!! Send them up properly!! I need something to do up here!!"
"Oh my, how terrifying! Could it be that the orcs are too afraid of Baheekhari's Barkh to even climb the wall?!"
Bejede had his Kina shade its eyes and crane upward toward the battlements, putting on the act of a lookout straining for a better view.
"Don't you worry, Barkh! I'll kill your share for you! You just watch from up there! Khkakakaka!!"
The veins in Barkh's eyes stood out red.
"That bastard, I swear...!!"
Barkh snatched up the bow leaning against the parapet beside him. Drew an arrow. Nocked it and took aim at the Kina.
"Barkh!! Hold on—wait, wait!!"
Mau seized Barkh's arm with both hands.
"Let go!!"
"Arrows don't pierce a Kina!! And Bejede is inside it!!"
"That's exactly why I'm shooting!!"
"Baaaarkh!!"
Mau shoved the bow shaft downward. Barkh held firm. Mau pressed harder. As the two struggled against each other, the arrow slipped from the string and flew off at an angle, planting itself in the mud below.
This time, Barkh dropped his gaze down toward the battlefield. Through the chaos of the melee, he could make out the figure of Warchief Duraha—greatsword across his shoulder, directing the fight below.
"Warchief Duraha!!"
Barkh's voice rang from the battlements.
"Let me go down and fight right now!! Give the order!!"
Duraha heard the voice ringing from the wall and looked up briefly. His adjutant stood at his side.
"Who is that Dawi on the wall making all that noise?"
The adjutant looked up, studied the figure for a moment.
"He is the son of Grand Warlord Gardon, my lord. His second son."
Duraha said nothing for a moment.
On the wall, Barkh had already snatched up a javelin from the ground at his feet. He leaned further over the parapet, wrenching his arm back with full force.
"Warchief!! Watch closely!! I have exactly three javelins left!!"
Crack!
The first javelin tore through the air and buried itself in the chest of an orc scrambling toward the wall. The orc dropped without a sound, folding backward before it hit the ground.
"One!!"
Without pause, Barkh drew back and hurled the second, then the third in rapid succession. The motion was as swift and precise as a mechanism firing bolts. Amid the chaos of the melee, the three orcs Barkh had singled out went down in sequence.
"Two! And three!! That's all the javelins!!"
Barkh wrenched the longbow off his back, breathing hard. He reached into his quiver, yanked out a fistful of arrows all at once, and spread them across the parapet in front of him.
"Now I'll burn through every last one of these!! The moment this quiver runs empty, all I have left is this axe!!"
Barkh slapped the handle of the heavy double-bladed axe strapped to his back with a loud thud thud.
"You know as well as I do, Warchief!! A Dawi axe was not forged to stand on a wall and watch!! When the arrows are gone, I'm going down there!! To where my axe can split orc skulls and do what it was made to do!! And when that moment comes—no one stops me!!"
Mau, on the verge of tears, clung to Barkh's waist from behind. Barkh paid him no mind and seized the arrows scattered across the parapet. The motion became endless and unbroken: reach, nock, pull to the ear, release.
Every snap of the bowstring sent another orc crumpling below the wall. Barkh's eyes were already locked on the next skull before the last one hit the ground.
Duraha watched in silence. The arrows Barkh was sending down curved through the air and found their way through the gaps between orcs pressing toward the wall with unerring precision.
Duraha spoke quietly.
"The Grand Warlord... has raised a fine son."
The adjutant tilted his head.
"My lord?"
"It's nothing."
Duraha drew his gaze away and rested the greatsword back across his shoulder