That morning, the Grimhollow forest felt heavier than usual. The cold clung
to the skin, the mist still hung thick, and the soldiers of Valoria sat on the
ground chewing dry bread and sipping water. Their faces looked worn, some still
drowsy. They had barely slept the night before, as undead and monsters kept
pressing into the camp until dawn.
Arthur stood before them. His gaze was sharp, though his body still ached
from yesterday's long battle. He knew there was no time to rest.
"Listen carefully. Today, we are not seeking victory. Today, we are seeking
a crack."
The trumpets sounded. The troops re-formed. On the right, about three
hundred reinforcements had just arrived. On the left, Lionel commanded more
than seven hundred men. In the center, the main force prepared with Arthur,
horses held at the rear for later use.
Arthur turned to one of the subdivision leaders of the Defense Council.
"You lead the frontline engagement. Hold them as best you can. I will focus on
the wall."
"At once, Your Majesty."
The army advanced. The pounding of thousands of boots and the neighs of
horses shook the ground. Grimhollow roared once more, and the second day of
battle began.
At the fortress ahead, the blue barrier still shimmered, standing firm like
a wall of living glass. From atop the walls, cultists rained down arrows and
spells. Arrows struck shields, fireballs exploded, yet Valoria's formation
held.
Arthur stood behind the wall of shields. He touched the Oculus on his wrist.
Blue light flared, mapping the runes layered over the fortress wall. In his
sight, the glowing lines pulsed like veins.
"This isn't a dead wall," he muttered. "It's a pattern. And every pattern
has a flaw."
He raised his palm, releasing a ripple of qi toward the barrier. The Oculus
instantly registered a response: the runes flared, then dimmed. On the display,
logs appeared: intensity +12%, recovery delay 0.3 seconds.
Arthur tried again with different intensity. The result was the same. The
runes flickered and needed a fraction of a second to stabilize. A thin smile
curved on his lips.
"Bug found. You're not perfect, wall."
He turned to the magi.
"Prepare Divine Light. Fire on my mark. Aim at the point I show you. Do not be
late."
The magi raised their hands. Pure white light vibrated in the air. Arthur
watched the rhythm on the Oculus display, counting carefully.
"Three. Two. One. Now."
Divine Light lanced out together. All beams struck one spot at the center of
the barrier. The wall rippled violently, like water struck by a stone. Arthur
drew deep mana, blending red fire and white light, and slashed twice in quick
succession.
A sharp crack rang out. Thin fractures spread across several inches. The
barrier trembled, its glow flickering erratically. Two magi quickly fixed beams
of light into the gap, preventing it from sealing fully. Arthur studied the
numbers on the Oculus, noting the recovery delay again.
"Enough. We have the data."
On the frontlines, the clash with undead raged on. Valoria's soldiers held
close, shields overlapping. When Arthur raised his sword, his command thundered
across the field.
"Retreat! Two kilometers back. Tight formation, leave no one behind!"
The horns sounded. The lines shifted in disciplined order. Lionel on the
left flank echoed the command. Step by step, they fell back, covering the
wounded, until they reached the open field of their previous encampment.
Arthur stared at the fortress, still shrouded in mist. His lips did not
smile, but his eyes were steady.
"You have a weakness, and I've seen it."
The horse galloped hard along the dirt road, cutting through hills and
yellowing fields. A young soldier clutched the reins tightly. At his belt hung
a scroll sealed with the royal crest. Arthur's words still echoed in his head: "Seek
the nobles' aid. Valoria needs every sword."
By midday, he reached Valoria's city. The garrison gates opened. He leapt
down from the saddle, breath heavy.
"General Erlic… I must speak!"
Moments later, he stood before General Erlic Darnel. The man's tall frame
and broad shoulders carried decades of war; streaks of white lined his hair.
Erlic unrolled the scroll, read swiftly, then fixed his eyes on the messenger.
"Very well. We convene at once."
The great hall soon filled with nobles, many arriving in haste, some still
dust-covered, others without time to change into proper attire. At the front,
Erlic pressed his command staff against the map spread on the table, tapping at
the mark of Grimhollow.
"His Majesty Arthur's forces are locked here. The cult fortress is
surrounded by thick stone walls, their surface reinforced with magic barriers.
A direct assault is near impossible. The King demands aid immediately."
Viscount Toroso raised a brow. "If the barrier is that strong,
reinforcements alone won't suffice. We need something to batter the walls."
Count Reynard folded his hands. "A ram might work, but with sorcery layered
on stone, we will need siege towers or heavy ballistae to pressure them from
afar."
Viscount Edward leaned forward sharply. "Do you expect us to wait for
workshops to build towers? The King has no time!"
Erlic raised his hand, silencing the uproar. "The royal armory still has
portable siege engines. Collapsible towers on wheels, horse-drawn ballistae,
lighter rams, and pavise shields for archer squads. Not as strong as permanent
engines, but enough to press forward and protect the troops as they advance."
Duke Marco Verita nodded. "That is the answer. Each territory sends a
quarter of its remaining strength, plus portable siege gear. We will give
Arthur the force to widen his crack."
Toroso calculated quickly and nodded. "My lands can send a quarter and two
siege wagons."
Reynard exhaled heavily. "Half my men already guard the southern border. If
I draw too many away, Solaris will see weakness."
Marco cut in, his voice hard. "Which is weaker? A border guarded by a
kingdom with its king alive… or a capital left leaderless?"
Silence followed. Then, one by one, the nobles nodded in grim agreement.
Erlic closed the meeting with firm command. "It is decided. A quarter of
each house's forces will march. Portable engines will be drawn from the armory.
The convoy departs as soon as ready. His Majesty will not fight alone."
Inside the Grimhollow fortress, the blue mist thickened. The main hall was
silent save for the crackle of torches. Agramon sat upon a black-carved throne,
his long white hair hanging loose, his crimson eyes aglow. Before him stood
five Elders: Varreck, Myrrha, Kaelgor, Sylas, and Drosk.
Drosk spoke first. "Valoria's army retreated. That is no victory. They were
only probing the wall. They will return, better prepared."
Varreck tapped his skull-topped staff against the floor. "The barrier held
today, but the mana stones weaken. Half are cracked. With no supply from
Mordred, we have no replacements."
Sylas sighed. "The undead summons falter as well. Fewer can be called each
night."
Kaelgor clenched his tattooed fists. "But we still have a thousand cultists.
Half are fighters with blade and spear, the rest warlocks. We are not only
necromancers. Even without undead, we can stand."
Myrrha's eyes glinted as she looked at the wall. "The King does not strike
blindly. He studies. If he finds the flaw, waiting too long could undo us. Yet,
if their rations are short, time favors us."
Drosk added, "Then we watch their camp. If their supplies run thin, we
stall. If they look ready for a quick strike, we force them deeper inside."
Agramon's tone was calm but final. "We do not sally out. We hold. Two layers
of traps inside. If they open a breach, let some through. Then close the gate
behind them. In the narrow halls, our blades and warlocks finish them.
Necromancers only disrupt their lines—do not waste mana."
The Elders exchanged grim looks. None smiled. They did not underestimate
their enemy, but neither had they another choice. The torches flickered, as if
listening to their resolve.
Back at Valoria's camp, the soldiers trudged into their encampment. Breath
came heavy, armor stained with mud and dried blood, yet discipline held. Arthur
wasted no time.
"Cut the trees nearby. Raise palisades. I will not have undead walking in
tonight."
Axes bit into trunks, the sound of timber crashing filled the air. Logs were
arranged into crude walls around the camp. Fires burned, healers changed
bandages, officers checked arms.
Arthur called the head of the Defense Council.
"Casualties, report."
The man bowed. "None dead, Your Majesty. One hundred with light wounds,
sixty with severe injuries. All treated."
Arthur allowed himself a thin smile. "Good. Better than expected."
He stood over a simple table. A rough map of Grimhollow was spread, supply
records stacked at its side.
"Food stores will last six days at full rations. If stretched, eight. Not much,
but enough to hold."
His eyes swept across the officers. "The Cult relies on mana stones for
barrier and undead. I saw it today: each time the barrier trembled, its glow
dimmed. They are draining too. Yet still… we will not attack tomorrow."
The officers glanced at one another in surprise. One spoke, hesitant. "Why,
Your Majesty? We found the weakness."
Arthur nodded slowly. "True. But alone, it would only bleed us dry. We will
wait for the nobles' reinforcements. Erlic will already be summoning them, with
siege engines in tow. When they arrive, then we strike. Not just to open a
crack,but to tear the wall down."
He finished with steady command.
"Until then, we endure. Conserve food. Keep morale. And ensure not one undead
breaches our camp walls."
Arthur gazed at the dark forest. The mist of Grimhollow hung heavy, as if
hiding secrets yet untold. In his heart he whispered,
"This time it is not only about courage. It is about time. Who will run out
first, us or them."