Greed beat fear.
It was a start.
The slaves surged.
They grabbed their pitchforks.
They grabbed the crude, sharpened sticks they used as tent poles. They grabbed rocks.
With superior numbers, they overwhelmed the handful of rotting corpses that had breached the wagons.
They tore them to pieces.
...
It was over.
Roland lowered his sword, his arm burning. He took a deep breath.
Then, in the distance, he saw it.
One corpse.
It hadn't charged with the others.
It stood by the tree line, half-hidden in the shadows.
It wasn't shambling. It was... still.
It slowly raised a heavy, military-grade crossbow.
It aimed.
Straight at Roland's head.
A dull thwack echoed from the trees.
A hiss.
The bolt tore through the air. A black streak, moving with terrifying, unnatural speed.
It whistled.
Roland's hair stood on end. His pupils contracted to pinpricks.
He saw it.
Coming straight for his eye.
He tried to dodge. To move.
He couldn't.
His body was too slow. The world compressed. The bolt was right in front of his face.
He was dead.
"My Lord!"
Anna screamed.
She was ten feet away. She lunged, her face a mask of terror, trying to tackle him.
Trying to block it with her own body.
She was too far away.
Too slow.
In that heart-stopping, impossible instant...
Violette moved.
She was a blur.
One moment, she was by the wagon, dagger in hand.
The next, she was in front of Roland.
Her hand shot up. A flash of gold hair. A blur of motion.
She snatched the bolt from the air.
Her fingers closed around the wood and steel, just an inch from Roland's nose.
The world restarted.
The hiss stopped.
But she wasn't done.
In a single, fluid, impossible motion, she spun on her heel.
Her arm, holding the crossbow bolt, whipped back.
Then forward.
She hurled it.
Back where it came from.
It flew faster than the crossbow had fired it.
It was a golden streak, a tiny comet.
THUNK.
The corpse in the distance snapped its head back, the bolt's fletching vibrating.
It was impaled straight through the head.
It crumpled to the ground, a pile of rags and rotten bone.
...
Silence.
Roland was still standing, his heart hammering so hard it hurt his ribs.
He was alive.
Anna and Violette both rushed over to him.
They weren't relieved.
They were furious.
"My Lord!" Anna shrieked, grabbing his arm, her knuckles white. "Are you insane? Standing there like a statue! You... you..."
Violette was just as angry. She was flustered, her face bright red.
"You can't be so reckless! You must not... you..."
She was at a loss for words, trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and rage.
Roland just gave a sheepish laugh.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"What's the worry?" he said, trying to calm them down. His voice was a little shaky.
"Don't I have you two here to protect me?"
...
In the distance, Knight Rena finished cleaning up the rest of the corpses.
The charge had worked.
But it had cost him.
Two of his men were gone. Unhorsed. Torn to pieces.
He wanted to curse.
"Dammit!" he roared, slamming his mailed fist on his saddle.
"Rotting Corpses! Here?"
"How?"
Then... he remembered.
He had seen the smaller group break off. He had seen them charge the caravan.
His heart sank.
Not for Roland.
For himself.
His orders from the Earl were clear. Escort the boy to Windsor Castle.
If Roland died on his watch... even a despised, good-for-nothing... his own future as a knight would be over.
He whipped his heavy warhorse around, expecting to see a massacre.
He was shocked.
Roland was alive. Unharmed.
The slaves... they weren't cowering. They were... organized.
They were finishing off the last of the monsters.
They had become an effective fighting force.
Rena stared in disbelief.
"The kid's got some fight in him..." he muttered.
A flicker of... something. Respect?
No. It was gone as fast as it came.
"But it's a pity."
He thought of his other orders. The secret ones.
The ones from Lord Cassian.
"Lord Cassian gave me my orders..."
...
The caravan re-grouped.
The mood was different.
The slaves were still scared. But they were also... proud.
They had fought. They had won. They had earned... copper.
They looked at Roland differently.
He was not just a master. He was a leader.
He gave the order. A brief rest. Then, they continued.
Toward Windsor Castle.
As they approached the massive fortress, Roland's new mini-map lit up in his vision.
Red dots.
Dozens of them.
But they weren't outside the walls.
They were inside.
He frowned, confused.
He looked up.
He could see them.
Bodies.
Bodies of soldiers, slumped over the ramparts. Arrows stuck in their backs.
"What...?" he whispered.
How had Windsor Castle fallen?
This was hailed as the Empire's strongest defensive line. The impenetrable shield against the North.
Thank the gods the Empire had a peace treaty with the Northern Beastmen.
...
They cleared a few straggling corpses in the outer courtyard. The main gate was smashed open.
They reached the gate of the inner bailey.
It was closed.
Barricaded from the inside.
And there, finally... living soldiers.
They were peering down from the walls.
A crowd of two or three dozen peasants was gathered before the massive wooden gate.
They were banging on the wood, crying, begging.
"Let us in! Please! The monsters are everywhere!"
"Have mercy!"
Roland rode forward, his hand on his sword.
"OPEN THE GATE!" he shouted up to the ramparts.
"I am Baron Roland , on my way to my fiefdom in the North!"
"I demand entry and resupply in the name of the Earl Valerius!"
He was met with a cold refusal.
A soldier peered down, his eyes wide with fear.
"We can't! No one gets in!"
The soldier looked back over his shoulder, clearly at someone in charge.
"Lord Kevin! What do I tell him?"
A new voice, arrogant and furious, shouted back from inside.
"Tell him to get lost!"
"We don't have time for this!"