The Mountain Bandits snapped out gleaming iron plates, silver like cold moonlight. Each plate bore a sigil: a lion-headed, man-shaped beast, jaws open to a black abyss.

“State Corps gear?!” Shock hit first, then Medith barked, “Loose—!” Her command cracked like thunder. The forest answered. Hundreds of arrows whooshed out, Cyclones howling on their fletchings.

The arrows rode the wind like schooling fish. They drew together, their Cyclones knitting into a net of air and teeth.

Bang—oooh—! The volley slammed the bandits. The wind-net swept past, shearing the iron-plate holders into meat, then dragged through dozens more like a storm dragging nets.

But the wind-net thinned like fog in sun. After near a hundred were grazed, it vanished. The arrows lost breath and fell like dead leaves.

“Topside—First Squad, shields up, block their shots. They won’t go all-out. They’ll save strength to run.” The hidden strategist spoke calm as stone.

“Second Squad, cover with stones. Third, crossbows, counterfire. Fourth, get the ladders down. Kill through. We don’t care about a few female Sprites.” He crossed his arms, as if he’d seen this coming.

In moments, the bandits split cleanly. One group raised heavy shields at the riverbank like a steel shoreline. One group pulled on gloves etched with Arlis’s crest.

Another hauled out a hundred crossbows, string creaking like frost splitting branches. Under that cover, Medith’s strikes faded like rain in wind, even turned back.

The last group dropped the iron plates.

Dozens of long plates splashed down. The plates drank river water. One-meter stubs stretched past ten meters, marching straight toward the Glimmering Green Forest.

They slammed into place fast, forging a five-meter-wide iron bridge. In the center, the plates shaped Arlis’s crest-beast, glaring like a white sun.

“Charge—!” The Mountain Bandits roared, one hand blocking, one hand killing, feet drumming over iron like war drums.

...

“Fall back! Use the jungle, hit-and-run!” Cold clenched first, then Medith cut a flying arrow in two. In the last exchange, even B-rank marksmen got arms pierced.

Those Wind-Cleaving Arrows hit like butcher’s cleavers. No chance head-on.

Medith wheeled her people and began an orderly retreat, like a tide drawing back before a storm.

“Milia, Melia! Your squads on me. I need your command hands!”

“Yes!”

“Iling! Your squad back to the city to report! Put your people on standby at the gate! You go warn the Queen!”

“Yes!”

“Rita, Lina! Merge your squads. Spread fire. Harass only. Don’t do anything extra. Got it?!”

“Yes!”

“Phiby! You’re our hole card. Hide at the marked spot. Without my signal, you don’t move. Not even if I die. Understood?!”

“I… yes!”

Orders snapped out. The Sprites moved in rhythm, calm as if this was drill, not war, feet whispering along bough and bark.

“Elders Council, those fifty Sprites, sound off.” Medith switched to wind-speech. Replies flowed to her ears like gusts through reeds.

Lips parted, hands drew in air, her gestures wrote a battle-map. Three minutes later, all 145 present nodded as one.

“Move.” Two syllables fell like flint. The Sprites flowed after her, raiding along the trees like green shadows.

“Awooo—!” The Mountain Bandits swung iron axes and spiked maces, halving thick trunks like chopping firewood. They ravaged the forest like locusts.

“Smash! Harder! Shatter the [Collapse Point]!” The strategist donned a dog-head mask, hiding as a common raider, his voice sharp as a whip.

“Tooth Tiger. Claw Tiger. White Tiger. Yellow Tiger. You four, go. We’re short on time.” The leader’s gaze was colder than river stone.

“Break the barrier before they set lines. Once it’s down, these rustic Sprites will snap inside. We’ll win without a fight. Move.”

Four bandit captains stepped out, tiger masks in four colors gleaming like stormcloud edges. Their black-red tunics hung in rags, shoulders covered, torsos bare and cut like blades.

They lifted their weapons. Pressure rolled out like heat before lightning. Leaves stirred without wind. The quiet forest raised a chorus of howling gusts.

Woooo—wooo— The trees swayed like waves under a dark tide.

“What’s happening?!” Fear spiked first. Milia stared as the trunk beneath her boots began to shake.

“Humans can do this?” Doubt flickered in Medith’s eyes, then hardened to killing chill. “Don’t panic! Everyone—Wind Magic, [Counter-Control]! Bounce those winds back!”

She drew a jade-green longbow. A silver-lit arrow kissed the string. Her emerald eyes flared like twin beacons. The Sprites mirrored her, bows creaking.

Under their grip, the roaring wind leveled, like a wild horse brought to bit and bridle. Medith’s gaze sharpened. She loosed.

The strings thrummed together. Arrows slipped their cords and became a rain of green light, rushing far like a falling aurora.

Thrum— The storm of arrows cut the air. The bandits’ instincts were quick. At the first hiss and glow, they dropped and turtled.

But the arrows flew like they had eyes. They fell in tight circles around the crouched men, a hunter’s ring.

Whoom—whorl—! Every arrow on impact bloomed into a Cyclone. Each Cyclone drank twigs and leaves and men, spinning like a hungry well.

“Ah—! Ah—!”

“Help—!”

In a blink, hundreds were seized, dragged in, and minced to bloody mist. The Cyclones raged for a dozen heartbeats, then died, leaving a bald circle in the woods.

Blood webbed the clearing. Limbs lay like snapped branches. Dog-headed masks tore free. Most struck were past saving, body and name both lost.

The unlucky survivors, caught by the edge, looked carved by a thousand blades, still barely human to the eye.

“Move! That commander’s Sprite squad hits like a nightmare!” For the first time, fear cracked the strategist’s voice like ice.

“Don’t let them form up! Maze barrier plus forest plus their devil discipline, and we’ll be on our heels. Find the [Collapse Point]!”

Behind four tiger masks, the captains’ eyes glinted with dread. It was their first time hearing the strategist, steady as a mountain, sound afraid.

“Ah—!”

“Roar—!”

“Oooooh—!”

They bellowed back. Their weapons flared with stark white light. Engraved lines blazed like frost-fire, too bright to stare at.

“Evade—!” White flashed at the edge of Medith’s sight. Terror hit gut-deep. She flickered like a phantom, darting inward toward Xurenxus City.

Milia moved first. She grabbed Melia and blasted a hundred meters away, leaves exploding underfoot.

Only then did the rest run full tilt, hearts drumming like warbeat.

Boom—! Their swings landed. Impact thundered. The ground ahead shattered in a fan, dozens of meters cracked like dry clay.

Roots snapped like bowstrings. Great trees groaned and toppled in grief, falling as if a mountain slid.

Shrrrip—! Claws tore the air and cast white blades. A whole sector of forest fell. Every tree in sight sliced into neat segments.

The cut faces shone smooth as glass, no splinters, as if a silver wire had sawn the world.

Crash-crack—! Trees collapsed in a rolling wave. Small beasts and wild things were caught and crushed, guts spilled, bodies broken, blood seeping from seven orifices.

At the same time, the illusory halo over the Glimmering Green Forest blinked out like a candle. Xurenxus City came clear, vast and magnificent, crowned with the Queen’s green-leaf sigil.

“The Glimmering Green Forest barrier is down! Next phase—!” The strategist roared, and the Mountain Bandits surged for the main gate like a flood.