All B-class Sprites, hear me! Your skill’s beyond doubt. Drop any soft thoughts. Draw with kill-or-die resolve and let your arrows fly like storm rain.

Five hundred B-class, split into three waves.

First squad, three hundred—aim for the Mountain Bandits in wolf-head masks, cut them down like wind shearing grass.

Second and third squads, one hundred each—take both flanks of the wall, and pour steel like a river over stone.

All A-class Sprites, hear me!

You’re the sharp edge. From forty-nine, pull nineteen to the high points left and right. Hit the tiger-mask bandits like lightning striking a ridge.

The last thirty, keep moving. Shoot where the wave thins and foams. They’ll throw up iron ladders soon. Then it’s face-to-face. Don’t you dare freeze and wet your pants, got it?

Yes— The reply rolled like a drumbeat. Medith’s voice rang like iron on granite, the half-joke a warm coal in cold hands. Still, fingers trembled like leaves in wind. She didn’t blame them; their nerves were green. Only maniacs loose an arrow without a stutter.

Maybe I’m that maniac.

Ready— Medith watched the bandits rush in with the battering ram, faces like storm-dark cliffs. Loose—

Wooo— B-class bows sang. Arrows hissed like a gale’s mourning cry. Drawn as if by a magnet, shafts clustered tight, whirling into a Cyclone lance that tore toward the ram team.

The wind-spear streaked above them. A black-red spiked club dragged a scar across the sky and chopped down on the lance like a falling tree.

Bang— Woooo— Owooo— Steel met wind. For a breath, the clash held like locked antlers. Then the Cyclone burst. A rain of broken arrows pattered from the gray belly of the sky.

Tooth Tiger! You finally couldn’t hold back… Medith eyed the man in the black-red mask, voice low as night rain. Ignore him. Everyone, full fire on the battering ram!

Thunk thunk thunk—

Swish swish swish—

Twang twang twang—

Stone-throwers thudded, bolts screamed, arrows thrummed. Sound braided through the battlefield like rough rope. From the wall’s height, Sprites took wounds, yet far fewer than the Mountain Bandits, who bled like a torn tide. The B-class and A-class made the climb feel like thorn and fire.

The strategist watched Sprites trade blow for blow with the bandit horde. Behind his mask, his eyes held a storm’s mix of awe and chill. So, even these country Sprites, raw to war, can hold under a sharp commander’s hand.

But your fire ends here. When we crack the gate and swarm the wall, can you still stand like mountain roots?

Though well-trained and deadly true, the Elf Clan stood on a field near ten thousand strong. One volley cut down only dozens—a cup of water thrown at a burning plain.

Bandit captains shouldered much of the storm. Even A-class arrows slid off like rain on old bark.

The Elf Clan excels at range. Let blades come close, and their power dips like sun behind cloud. Fear and wounds will bite deep in the press. In the crush, only my Vortex Squad can hold like stones in a flood…

Medith sighed, breath a small cloud. If only all this force had trained under me, the scene would be another sky. But the wind’s already blowing; there’s no rewinding the storm.

Boom— The wall under Medith’s boots moaned like an old beast and shuddered hard. The jolt shook a few Sprites off the lip, bodies falling like dropped leaves. They didn’t die on impact. A bandit blade kissed each throat, and red flowers opened.

Keep away from the edge— Medith’s shout cracked like a whip. That shock was the ram’s teeth. Why do humans have a battering ram with that kind of bite? And our barrier… their weapons… What are they?

Another boom rolled from the gate, a deep bell.

Crack— Green leaf sigils on the gate split into jagged veins, pain carved into wood and ward.

Arrows didn’t bite well on the ram. Everyone, focus fire on the battering ram! Medith’s order flew. Across the field, the strategist’s roar cut like a horn: Ladders up— They can’t guard gate and wall at once—

Bang— Bang— Bang—

Iron plates slammed against the parapet like falling anvils, teeth embedding in stone. Mountain Bandits swarmed, a black current boiling toward the crest.

Damn it! Where are they? The wall’s cracking! Why aren’t those Sprites here yet? Medith spat fire. Behind her, heavy steps thundered in waves.

Thud-thud-thud-thud— The force was a mountain slide, stamping fissures into dirt.

It’s the Elders of Eterkles and the elders’ faction! A Sprite spotted the relief. Nearly two thousand strong, armored like beetles, swords and spears like a wheat field of steel.

Euticles vaulted onto the wall, his Sprites flooding up like a silver stream.

Elder, no time for pleasantries. They’re on the ladders already. How’s your people at close quarters? Medith barely spared breath. Euticles flinched, eyes sharp. This fast? What about the Queen’s barrier?

They used some trick to erase it. We can’t dwell. Any other elders coming? Medith looked and saw only one of four.

Only I in the Elders Council can fight. The words were a cold stone. Medith understood. She had thought the Elders Council outmatched the Royal Guard. Now it seemed they were the Queen’s shared mind, not her sword hand.

The Royal Guard stays chained to the Queen’s side. The Elders Council has one fighter. This is not good… Milia and Iling reached the wall, worry fluttering like moths.

Melia, Rita, Iling, Milia—you four take squads. Anchor every point along the wall. Lina, take three hundred. Hold the main gate. Prepare for the worst if we fail.

Elder, take five hundred. Guard the gate that’s about to crack. Make every preparation.

I’ll command the field from here.

Got it! Lina and the Elder answered, counting off like beads on a string, and moved.

Elder! Lina! If you can’t hold, withdraw at once. Clear?

They turned and smiled, black and white figures fading into the melee like paired swans. Relax, Commander. We know our measure.

Right… watch yourselves. Medith stared at those two backs, one shadow, one light, and her heart tangled like vines.

Hidden under a ledge, Phiby watched the distant killing sea and the gate on the edge of breaking. Her worry rose like floodwater, knees itching to sprint to Medith, to stand against the devils.

Remember—small impatience shatters great design. Your task decides life and death for us. I’m handing it to you because I believe you. You look fragile, a willow branch—but inside is a force that even chills me.

When the time ripens, strike with both hands. When the plan lands, the Mountain Bandits’ morale will break like ice under spring. From there, we carry the rest.

Phiby heard Medith’s words again. Fear and fire battled in her chest. She gritted her teeth, pinned her restless body like a falcon hooded, smothered her breath to smoke, and sank into the shadow.