“My lord, careful…” The warning cut through the drizzle like a sparrow’s cry in rain.

“Easy with the hauling, you idiot! Don’t snap those arrows!” The captain bustled, harvesting shafts like iron reeds after a storm. Just a few volleys had already netted a bounty.

Many arrows fell onto courtyards and roofs inside the inner wall, a black rain thinning as it fell. Their force was blunted to a whisper, and the crowd had cleared to safety, so no blood touched the stones.

Weariness pressed on Delaia like wet stone; only when the roar quieted did he feel how drained. “How’s it?”

“Report, my lord! Excluding what bounced off the outer wall, we recovered 1,024 Wind-Cleaving Arrows.” His voice rang like a tally bell on steel. “One Blackblood War Chariot destroyed. Enemy casualties, by sight, over a thousand. At least twenty warhorses down. Their morale plunged into the abyss.” He drew breath, chest high as a drum. “This operation—flawless.”

“Good.” Medith looked spent, beads of sweat silvering her brow like dew on iron.

“Sir!” “Sir!” The guards stood tall and slammed right fists to foreheads, their salute thudding like knuckles on a shield.

“You all worked hard. I was only a guide; without you, tonight’s feat wouldn’t stand,” Medith said, voice steady as a lantern in wind.

Delaia forced a smile; sleep tugged at him like the tide. “Hah… seems I’ll be able to retire from the front soon enough.”

“My lord, rest first. You’ve done more than enough,” the captain said, worry soft as wool.

Delaia rubbed eyelids heavy as shutters. “There’s one crucial thing left. I won’t sleep till it’s done.”

The captain understood and moved to descend the wall, boots finding stone like a careful climber on a cliff.

“Hey, right—what’s your name, Captain?” Medith called him back, voice catching like a hook on a line.

He startled, then answered after a few heartbeats. “Ma’am, I’m Palmer. I served under Gill, the Northern Captain, as his adjutant.” He swallowed, bitterness like ash. “He didn’t die to blades, but in a traitor’s cup. Ridiculous…”

Faces tightened, shadows flickering like cloud over water. Traitors bruise a city’s heart, but tonight’s deed burned fear to smoke. They’d watched the enemy break—chaos like ants in hot sand, heads down, fleeing. They’d sent arrows into chests, through skulls, and seen bodies crumple like torn cloth. They remembered how Sia City’s folk were trampled and mocked, remembered brothers fallen, and their vengeance rose like a firestorm, sweet as touching the stars.

“Hahaha, in the end you still couldn’t leave your master, could you?” Medith’s smile held an edge like a hidden blade aimed at Kasda.

Kasda spread his hands and grinned, helpless as a man caught in rain. “Commander, don’t tease me. I won’t go boasting in front of you ever again.”

Laughter rolled like warm thunder. They remembered how yesterday Kasda had blazed, “Leave it to me! I’ll go! I’ll shoot down these Mountain Bandits.” Then, when the day came, he said he couldn’t leave Delaia, feared some twist, and went to guard him himself. Their bond of master and servant was a braided rope, tight as shipline.

Milia brushed sweat-damp brown short hair from her temple, the strand clinging like willow to a stream. “Lord Kasda, were you a commander before? Your bearing and stance feel like a soldier’s.”

The women nodded, eyes bright as lantern flames. Kasda was tall and broad, back straight as a spear, handsome and young; were they human, they might’ve fallen for him on the spot.

Kasda scraped his chin, embarrassed, the gesture like shaving a curl from wood. “Well… nothing big. It’s all in the past.”

“Hahaha! I practically stole him away that day,” Delaia said, spirit flaring like a match in the dark. “His men grumbled at me for a long time. When I set sail, they glared like winter waves against the bow. Thinking back, I deserved it—hahaha—”

“Set sail? Subordinates?” Medith’s mind leapt like a bird to the sea, but she held back; if they wouldn’t say, she wouldn’t press.

“Look—our heroes—”

“Lord Draela and General Medith are back—”

“My lords—how did it go—”

They rose to greet Delaia and the others; it had only been an hour, yet it felt like sitting on a mat of needles, hearts burning like coals. Hope and dread tugged like twin tides, and in that pull, their heroes returned.

Medith strode forward in pure white armor, iron-boned, moonlight walking on steel.

“Everyone… tonight’s plan—we succeeded—!” She threw up an arm, pride and grit flying like sparks from a forge.

“Woooo—” The crowd erupted, hands and feet dancing, tears steaming like warm rain on cold cheeks. Many who hadn’t gone shouted Medith’s name until the sound was a banner in wind. Tonight, she held their trust like a torch.

November 14, 8:20 a.m. The guards were already busy. A fine drizzle fell like silk threads, yet laughter lifted them, light as swallows, and the work flew faster than yesterday’s hands.

Last night’s news yanked them from despair like a rope from a pit. Old shame and fear drifted off like mist. Guards who’d joined the Dawn Plan recounted the tale in spare moments, voices steady as storytellers by a brazier: how Delaia used wit to lure Erig’s army into range; how he baited out their arrows, taunted their pride, stoked our morale; how Medith kicked open the wall like a door on hinges; how one volley scattered them like petals in storm, sending them fleeing with hands over heads.

Listening guards felt it like they were there, blood boiling like kettles. They only regretted not standing on that wall, not striking those beasts with their own hands.

Stories among the people grew rich as woven tapestries. Many asked day and night for every thread. Some heard straight from the soldiers, then spun the tale with their gift for words until the crowd’s blood ran hot as wine.

A small bar was crammed to the rafters; some stood in the rain just to glimpse inside, because Nira was telling yesterday’s story.

“Listen up,” Nira said, voice hopping like a magpie on a fence. “You didn’t see how ridiculous those traitors looked. Our General Medith—brave beyond measure—and that big demon Erig, with a long rooster feather stuck on his head, swaggering on borrowed power, fired arrows at Lord Draela. You saw all those arrowheads on the ground, right? Oh my, there were over a thousand!”

Gasps rippled through the room like pebbles dropped into a pond; even their imaginations made hearts quake.

Woman: “That’s awful… Is my lord okay? Was he hurt?”

“Lord Draela foresaw it,” Nira said, grin bright as a brazier. “Dozens of elite guards were ready. Heavy shields up; Lachesis wrapped them like a veil. The arrows’ strength fell to zero in a heartbeat. And look—they gifted us all these arrows. Soon enough, these shafts will harvest thousands of their lives!”

“Hahaha! Those damn fools!”

“Now listen, everyone—this next part is the key…”