"Plan B is in motion."

Aelina remained calm and collected; everything was proceeding according to plan. The tower groaned and swayed, flames climbing its sides as it teetered on collapse. She kicked the giant crossbow off the edge and leaped down with it. The mage froze for a moment, eyes wide, nearly forgetting his incantation as he watched his lifelong dream plummet toward the ground.

"Load it!"

Bathed in pale blue light, the giant crossbow primed. A cord from the trigger ran to Aelina’s hand. She turned, calculating the aim point. In her vision, it appeared as a red dot slicing through heaven and earth. Her gaze pierced the burning tower, locking onto the stunned mage through black smoke.

The red dot danced and flickered, skimming past the mage’s body. Factoring in drag, recoil, and more—Aelina yanked the cord mid-air. The bolt whistled, lunging toward the mage. But primitive projectile error was unavoidable, even for Aelina’s superhuman calculations. The shot meant for his forehead veered off, plunging into his stomach. The vile tip emerged straight from his rear, pinning him to the cold earth.

Thud. Aelina landed on both feet, knees bending to steady herself. Twelve meters was a piece of cake for this body. Yet the impact jolted up her heels, a tingling numbness crawling up her bones. She let out a soft moan.

Luckily, the mage’s horrifying, tear-jerking scream drowned out her embarrassment. His comrades stared in shock, drawn by his piercing shriek. A thick arrow shaft pierced his black robe, protruding from his rear, blood streaming down its length.

The mercenaries guarding the mage witnessed a miraculous "ground kill"—a move straight from tall tales. The mage, voice raw and tearful, twisted in agony. "Mercy! Mercy!" he begged his companions.

A mercenary raised his curved blade, granting mercy. With a few hacks, he severed the mage’s head.

The frontline battle raged fiercely. Mercenaries roared, throwing themselves against shields and swinging curved blades at the girls. Though they formed a semicircular shield wall, though their spears were long—each mercenary facing two points—though the fully armored elf cut down several foes with his greatsword, the shield wall still cracked. One girl screamed in panic before a descending blade. Trembling, she raised her shield, only to be knocked over with it. A burly mercenary stomped on her shield, charged through, and slashed the neck of a red-haired girl behind her.

The curved blade withdrew; the spear clattered down. The red-haired girl crumpled softly, blood pooling on the mud. Her wide eyes stared at the gray sky, lifeless.

In the small battlefield, Fro in full armor leaned on the shield wall behind him, slashing left and right—unstoppable for now. He’d adapted to armored combat; many blows he didn’t parry, countering with raw swings. Spears and blades struck his armor, only making it vibrate. He blocked attacks aimed at weak points.

Suddenly, a curved blade struck his back. Luckily, the attacker wasn’t seasoned—it didn’t wound him or target his unprotected rear. Fro gasped, turning sideways to face a bald mercenary. Fear showed on the man’s face; his battle cry was weak. Fro thrust his sword straight forward. The bald mercenary yelled, swinging at his head. Clang. The helmet shook, slightly blurring Fro’s vision. The longsword pierced the man’s rusty chainmail. After finishing him, Fro scanned his surroundings.

He was surrounded. The shield wall had at least two breaches. Girls panicked; the brave drew waist swords, while most stood back-to-back, entangled with mercenaries.

"Hold formation! Hold formation!" he shouted, rushing to plug the gaps.

A two-handed hammer swung at him. He stepped back—the warhammer grazed his breastplate with a deafening clang. The entire plate trembled, vibrating as if about to burst. Magic weapon. Fro adjusted his helmet. Ahead stood Rabbit-Mouth Durant, grinning with his mouth split into four parts, hefting the hammer.

"Armor-piercing hammer?"

"You’re dead, pointy-ears!" Durant roared, charging. Mercenaries instinctively cleared space, except two spearman behind him seeking openings.

Thud!

The warhammer relentlessly pounded Fro. He tried to counter, but Durant’s flankers harassed him—roaring, feinting, knocking his sword aside. Even when Fro struck Durant, the force and angle couldn’t pierce the thick chainmail. Durant seemed mad, spitting as the hammer slammed into Fro’s plate armor. The metal groaned and wailed; pieces flew off, clattering to the ground.

To make matters worse, assault troops scaled the wooden wall outside. The girls saw them straddling it, about to flank them. One snapped, dropping her weapon and screaming as she turned to run. She collided with Aelina before taking three steps.

Aelina, taller than most, lifted the deserter by her chainmail. "Abandoning me to fight alone?"

Behind them, a bloodthirsty mercenary raised his curved blade.

Hmph. Aelina raised her crossbow—the bolt plunged into his eye. He clutched his face and fell flat on his back.

"They’ll kill me! Kill me!" the deserter shrieked.

"Back to battle!" Aelina commanded. She raised her molecular reconstructor, disintegrating and reconstructing the dropped spear, then thrust it at the girl. "Fight with me!"

Encouraged, the deserter gripped the spear and joined her to plug the gap. Mercenaries yelled, jumping from the wall—but Aelina ignored them like insignificant flies.

The first jumper landed—and his feet broke through the ground, sinking instantly. Before he recovered from the panic, pain shot through his pierced soles. Screams echoed from the wall. Aelina sneered. "Mere apes."

If traps lay outside the wall, why not inside?

Aelina’s entry boosted morale. Her silvery-white hair flowed like a banner. But it was her crossbow that stabilized the battle—reloading, firing point-blank, weaving gracefully through chaos. Mercenaries grasping for her caught only air.

Meanwhile, Fro stood stripped of his armor. No retreat left. A shallow wound stained his silvery chainmail red. Durant charged, hammer raised like he’d spotted a stripped elf maiden. Two spears followed his assault. Fro gripped his sword hilt, panting. He couldn’t fall. As the bravest warrior here, his collapse meant defeat. The girls’ laughter must never be caged. Besides, she stood behind him.

"For the Queen!"

The elf roared, eyes locked on Durant’s four-part lips. Charging with a death wish, he saw no spears, no hammer—only Durant to kill. This was victory’s last chance.