Chapter 58-long (Patreon)

Mark leaned against the parapet and watched the enemy camp stir in the gray light before dawn.

Across the river, cookfires sent thin lines of smoke into the sky. Soldiers moved between tents in patterns that looked almost lazy from this distance — morning routines, gear checks, the shuffling of men who hadn't slept well. Henri's banner caught the first edge of sunlight, the fabric snapping once before falling limp.

"They're not in a hurry," Evan said beside him.

Mark grunted. "Neither would I be, if I'd spent days getting picked apart."

Evan pulled something from his belt — a leather tube with fittings at both ends. He extended it, put one end to his eye, and swept it across the enemy position.

"Rimi's glass," Mark said. "Still can't believe that works."

"Telescope." Evan adjusted something at the far end. "Rimi did the lenses. Not sure who did the housing."

"I'm calling it Rimi's glass."

Evan ignored him and kept scanning. After a moment, his sweep slowed, then stopped.

"What?" Mark asked.

"Covered wagons. Back of the camp, near the tree line." Evan handed the telescope over. "Count them."

Mark put his eye to the lens and found the image — blurry at first, then sharpening as he adjusted. Tents and cookfires. Soldiers. And there, set apart from the main encampment: a line of wagons with canvas tarps lashed down tight. Guards posted around them, more than you'd expect for supplies.

He counted twelve.

"That's a lot of guards for food and tents."

"That's what I thought."

Mark handed the telescope back. "Any idea what's in them?"

"No. Surprised Lukas didn't mention them." Evan collapsed the tube and returned it to his belt. "Henri didn't drag them through days of hell for nothing."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the camp come to life. The ford stretched between them — forty yards of shallow water, knee-deep at the crossing point, churning white over rocks. Haven had been built here for exactly this reason. Easy access to the ford, but it also blocked access to the small plateau on which the Landing sat. Anyone who wanted to reach them had to wade through that river under fire.

"Where's Ayen?" Mark asked.

"Walking the walls with her optios. Wanted eyes on the upstream approaches before full light." Evan paused. "She's worried Henri will try something tricky."

Centurion Ayen had been here since the beginning — arrived with the first wave of refugees, helped Harold place the stele, and built the defenses they were now standing on. She knew every timber in these walls, every angle of fire, every weak point that needed reinforcing. If anyone could hold Haven, it was her. She had a new tribune, but like any good NCO, she kept him locked up doing paperwork.

"And Josh?"

Evan's mouth twitched. "Pacing. You see the forum this morning?"

Mark groaned. "Beth found out he's here?"

"Beth found out he's here."

Mark had seen the message. Everyone had seen the message — Beth had posted it publicly, which meant half of humanity had weighed in by now.

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Beth — The Landing

Joshua. I have been informed that you are currently at Haven. The same Haven that is about to be attacked by that miserable man Henri and his five hundred soldiers and a hundred adventurers. The same Haven that my husband — who is a CRAFTER and not a SOLDIER — decided to help while lying to me about where he was going.

You better come home. I'm not raising our future children alone because you wanted to play hero.

Come home safe. I love you.

P.S. — If Harold put you up to this, tell him he's next.

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Anonymous Adventurer

ma'am this is incredible

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Lord Dalen — Dalen's Hold

Lord Harold, your people are terrifying. I say this with respect.

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Crafter — CrafterGuild_Lira

The P.S. is my favorite part

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Crafter — Blacksmith_Kers

Ja, this is a woman. Josh is a lucky man.

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Adventurer — Deathblade6969

I wish I could meet a woman with fire like this

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Adventurer — Becky

@Deathblade6969 Hello

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Lord — Anonymous

Lmao

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Adventurer — Deathblade6969

Wait what

____________________________________________________________________________

Mark had laughed when he'd first read it. Now, with Henri's army across the river, it felt less funny.

The other forum post was still burning through humanity too — Harold's response to Henri's march, posted a day ago when it became clear what was happening.

____________________________________________________________________________

Lord Harold — The Landing

To all Lords and citizens of Humanity:

Lord Henri has chosen to march on Haven while my forces are deployed north, clearing a monster nest that threatened the entire region. He attacks a village of refugees — people who fled his own territory — while humanity's soldiers fight to make the basin safe.

I have made no secret of my operations. My soldiers bled to destroy a nest before it could spread. We lost good people so that YOUR villages wouldn't face the swarm that was building there.

Henri's response? To attack while our backs are turned.

I want humanity to see this clearly. I want everyone to remember who fights for humanity, and who fights for themselves.

Haven will hold. And when this is over, Henri and I will be having a conversation.

____________________________________________________________________________

The comments on that one had been vicious — mostly aimed at Henri, though a few of his supporters had tried to spin it as Harold overreaching. It didn't matter. The damage was done. Whatever happened here, Henri had already lost the forum war.

Behind them, Haven was waking up. Civilians moved between the wooden buildings inside the walls, carrying water, tending cookfires, keeping their heads down. The village had grown in the months since Harold placed the stele — real buildings now, not just rough shelters, and a wall of timber on stone foundations that enclosed a fort large enough to hold the entire population. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.

And Henri wanted to take it.

"We should pull the scouts in closer," Evan said.

Mark frowned. "They're supposed to be watching the river."

"They're spread too thin. If something happens, I want them where we can use them." Evan's voice stayed flat, but his eyes kept moving across the enemy camp. "You really think that guy is smart enough to do something tricky? He walked into all of our traps."

"I don't know. Harold said to screen upstream and down."

"Harold isn't here, and he won't question the ground commanders' call."

Mark turned to look at him. Evan's face was the same flat mask it always was — compressed, unreadable. But there was something underneath. Not fear, exactly. Caution.

"You think he's going to try something clever?" Mark said.

"I think he got embarrassed at the hill, and men like Henri don't forget that." Evan's eyes stayed on the enemy camp. "He's not going to walk into another trap. He's going to try something we haven't planned for."

Mark considered that. They'd handled Henri once — Josh collapsing the earthworks, the sleeping potion mines, the goblin chaos. The adventurers had retreated through tunnels while singing songs about Henri's balls. It had been beautiful.

But Evan was right. Henri was still out there with five hundred soldiers and a hundred adventurers, and whatever was in those wagons. The hill fight had been a delaying action, not a victory.

"Fine," Mark said. "Pull them in. But keep eyes out — at least two scouts on each approach."

Evan nodded and turned to go.

"And Evan." Mark caught his arm. "Harold warned us not to underestimate him."

"I know. I know, we'll still keep eyes out. Just want to pull them in some."

He walked away, and Mark turned back to the parapet.

Across the river, Henri's camp continued to wake. The covered wagons sat untouched, guards pacing their perimeter.

Mark watched them and wondered what he was missing.

The attack came right after dawn.

Mark was in the small command room behind the main hall when the runner burst through the door, breathing hard, mud splattered up to his knees.

"Movement at the ford," the boy gasped. "Henri's forming up."

Mark was on his feet before the sentence finished. Evan rose beside him, hand already on his sword.

"How many?"

"All of them, looks like. Adventurers too." The runner swallowed. "It looks like they're coming across."

Mark pushed past him and ran for the walls. The dawn air bit at his face as he climbed the ladder to the parapet, taking the rungs two at a time. Evan was right behind him.

From the wall, he could see it: Henri's army, formed up on the far bank of the river. Light flickered across armor and shields. The front ranks were already stepping into the water.

"He's actually doing it," Mark breathed. "He's crossing under fire."

"He's desperate." Evan's voice was tight. "Or he's got something else planned."

The alarm bell started ringing — one of the wall guards had seen the same thing they had. Across Haven, voices rose. The scramble of soldiers reaching for weapons.

Centurion Ayen appeared on the wall beside them, her armor buckled tight, helmet tucked under her arm. Her face was calm.

"They're committing to the ford," she said. "I'm taking the century to contest the crossing."

"All of them?" Mark asked.

"If we let them reach our bank in force, we lose the river advantage. We hold them in the water."

It made sense. The century would form up on the near bank, shields locked, and make Henri pay for every step. His soldiers would be wading through knee-deep water, exhausted and disorganized, while Ayen's legionaries cut them down.

"Go," Mark said. "We'll hold the fort with the adventurers."

Ayen nodded and turned to go, already shouting orders. Within minutes, the century was moving — a hundred soldiers in formation, jogging toward the riverbank, the thud of boots and the rattle of equipment filling the dawn light.

Mark watched them go and tried to shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Where's Josh?" he asked.

"Here." Josh's voice came from behind them. He climbed onto the parapet, breathing hard, a hammer hanging from his belt. "What's happening? Please tell me we're not actually fighting."

"Henri's crossing the ford. Ayen's contesting."

Josh looked out at the chaos of the enemy advance. "That's... that's a lot of soldiers. Shit."

"Five hundred or so, plus adventurers." Mark squinted toward the river. "Ayen will hold them in the water. That's the whole point of the ford."

"Right. Right, okay." Josh ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at angles. "So we just... watch?"

"We watch. Unless they breach."

They watched in silence as the century reached the riverbank and began forming up. Even from here, Mark could hear Ayen's voice cutting through the noise — calm and controlled, the kind of voice that made soldiers believe they could hold against anything.

The first of Henri's soldiers hit the water.

The ford churned white with bodies.

Henri's soldiers came in waves — not the disciplined advance Mark had expected, but a desperate push, men shoving forward because the men behind them were shoving too. The river slowed them, water dragging at their legs, current pulling at their balance. Some stumbled on the rocks beneath the surface. Others went down entirely, dragged under by the weight of their armor before hands pulled them back up.

Ayen's century met them at the waterline.

The legionaries stood three ranks deep, shields locked, the front rank braced against the riverbank while the second and third ranks waited with javelins. They didn't advance — didn't need to. The river was doing half their work for them.

"Loose!"

Javelins arced into the mass of soldiers struggling through the water. Men screamed and fell. The current carried bodies downstream, and still more came.

Mark found himself gripping the parapet hard enough to hurt.

"We were hoping it wouldn't come to this." Josh's voice was quieter than Mark had ever heard it. "Wouldn't have, if that nest hadn't been there."

The first of Henri's soldiers reached the bank, and Ayen's front rank stepped forward to meet them. Shield crashed against shield. Swords flickered — short, brutal strokes from behind shield lines.

A legionary went down. Another stepped into his place before the body hit the ground.

More of Henri's men reached the bank, enough to form a ragged line. The fighting spread — ten yards of riverbank, then twenty, soldiers shoving and stabbing while the river ran red behind them.

"They need support," Evan said.

"They're holding," Mark said. "Look — Henri's line isn't advancing. They're just dying at the water's edge. We wait for the signal or until there's a breach."

It was true. For every soldier of Henri's who reached the bank, Ayen's legionaries cut down two more in the water. The ford was a killing ground, exactly as it was meant to be. All the century had to do was hold.

Henri's adventurers pushed forward, trying to break the stalemate. Mark saw one of them — a big man with a two-handed sword — carve through a legionary's shield and take the arm behind it. But the ranks closed around him, three swords finding gaps in his armor before he could swing again.

"Damn." Josh flinched. "That is brutal."

Mark didn't answer. He was watching Henri's rear lines, trying to see through the chaos and bodies to the camp beyond.

Something wasn't right.

Henri had brought roughly five hundred soldiers to Haven. But it didn't look like five hundred were at the ford. He could see about a hundred adventurers mixed among them, fighting and dying alongside.

But there was no way that was all of them.

"Evan." Mark's voice came out quieter than he intended. "Where's that commander? The one Lukas mentioned forces?"

Evan turned from watching the ford. His face was hard to read, but something shifted behind his eyes.

"Thought he was in the main camp this morning. Assumed he was with the rear guard or something."

The alarm bell changed pitch.

Two short rings, pause, two short rings. The upstream signal.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Mark was running.

The scout met them at the north gate, bent double, gasping for breath. An arrow was still nocked on his bow, though his hands shook too badly to draw it.

"Two hundred soldiers," he managed. "Coming through the woods from upstream. They crossed somewhere north of us — circled behind while we were watching the ford."

"How far?"

"Quarter mile. Maybe less." The scout swallowed hard. "They're moving fast. Real professional. These aren't the ones we've been messing with."

Had to be him. Fresh, disciplined, and aimed directly at Haven's undefended walls, while Ayen's entire century was engaged at the river.

Mark turned to Evan. "Get everyone to the walls. Everyone. Anyone who can hold a weapon, tell the civilians who won't fight to barricade themselves in."

Evan ran.

Mark sprinted for the western parapet — the one facing away from the river — and climbed. In the dawn gray, he could see them now: shapes emerging from the treeline, the glint of armor, the organized movement of soldiers who knew exactly what they were doing.

They carried ladders.

Mark counted — four, six, eight ladders, soldiers clustered around each one in tight formations.

"Get a runner to Ayen!" he shouted down. "Tell her Sato's behind us. She needs to disengage and get back to the fort!"

A boy sprinted off.

From the river, the sounds of fighting continued — shouts, the clash of weapons, the deeper roar of soldiers in formation. Ayen couldn't disengage easily. Henri's men were pressed against her line three deep, and pulling back meant giving ground, meant letting them onto the bank in force.

She'd have to fight her way free, but there was a plan for that. And these new troops weren’t gonna wait.

"Josh." Mark found him on the parapet, staring at the approaching force. "Can you do anything? The ground, the foundations — anything to slow them down?"

Josh knelt and pressed his palms to the wooden planking. His face went tight.

"I can't see what I'm doing," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't know where the ladders are going to hit. I can try to destabilize the ground outside the walls, but I'm working blind."

"You have to try."

Marshal appeared beside them — the fire crafter, his face grim in the pre-dawn light. "Braziers are lit. I can work with that."

The first grappling hooks arced over the wall as Haven's people scrambled to man the defenses.

"Adventurers to me!" Mark roared. "To the wall!"

Behind him, doors banged open. Boots pounded on wood. The adventurers of Haven spilled out of the guild hall and the barracks and the tavern where some of them had been sleeping off last night's drinks — armor half-buckled, weapons in hand, faces caught between confusion and hard focus.

Sato's soldiers moved with a precision that rivaled the legionaries of the Landing.

The grappling hooks caught on the timber parapet, three of them in quick succession. Before Mark could react, ropes snapped taut, and the ladders came up — not lifted rung by rung like a normal assault, but levered into place by some kind of pulley system, soldiers already clinging to the rungs as the whole apparatus swung vertical.

By the time the ladders hit the wall, the first climbers were already at the top.

"Contact!" someone screamed.

"They're on the walls!" Evan's voice cut through the chaos. "West parapet! Move!"

A soldier hauled himself over the parapet ten feet from Mark, shield up, sword already clearing the sheath. Mark caught him before he could set his feet, blade punching through the gap between breastplate and shoulder guard. The man fell backward, taking the next climber down with him.

But there were more. Three ladders up now, four, soldiers pouring over the wall faster than the defenders could reach them.

"Form on me!" Mark planted himself at the base of the nearest ladder and cut down a climber who'd made it halfway over. "We hold here! Civilians behind us — families, children. They don't get past us!"

Adventurers rallied to him — a mix of veterans and newcomers, people who'd been fighting goblins last week and people who'd never swung a sword in anger. They formed a ragged line across the parapet, not the disciplined formation of legionaries but something looser, more fluid.

"You want to know what Lord Harold does for people who hold when it matters?" Mark shouted over the clash of steel. "Special contracts! Priority on potions! First pick of dungeon slots when they open!"

Someone laughed — nervous, sharp. "You're giving us a sales pitch right now?"

"I'm telling you what's waiting on the other side!" Mark killed another climber and kicked the body off the wall. "Think about the perks you'll get from soldiers with mana training! Think about the loot! Think about telling this story in the guild hall while everyone else buys you drinks!"

That got a roar.

The first wave hit them.

Sato's soldiers came over the wall in clusters of three and four, shields locked, working together in a way that made Mark's stomach drop. These weren't the half-trained soldiers Henri had been marching through the mud. These men were drilled.

"Pairs!" Evan shouted. "Fight in pairs! Don't let them isolate you!"

An adventurer went down — a kid, couldn't have been more than nineteen, sword still in his hand as a soldier's blade took him through the throat. Mark saw it happen and couldn't reach him in time.

But the woman beside the kid could. She screamed and drove her spear through the soldier's face, then pulled it free and killed the next man up the ladder before he could clear the parapet.

"That's it!" Mark yelled. "Make them pay for every rung!"

The fighting spread along the wall — twenty yards of parapet, then thirty, adventurers and soldiers tangled in close-quarters chaos where perks mattered more than formation. A man with a strength perk grabbed a soldier by the breastplate and threw him bodily off the wall. An archer put three arrows into three targets in the time it took Mark to blink. Someone with a speed perk moved through a cluster of enemies like water through rocks, blade flickering too fast to follow.

But Sato's men kept coming, their own mana skills flaring.

A section of wall went down. Not literally — the timber held — but the defenders were pushed back, and suddenly there were ten of Sato's soldiers standing on Haven's parapet, more climbing behind them. They formed a shield wall, professional and tight, and started pushing outward to make room for reinforcements.

"To me!" Mark roared. "Hold them here!"

Adventurers rushed to fill the gap. A woman with a strength perk grabbed a ladder and ripped it off the wall entirely, soldiers tumbling to the ground below.

But more kept coming. More ladders. More soldiers. The foothold was expanding.

Marshal's fire bloomed.

The crafter stood near a brazier, hands extended, face twisted with concentration. Fire leaped from the coals and lashed out like a living thing — a tongue of flame that swept across the wall, caught two of Sato's soldiers full in the chest, and sent them screaming over the side.

"Merde," someone breathed. "That's new."

Marshal didn't acknowledge it. He was already pulling more fire, directing it at another cluster of soldiers, buying the adventurers time to reform. The flames painted the dawn in shades of orange and red, casting wild shadows across the parapet.

But he couldn't be everywhere, and neither could the fire.

Mark fought his way toward the main breach, where Sato's soldiers had established their foothold. His sword arm burned. Blood — his or someone else's, he couldn't tell — ran down his face and dripped from his chin.

The foothold was expanding. If they didn't break it now, they never would.

Mark reached for the perk he'd gained three weeks ago, killing a massive hill troll in the northern woods. The one that had taken six adventurers and an hour to bring down. The one whose hide had turned their blades like they were made of wood.

Troll's Hide.

The mana rushed through him, and his skin went hard. Not stone — something rougher, tougher, like bark over iron. He'd tested it against training swords and found it could turn a blade. He'd never tested it against real steel in real combat.

No time like the present.

"On me!" Mark roared, and charged into the breach.

The first soldier's sword scraped across his chest and skittered away without cutting. The man's eyes went wide behind his helmet, and Mark's blade took him through the throat before he could recover. The second soldier fared no better — his strike glanced off Mark's shoulder, and Mark drove him back with a shield bash that sent him stumbling into his comrades.

"Through the gap!" Mark was in the middle of them now, their formation breaking around him like water around a rock. "Now! Hit them now!"

The adventurers surged forward. They poured through the hole Mark had created, blades finding gaps in the enemy line, perks flashing as they cut and stabbed and shoved. For a moment — just a moment — it looked like they might actually push Sato's soldiers back.

Then the sergeant stepped forward.

Mark saw the mana gathering around the man's blade a half-second too late. The steel glowed faintly, edged with something that made the air hum, and the sergeant's cut came in fast and clean.

The blade went through Mark's perk like it wasn't there.

His arm came off at the elbow.

Mark didn't feel it at first. He saw it — saw his forearm tumbling away, sword still gripped in fingers that were no longer connected to him — but the pain hadn't caught up yet. He was still trying to understand what had happened when the sergeant's follow-through drove the mana-coated blade into his chest.

That, he felt.

The world tilted. Someone was screaming — maybe him, maybe someone else. He hit the parapet, bounced, and then he was falling, tumbling over the interior edge of the wall into the fort below.

He landed hard. The impact drove what was left of the air from his lungs and sent white fire through his chest. Above him, the sounds of fighting continued — steel on steel, shouts, the roar of Marshal's flames.

He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only lie there in the mud and watch the sky lighten above him.

On the wall, Evan saw Mark fall.

"MARK!" The scream tore out of him before he could stop it. He killed the soldier in front of him without looking, blade moving on instinct. "Where's the fucking century?!"

The adventurers had seen it too. They'd seen one of their guild leaders go down, seen the mana-coated blade that had done it, seen the sergeant who was already turning to find his next target.

Something shifted.

The roar that came from the adventurers wasn't confidence or bravado. It was rage — the raw, desperate fury of people who had just watched a friend fall and refused to let it mean nothing.

They hit Sato's soldiers like a wave.

The sergeant went down under three blades at once. The soldiers around him followed, overwhelmed by adventurers who had stopped fighting smart and started fighting mean. Perks flared — strength, speed, precision — and for a few brutal seconds, the breach became a slaughter.

Evan didn't join them. He was already running for the ladder, already climbing down, already sprinting across the fort's interior toward the crumpled shape in the mud.

"Potion!" he screamed. "Someone get me a fucking potion!"

Josh couldn't see what he was doing.

That was the problem. He'd worked stone a hundred times by this point — stone was a friend to him, familiar as his own hands. But he'd always been able to see it, to feel the grain of the rock under his palms, to know exactly what he was affecting.

Now he knelt on the ground inside the fort with his hands pressed to the earth, trying to push his mana through empty space to reach the stone foundations of the wall, and from there out to the ground where Sato's ladders were braced.

He couldn't see the ladders. Could only guess, based on the sounds of fighting above him, where they might be.

Beth would know what to do. Beth always knows what to do.

But Beth wasn't here. Beth was at the Landing, probably pacing the same way he'd been pacing, probably composing another forum post about what an idiot he was.

Focus. Come on, focus.

Josh pulled at his mana and pushed harder.

His mana reached the stone foundations — he could feel that much, the familiar texture of worked rock humming against his awareness. He followed it down, then out, searching for the ground beyond the wall.

There. Earth and gravel, compacted by the weight of men standing on it.

There should be a ladder here. This is where the sounds are coming from. This is where —

He pushed his mana into the ground and visualized the stone softening like wax. Not much — he couldn't remove the stone, only manipulate it — but enough to make the surface unstable, to give the ladder bases nothing solid to grip. His mana ran through the earth like water through sand, and the effort nearly doubled him over.

Then he heard it. Felt it through the connection — a ladder tilting, men shouting, the crash of wood hitting wood as the whole structure toppled sideways.

Holy shit. It actually worked.

Josh gasped for air and reached for another spot where he thought a ladder might be. The effort was enormous — like trying to thread a needle while blindfolded, underwater, in the middle of an earthquake. Every push drained him further. His vision was starting to blur at the edges. His hands shook against the earth.

Another ladder shifted. More shouting. Another crash.

He reached for a third spot and felt his mana scrape against empty reserves. He pushed anyway, wringing out every drop he had left, and felt the ground shift one more time before his connection guttered out entirely.

Three ladders. Maybe four. Out of eight or more.

It wasn't enough, but it was something. It was more than anyone else could have done — blind, working through stone foundations, destabilizing ground he couldn't see from thirty feet away.

Beth is going to kill me. But that was pretty cool.

Josh opened his eyes and nearly collapsed. His whole body felt hollow, scraped clean from the inside. The fighting had moved closer — he could see Sato's soldiers on the wall now, see the adventurers struggling to push them back. Marshal's fire had stopped; the crafter was slumped against the parapet, breathing hard, spent.

People were dying up there. 

Josh reached for his hammer and pushed himself to his feet.

He'd taken two steps toward the wall when a hand caught his arm and yanked him back.

"Direct order from Lord Harold." The optio's face was young, barely twenty, but his grip was iron and his voice didn't waver. "You don't fight, Councilor."

"Get off me." Josh tried to pull free. The optio held on. "People are dying up there —"

"And you're worth more than any of them. Lord Harold's words, not mine."

"I don't care whose words they are!" Josh rounded on him, chest heaving. "I will not stand here while my friends fight! I will NOT—"

"Sir, you cannot fight!" The optio stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the wall. Two more soldiers materialized beside him — Josh's minders, the ones Harold had assigned to keep him alive whether he liked it or not. "If you die, we lose the only earth shaper here capable of building fortifications. We lose the man who just knocked down half their ladders from inside the walls. We lose —"

"I don't CARE what we lose!"

"Lord Harold does." The optio's voice was steady, implacable. "And he gave us orders. You don't fight, Councilor. Not today."

Josh wanted to hit him. Wanted to shove past all three of them and run up that wall and swing his hammer until something broke — the enemy, or himself. Standing here while people bled felt like the worst kind of cowardice, the kind that would follow him for the rest of his life.

But he knew the optio was right. Knew Harold was right. Earth shapers didn't grow on trees. If Josh died on these walls, the Landing lost capabilities it couldn't replace.

He hated it. Hated Harold for being right. Hated himself for accepting it.

"Fine," Josh spat. "Fine. Then I'll help the —"

A scream cut through the noise of battle. Not the general chaos of fighting — something sharper, more desperate.

"MARK!"

Josh's head snapped toward the wall. He saw Evan's face, twisted with horror. Saw the adventurers surging forward. Saw —

A body tumbling off the interior edge of the wall, hitting the ground hard, lying still in the mud.

Mark.

"NO!" Josh was running before he knew he'd moved. The optio grabbed for him and missed. The soldiers tried to intercept and Josh dodged past them, sprinting across the fort toward the crumpled shape.

"POTION!" Josh screamed as he ran. "Someone get me a potion! NOW!"

He skidded to his knees beside Mark and his stomach lurched. The arm — Mark's sword arm — ended at the elbow in a mess of blood and shattered bone. His chest was opened, red spreading across his shirt, and his face was pale, too pale, eyes staring at nothing.

"Mark. Mark!" Josh grabbed his shoulder. "Stay with me. Stay with me, don't you dare —"

Someone pressed a potion into his hand. Josh didn't look to see who. He tore the stopper out with his teeth and poured the contents into Mark's mouth, tilting his head back to make him swallow.

"Come on. Come on, come on, come on —"

The wound in Mark's chest started to close. Slowly, much more slowly than normal, but closing.

Mark's eyes focused. He looked up at Josh and his mouth moved, blood bubbling at his lips.

"Did we... hold?"

Josh laughed — raw, broken. "Yeah, you idiot. We're holding."

"Good." Mark's eyes drifted closed. "Good."

"No — stay awake. Mark. MARK!"

But Mark was already gone, slipping into the black place where healing potions did their work. Josh looked up at the walls, at the fighting still raging above him, and wanted to scream.

Evan saw the century arrive.

Ayen's soldiers hit Sato's flank like a battering ram — a hundred legionaries flooding onto the walls, shields locked, swords rising and falling in disciplined rhythm. They'd fought their way back from the ford, disengaging under pressure, and now they threw themselves into the breach with the fury of soldiers who'd been forced to retreat and didn't like the taste of it.

"Push!" Ayen's voice carried over the chaos. "Drive them back! For the Landing!"

The legionaries pushed. They were tired — Evan could see the mud on their armor and the blood on their weapons from the fighting at the river — but they were disciplined, and discipline counted for more than energy in a fight like this.

Sato's soldiers started falling back. The ladders that were still up became choke points, soldiers trying to climb down while the defenders hacked at them from above. One ladder went over entirely, pushed clear by three legionaries working together.

Evan allowed himself one breath of relief.

Then new ladders hit the wall.

Different section. Twenty yards down from the main breach, where the defenders had thinned their lines to reinforce the fighting.

Henri. He'd crossed the ford while Ayen was disengaging, while the century was racing back to the fort, Henri had pushed his soldiers across the river and followed Sato's assault route.

"No, no, no —" Evan was already running. "To me! Everyone to me!"

The adventurers rallied. They'd been fighting for half an hour straight, some of them wounded, all of them exhausted, but they rallied because that's what adventurers did.

He reached the new assault point just as the first of Henri's soldiers cleared the wall. His blade took the man in the throat before he could set his feet, and Evan kicked the body back over the parapet.

But there were more. There were always more.

He saw Arjun then — his armor more ornate than the soldiers around him. Arjun came over the wall himself, sword in hand, bellowing something Evan couldn't make out. His soldiers followed him, drawing courage from their lord's presence.

For a moment, it looked like the wall would fall.

Then Ayen arrived with reinforcements, and the weight shifted again.

The fighting turned brutal. No room to maneuver, no space for tactics — just blade against blade, strength against strength, will against will. Evan found himself pressed against the parapet, fending off a soldier who was trying to push him over the edge.

He barely won, and the soldier fell, and Evan took a breath that tasted like copper.

Arjun was still on the wall, still fighting. His soldiers were being pushed back around him, but he held his ground, taking on two adventurers at once with the kind of skill that came from a lifetime of violence.

Then the adventurers closed in, and the legionaries reached his section, and suddenly Arjun was alone on a wall full of enemies.

Evan saw the moment the lord realized it.

Arjun's face went blank. He looked left, right, saw nothing but hostile steel. His soldiers were falling back, being pushed over the wall or cut down where they stood.

He turned and jumped.

Ten feet, maybe twelve, dropping from the wall to the ground outside. He hit hard, rolled, came up limping. Two of his soldiers grabbed him and pulled him back toward the waiting lines as Evan watched him go.

That's one.

The fighting continued, but the tide had turned. Sato's assault was broken. Henri's assault was broken. The defenders held the walls.

And then Evan saw Henri.

The lord stood behind his lines, fifty yards from the wall, watching the assault fail. He wore gleaming armor, the kind that cost more than most people earned in a year. His posture was straight, almost arrogant.

Evan remembered the songs they'd sung at the hill. Henri's balls will never be the same.

He remembered Mark going down. The arm. The blood. Josh screaming for a potion.

He found a javelin — one of the spares stacked against the parapet — and hefted it.

"Evan." One of the adventurers beside him. "That's a long throw."

"I know."

He drew back, forced the last of his mana into a couple of his perks, and threw.

The javelin arced through the gray morning light. For a moment, it seemed to hang at the peak of its flight, impossibly suspended.

Then it fell.

Henri saw it coming — Evan could see him start to move — but not fast enough. The javelin punched through his breastplate and into his chest.

Henri staggered, hand going to the shaft protruding from his armor, blood spreading across the gleaming metal.

His soldiers grabbed him and pulled him back, just like they'd grabbed Arjun.

Evan let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

That's for Mark.

The bodies lay in rows outside the walls.

Henri's dead. Maybe a hundred of them, maybe more, sprawled in the mud where they'd fallen. Some had made it to the wall before being cut down. Others had died in the water, caught by the current during the initial crossing. A few had simply been unlucky — wrong place, wrong time, wrong side of a blade.

Inside the fort of Haven, the cost was lower, but it was still a cost. Seventeen adventurers dead — they'd respawn at the stele eventually, probably within the day, but for now they were gone. Twenty one legionaries who wouldn't respawn, their bodies being prepared for burial. Dozens wounded, the healing potions working to close wounds and knit bones.

And Mark.

Evan found him in the makeshift infirmary they'd set up in the hall. Josh was there, sitting beside the cot, looking like he hadn't moved since they'd carried Mark inside.

"How is he?" Evan asked.

Josh looked up. His face was pale, drawn. "The potion sealed the chest wound, but I think something inside is still wrong. He'll live." A pause. "The arm's gone. Potion couldn't regrow it. Something about how mana cuts won't let it grow back."

Evan stared at the bandaged stump where Mark's sword arm used to be.

"He's not going to take that well," Evan said quietly.

"Nope." Josh's voice was hollow. "Ironically, might have been better if he'd died. Then he'd respawn whole."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching Mark's chest rise and fall.

"I’m not used to these respawns," Evan said finally. "I saw him go down but—”

"Yeah." Josh didn't look away from Mark.

Evan turned and walked back toward the walls.

Behind him, Haven began the work of cleaning up, healing up, and preparing for the next assault. Evan climbed back to the parapet and found Rimi's telescope where Mark had dropped it. He put it to his eye and scanned the enemy camp.

Henri's forces had retreated out of arrow range. They were reforming, tending their wounded, rebuilding their discipline. The assault had failed, but they weren't broken. And those covered wagons were being brought across the river to join the main force.

Evan watched them and thought about Mark lying in the infirmary, about the arm that was gone, about the cost of holding these walls.

They needed help.