Chapter 43: Attack Escalates
Over two and a half hours later, the timer in the corner of my vision ticked away like a sadistic metronome.
58 hours, 44 minutes, 27 seconds… 26… 25…
The bastards hadn't stopped coming. Not once.
We'd rotated out an hour ago, my group trading places with another bunch of poor bastards on the wall. Now we were slouched against the stone, catching our breath and pretending that the blood splattered over our armor was someone else's problem. The sound of battle never really left, shouts, screams, and the heavy thump of something big hitting the wall still rang out every few seconds.
I wasn't in the mood to eavesdrop, but voices carry when men are exhausted.
"…he's not bad for an F-rank," one of the city guards muttered nearby. "Moves quicker than I expected."
"Quicker? He's keeping up with the veterans," another said, low but still loud enough for me to hear. "I'd say he's fighting at C-rank level."
I didn't bother reacting. Let them talk.
Freya was sitting on the stone a few feet away, wiping monster blood off her sword. She snorted. "They're wrong," she said, loud enough to cut into their little chat. "You're not C-rank, Kaizen. You're still just D-rank at best."
One of the guards looked like he wanted to argue with her, but she just shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, you're not bad. I underestimated you before. But you haven't seen the real strength of a C-rank adventurer. And trust me… it's a whole different world."
I didn't fire back. She wasn't wrong. I knew exactly how weak I still was. I was still learning, hell, I hadn't even used my Ki yet. Not my acceleration loop, not my strength enhancement, nothing. Every swing so far had just been plain muscle and a stubborn refusal to die.
And I had a gut feeling I wasn't going to need all of it yet. Not unless things got really ugly.
Without a word, I pulled one of my potions from my belt. Yellow-green liquid sloshed in the vial, bitter and soothing in equal measure. I popped the cork and downed it in one go.
The effect was instant. That familiar yellow-green aura flared around me, warm and electric, knitting skin, unkinking muscles, and wiping away fatigue in seconds before fading out just as fast.
I groaned in relief and rolled my neck. Felt like I'd just respawned in a video game.
Freya was staring at me now, one eyebrow raised. "How the hell does a rookie like you afford that?"
I blinked at her. "What?"
She gestured to the vial. "Greater healing potions aren't something even most C-ranks can toss back casually. That thing you just drank could buy you a week in a good inn."
I frowned. "It's just a standard healing potion."
She gave me the kind of look you give a kid who's trying to convince you the moon is made of cheese. "No, it's not. Healing potions are ranked by color. Yellow-green like that? That's Greater. Standard is this."
She reached into her pack and pulled out a vial filled with a blueish-white liquid. "Less than ten percent the price of your green one," she explained.
I stared at it, then back at mine. "…Huh."
The first time I bought potions, they were the same yellow-green color. Over the weeks, as I trained, I used them all up and bought more. Every single time I'd told the shopkeeper the same thing: "standard healing potion."
And every time, they'd charged me 100 Pele each. Exactly the same as the first batch.
Which meant one of two things. Either the shopkeeper had accidentally been selling me high-grade potions at standard prices for weeks… or I'd just discovered I'd been drinking the alchemical equivalent of a five-star vintage like it was tap water.
100 Pele, a hundred copper coin, per vial. For this.
I had eight left.
I wasn't sure if I should feel smug… or suspicious.
The break ended with a horn blast, low, deep, and the kind of sound that yanks your spine straight whether you're ready or not.
"Back on the wall!" someone shouted, and just like that, our brief respite was over.
I got to my feet, adjusted my armor, and followed Freya up the tower stairs. The moment we reached the top, the stench of blood and burning fur slammed into me like a freight train. The fresh crew had done their job well enough, at least well enough to still be alive but the beasts had been relentless. Their corpses piled under the wall, twitching and bleeding into each other in a carpet of gore.
The air was heavy with heat, magic residue, and the faint metallic taste of too much spilled blood.
The next wave hit, and our group, recharged from the break, came down on them like a hammer. Freya was a blur beside me, cutting down a climbing wolf-beast before it even cleared the battlements. I shoved my blade through the eye socket of a horned boar-thing as it tried to scramble up the wall, then kicked it loose so it fell, snapping bones on the way down.
Fireballs, lightning bolts, and hissing arrows poured from the walls. Every time a beast made it close enough to touch stone, it was cut apart before its claws could grip. The carnage was a meat grinder, and for a solid ten minutes, it felt like we could do this all day.
And then… nothing.
It wasn't gradual. The attacks just… stopped.
We all froze in place, weapons raised, panting, blood dripping off steel and fingertips. The silence was deafening. Somewhere far below, a severed tail twitched in the growing pile of bodies.
The forest was still. But they were there.
Shadows moved between the trees, slow, deliberate shapes, nothing like the frantic scrabbling of the wild beasts before.
Even Freya, sweat running down her temple, shot me a look that said she could feel it too: whatever was coming next wasn't going to be good.
And then they stepped out.
Not the feral, foam-mouthed monsters we'd been cutting down all morning. These were robed. Bones hung around their necks like trophies. Each carried a staff topped with a glowing orange-red orb that pulsed like a heartbeat.
They walked with purpose.
When the hoods came down, the wall collectively tensed.
Goblins.
Not the shrieking fodder kind. These had eyes that burned with thought and malice.
My stomach dropped, and the words slipped out before I could stop them. "Oh, fuck me…"
Freya glanced at me sharply. "What?"
"Shamans," I spat, already stepping back from the edge. "Saw these bastards before. This isn't good."
Before my words even hit the ground, one of them raised his staff.
The orb flared, and a fireball the size of a fucking wrecking ball roared into existence, screaming through the air toward the wall.
It hit dead center.
The explosion turned three guards into ash mid-scream. Armor, flesh, and bone vaporized. The stone itself cracked, spraying molten chips in every direction. The smell of cooked meat hit instantly.
Someone screamed. Someone else vomited.
And then all hell broke loose again.