Chapter 53: The Spearpoint
The north wall wasn't a wall anymore. It was a butcher's block stretched across the city, and we were just more meat waiting for the cleaver.
Freya and I fell into the rhythm of it like we'd been dancing this bloody waltz for years. There was no room for thought, only reaction. A black-furred wolf, all snapping jaws and rancid breath, lunged for my throat. I didn't sidestep; I stepped into it, my stolen longsword a silver blur as I rammed the point up through its soft palate and into its brain. The creature died with a choked gurgle, its momentum slamming its dead weight into my chest. I shoved the corpse aside, already turning to the next.
To my left, Freya was a storm of disciplined violence. Her silver blade moved with an economy of motion mine lacked, each parry, thrust, and slash ending a life with brutal efficiency. She didn't waste energy. A beast would leap, and her sword would simply be there to meet it, the edge parting flesh and bone with a wet, final sound. Gore splattered her armor, painting the silver a dull, ugly red, but her expression never changed. It was a mask of cold, focused fury.
The air was a thick soup of blood mist, the coppery taste permanent on my tongue. The ground underfoot was a treacherous slurry of mud, entrails, and shattered bone. Every breath was a battle against the stench of opened bowels and death. My arms burned with a familiar fatigue, but the Ki flowing through my Acceleration Loop kept me moving, turning my exhaustion into a dull, roaring background hum. I was a machine built for one purpose: cut, kill, survive.
I lost track of time. It became a cycle: a boar-thing with tusks like scythes fell to a hamstringing slash and a finishing thrust; a gangly, spider-limbed horror found its limbs systematically severed before I silenced its shrieking for good. I moved in concert with Freya, a deadly symbiosis. When a hulking bear-creature broke through the line of adventurers to our right, its claws poised to tear her head from her shoulders, I was already there. I ducked under a wild swing of its arm and drove my sword deep into its armpit, twisting the blade. It roared, swinging its other paw at me, but Freya's blade took its head off in a single, clean stroke. We didn't exchange a glance. We didn't need to.
Then, a shift in the air. A ripple through the chaos. It wasn't a sound you could hear over the din of battle, but a feeling, a sudden, collective intake of breath from the soldiers and adventurers around us.
I risked a glance back, toward the inner rampart.
The Iron Fangs had arrived.
They didn't just walk in; they manifested, a pocket of terrifying order in the heart of the madness. And they looked every bit the A-rank legends they were supposed to be.
Kaku was a walking fortress. He was clad head to toe in plates of dark, polished metal etched with swirling, predatory patterns. The armor was immense, thick enough to stop a ballista bolt, yet it moved with him like a second skin. Strapped to his back was an axe that was less a weapon and more a declaration of war. The head was a single, curved slab of black iron, wider than my chest, its edge gleaming with a cruel, sharp light. His wolf ears twitched atop his helmet, and his bushy tail swished slowly behind him, a predator assessing the herd.
Kail, the elf, looked like he'd just stepped out of a royal armory. He carried a longbow of pale, gleaming wood that seemed to drink the torchlight, its string shimmering with a faint silver energy. A quiver of arrows fletched with what looked like white feathers was slung over his shoulder. His expression was one of utter contempt for the grime and blood around him, his nose wrinkled as if the stench of common death was a personal insult.
Sheyla was a vision of primal lethality. She wore little armor beyond hardened leather greaves and bracers, her tribal tattoos on full display across her muscular arms and midriff. A curved sword was sheathed at her hip, but it was the assortment of knives and daggers strapped across her chest and thighs that drew the eye, each one looked uniquely crafted, with handles of bone and horn. Her dark eyes scanned the battlefield not with fear, but with a hunter's calculating coldness.
Trent, the red-headed human, completed the set. He looked like the archetypal adventurer from a storybook, clad in practical, well-worn studded leather, a heavy crossbow in his hands. He looked… normal. And in this company, that made him the most dangerous of all.
Kaku's voice boomed, cutting through the battle's roar without him seeming to raise it. "Clear the gate! We need a path!"
The soldiers nearby stared, wide-eyed, before scrambling to obey. They began pushing back the front line, creating a killing zone before the shattered remains of the northern gate.
It was Freya who stepped forward, her voice sharp and clear. "A path will get you killed before you make it a hundred yards. They're too thick out there."
Kaku's yellow eyes swiveled to her. "You have a better suggestion, Silver-Blade?"
"I do." She planted her sword point-first in the bloody ground. "I can't clear the whole field. But I can give you a landing zone. I'll blast you over the wall. You'll land beyond the main horde, closer to your target."
Kail sneered. "So we place our lives in the hands of your earth magic? A most… jarring proposition."
"It's faster than dying in a bottleneck," Freya shot back, her gaze unwavering. "And it's direct. You get to the target, or you die trying. No middle ground."
A flicker of what might have been respect passed over Kaku's fearsome features. "The direct approach has merit. Do it."
The plan was set. But then Freya dropped the second bombshell. "I'm coming with you. You'll need backup."
A few brave or foolish soldiers and adventurers, inspired by her courage or shamed by it, stepped forward. "I'll go!" "For Edelmere!" "My family's in the city center!"
Freya turned to them, her expression grim. "Understand what you're volunteering for. This isn't holding a line. This is a crash landing behind enemy lines. We will be surrounded the moment we hit the ground. Most of us will not come back."
Their faces were pale, but their resolve held. "We know."
It was then I knew I had no choice. The System's primary objective glowed in my mind, inseparable from the countdown ticking down beside it: Ensure Freya's Survival. Letting her fly into the heart of the beast horde without me was not an option.
"I'm going too," I said, my voice quieter than I intended, but it carried in the sudden lull.
All eyes turned to me. The Iron Fangs' gazes were a mixture of cold indifference and open hostility.
Sheyla let out a short, harsh laugh. "Oh? The runaway finally decides to stand and fight? Now that the real warriors have a plan, you're ready to step up and claim the glory?"
The memory flashed, the burning village, the goblins, me safely away minding my own business, surviving while they fought. The judgment in their eyes had been clear then, and it was crystal now. I felt a hot spike of anger pierce through my fatigue.
"Shut up," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Keep your commentary to yourself."
The air froze. Sheyla's hunter's eyes narrowed to slits. In a movement faster than I could track, her curved sword was free of its sheath, the wicked point hovering a hair's breadth from my throat. The metal gleamed, still clean amidst the filth.
I didn't freeze. My own instincts, honed over weeks of constant dread, kicked in. I took a sharp step back, my own blood-soaked longsword coming up in a horizontal block, the flat of my blade slamming against hers with a sharp clang that echoed louder than any battle cry. I shoved her sword aside, the force of the parry vibrating up my arm.
We stood there, blades locked, tension screaming between us. The battle around us seemed to fade into a distant hum.
"I am not going to apologize for doing what's best for me back then," I snarled, my face inches from hers. I could see the faint scars on her skin, the cold fury in her dark eyes. "I will do what I want, when I want. You got a problem with that, you bitch?"
I saw the murderous intent flare in her gaze. Her muscles coiled, ready to turn the block into a killing stroke. My own Ki flared in response, ready to meet her. This was it. I was going to die fighting an ally seconds before a suicide mission.
"Enough."
The word was not shouted. It was a low, guttural rumble from Kaku that carried more weight than a scream. It was the voice of absolute authority. "Sheyla. Stand down."
He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed on his warrior. "We are about to leap into the abyss. Save your anger for the enemy that deserves it."
Sheyla held my stare for a second longer, a promise of future violence in her eyes. Then, with a fluid, contemptuous motion, she sheathed her sword. She turned her back on me, a dismissal more insulting than any curse.
My heart hammered against my ribs, adrenaline coursing through me. I slowly lowered my own blade, my knuckles white on the hilt.
Kaku's eyes finally settled on me, unreadable. "You want to come, boy? Then you follow our lead. You hesitate, you die. You get in our way, I will kill you myself. Understood?"
I gave a single, sharp nod. "Understood."
The bigger picture had been invoked. The temporary truce was as fragile as glass, but it held. For now. We turned as one, a fractured, hostile spearpoint, and faced the shattered gate, and the sea of darkness waiting beyond. Freya began to chant, her hands glowing with earthy brown light, preparing to launch us all into hell.
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