The night had no end.
The frenzy of the bandits had not slowed; if anything, the death of their leader had driven them into a madness even more dangerous. They fought like men with nothing left to lose, throwing bodies at the walls, tearing at barricades, climbing over their own dead just to press the attack.
And the defenders were shattering.
Shunya's blade felt heavier with each swing, his arms trembling with strain. His breathing was ragged, his throat raw from shouting. His legs burned like fire, and still he forced them to move.
Beside him, Vikoria had gone pale, her staff shaking in her grip as she fired bursts of light that flickered weaker and weaker with each cast. The glow that once blinded whole groups now barely scattered two or three attackers. Sweat dripped from her chin, her lips trembling from exhaustion.
And Naomi…
Naomi still stood at the front.
